A torrent of tears poured out of the vibrations of my vocal cords. A noise was crashing in front of me, a noise that never stops. The river pours out on the rocks. The river that seems to wash and soften everything.

Because of this almost deafening noise, I had to sing very loud to hear myself. My voice was breaking through the torrent as best as it could while the sound of this very torrent was covering me, protecting the intimacy of my emotions.

Sounds were getting out of me and were filling me with something between joy and sadness. What would be that emotion? Apparently the emotion is a voice that sings.

Little by little the singing makes me cry. It’s a beautiful wave, too huge to be put in any cage. The wave is rising without any force, with all of the sadness and draws itself according to the needs of this sadness.

Voice not only is the transformation of the inner into a sonic matter. It is also a creative material that mobilizes emotionally, culturally, bodily, politically and spiritually. Beyond a material, it’s the instrument by which one presents oneself, enunciates oneself, elevates oneself and communicates with other selves. Voice is also the symptom of a projection of the self to the world.

What cries sings, what sings breathes, what breathes dances, what dances draws healing trajectories.

Voice channels the poetic, the politic and the erotic. The creative process behind voice and the desire to be heard and to make hearable can distance itself from a certain ableist notion of a finished product. The molecules that are being released when I sing, can be embraced as spaces and temporalities of a poetic, sensual and healing development.