Only the Dogs Bark Here
My first post-China walk around Lake Harriet in South Minneapolis brings me back to Bamboo Park. But the experience of this lovely upper-mid western municipal park is more linear. And only the dogs bark here.
Every fifty feet or so along the trails of Bamboo Park in Beijing are invitations to step off the trail into a secluded area for meditation, stretching, tai chi or tap dancing. The walk around Lake Harriet in Minneapolis is continuous and unbroken, except for the flower garden, the band shell and the occasional dock.
Perhaps I am reading too much into the layout of the parks. Perhaps it is more about the return to the linear routine of life and work as opposed to the random experience of travel. Two weeks and a hundred years ago tomorrow, I found my way to Bamboo Park for the first time.
As I rounded a bend in the trail that first morning in Beijing, the path opened out to a vista of the lake ahead. And then I heard the sound of a human voice, but not as I’ve heard it in any park in the US. It was more like a bark. As I listened more closely, I heard the sounds of multiple voices traveling across the calm early morning waters of the lake. Some were making barking sounds, others more long tones, like chanting or singing.
Member of the delegation in Beijing by the calm morning waters of Bamboo Park.
I used to teach voice for the actor – releasing and strengthening the voice through a variety of exercises. Something like this barking in the park is not unfamiliar to me, but always in the studio, rehearsal hall or on stage. Through the work, I came to believe that the physical act of exercising the voice not only prepares the instrument for use on stage, but also immediately connects the actor (or teacher or public speaker) to what might be called an emotional center. Like the eyes, the voice is a window to the soul.
It was oddly comforting to hear the barking and chanting and singing from the patrons of Bamboo Park. Strange, but comforting. It was attention paid to a particular set of muscles with a startling effect on the auditory landscape. And what clearly seemed so foreign, yet familiar to me, was as normal as breathing to these park visitors. Two elderly gents were walking towards me later that morning in the park and mid conversation one of them barked then continued along in conversation. I wanted to bark back but then I could see myself, hear myself doing it and it was just too strange.
So I’ll settle for the bark of the dogs at Lake Harriet. Soon enough, the lake will again be a refuge for me, a change of pace from work.