So I started at the VA in San Francisco just two weeks ago as a music therapy fellow with MusicianCorps, and it's been one long blur of logistics and bureaucracy that I don't need to bore you with. Let's just say that getting something done at the VA reminds me of trying to buy vodka for my host family in Russia right after the Soviet Union fell: you had to wait in a long line in order to get a number, another line to choose your item, and a last line to pay for it a good two hours later.

But all of this is inconsequential, because I am beginning to experience a connection with the vets and the staff that fills me with something greater, beyond what we see tangibly in the here and now. For example, today I played the guitar and sang for a man in hospice who was actively dying, playing in the rhythm of his breath. It was a strange feeling, and confusing; did he hear the music, and if he did, who was I to assume my music was special enough for this man's last day on earth? And yet, when I left the room the nurse on duty hugged and thanked me. It was unexpected and lovely.

This feeling continued in a drumming group. Last week I attempted to "teach" the members of the group how to drum, and many of them just couldn't handle this cognitively. Today one started to drum and we all just went with it. We improvised for 45 minutes straight and they still wanted to keep going. One man told me that this was "the best thing that happened" since he came to the VA hospital. I was told later that this was the first time he'd left his bed in weeks. 

The thing that hits me every day is that it isn't me making this happen; it's the music. Sometimes I forget that you need to step out of the way and let the music transform the situation. I have seen this again and again, and it never fails to inspire and fill me with hope and gratitude.