You grow, You Roar...Make your voice break, Sing it out..Music

Since I first produced vibrations in my vocal cords, I have been singing.  I was in the church, elementary, middle and high school choirs, select choirs and have been honored with some tremendous opportunities with music. I sang Handel's complete Messiah at the age of nine, and every year thereafter for ten more years.  I made some attempts to go further with music but once I hit about 21 years old and my self-doubt took over completely, I backed away from singing in public.  Don't get me wrong, I sing almost everywhere: at home, in the car, in the shower, at work when no one is around, at work when others are around, when I am walking my dog, when I am in the elevator by myself, etc.  Music to me is like a movie montage where a character opens the door to her home and sees her version of heaven outside.  Majestic fields await a blissful, carefree day of galavanting through fields and picnicking by a beautiful body of water, shaded from the hot sun by the most glorious oak tree.

What is it about music that opens this door?

Sometimes I have a vision of myself peeking through the sound hole of a cello, hearing my own perfect symphony and being swallowed up by its sound, which at the same time fills me with vivid colors, shapes and light all of which move the way I conduct them to.  It is as if music can speak, and I am directing its speech.  I have always wanted to crack open the whole front of this instrument, dive into the swimming pool of beautiful sounds and submerge myself in the whirling passages of light that accompany the threads of sound.  I hear Beethoven and Mozart competing for my notice, Brahms softly embracing my dreams, Vivaldi flirting with my desires, Tchaikovsky demanding my attention.  I close my eyes and I hear beautiful synchronized music; classical music brushes against the most bare fibers of my soul.

Twelve years ago I discovered a band who provides for me the experience of being swallowed up into an alternate state of mind where I can be free.  With their music, I find myself dreaming like never before.  My classical composers seem to stare in shock as I look at them through a glass wall; my attention cannot be theirs, for it belongs to this band which captivated me in 2001 and again and again each time they come out with a new album.  Their mellifluous melodies intertwine with rich harmonies, whilst all but enveloping my soul. When I listen to their music, in a sudden dream I find myself yearning for my future, O how glorious it could be!  My senses are flown to their furthest peaks and I am left suspended over mountains, valleys and beautiful bodies of water, which cannot be described as anything other than what I would call utter perfection.

In music it does not matter if I am single, married, tall, short, fat, slim, unhealthy, healthy.  I can be broken and still be a part of a beautifully constructed composition of notes, webbed together to tell me that everything is going to be alright.  Imperfection is respected, cherished.  I can have a bad day and find a musician who once did, but who is able to tell me in song that this too shall pass, but who won't demand that I accept that this very minute.  I can be ethereally happy and have someone proclaim this through a sweet melody and a beautifully haunting harmony.  Music guides me, it pulls my senses and desires, begging them to step outside of this box in which I have hidden from the world.  My mood can often be changed by the softest chord, or most severe demand on my attention that an organ can provide (thanks Beethoven).

I would like to find myself lost in music again the way I was when I was younger. I would like to find myself in an opportunity where music can be my career, and not just my most lovely hobby. I accept my career and life for what they are right now, and escape only when I can find the fantastic escape that music can offer.  I vow to take control of my life bits at a time, and draw on music to keep me walking down a path that I want to go down.  The paths are never perfect, never straight, flecked with sunshine, riddled with diversions, but nearly always in my control.

To Sigur Rós and separately to Jónsi, both of whom whose music I have been listening to for the last few hours (and decade), and who will most likely never read this, I'll never be able to repay you for the years of rescue, refuge and solace you all have offered me.  Your sounds are the perfect mix of classical music, and sensory experience, and... 'je ne sais pas.'  It is soul and awe-inspiring. And I thank you...

I'm off to dream, good night.

Don't want the scab, only want the scar

FYI, this post has a slightly more adult theme to it (a couple of edited curse words, basically). Just be warned! :) 

So, I'm a bleeding heart (no pun intended, you'll see why in a minute) Iron & Wine fan.  I have been since long-before Garden State. For the movie, Zach Braff came to my house, stole all of my music, put my favorites it in his movie and gave me no credit. It was devastating! I'm totally kidding, of course, but it sure felt like that. ;)  Especially after people always say 'Oh, do you like so-and-so because of Garden State?' and then I wanted to slam my head through a brick wall. 

Anyway, I digress. A common theme.  "Let's circle back" as an old boss used to say (nails on a chalkboard)!  Iron & Wine have a song called Innocent Bones.  I've always loved it.  It's relaxing, the instruments are great, and I love the vocals. Here are the lyrics: 

Cain got a milk-eyed mule from the auction
Abel got a telephone 

And even the last of the blue-eyed babies know
That the burning man is the color of the end of day
And how every tongue that gets bit always has another word to say 

Cain bought a blade from some witch at the window
Abel bought a bag of weed 

And even the last of the brown-eyed babies see 

That the cartoon king has a tattoo of a bleeding heart 
There ain't a penthouse christian that wants the pain of the scab, but they all want the scar 
How every mouth sings of what it's without so we all sing of love 
And how it ain't one dog who's good at f--king and denying who he's thinking of

Cain heard a cat tumble limp off the rooftop 
Abel heard his papa pray 
And even the last of the black-eyed babies say 
That every saint has a chair you can borrow in a church to sell
That the wind blows cold across the backs of a master and the kitchen help 
There's a big pile of innocent bones still holding up the garden wall 
And it was always the broken hand we learned to lean on after all 
How God knows if Christ came back he'd find us in a poker game 
After finding out the drinks were all free but they won't let you out the door again

So the three lines of lyric that I love the most are bolded.  I know that every time I get bit I fight back.  With PTSD, I generally don't realize what I'm saying until it's too late. It's fight or flight - my brain's in flight, but I fight.  I'm getting better though. Win! 

The second lyric, "There ain't a penthouse christian that wants the pain of the scab, but they all want the scar" hits me every time I hear it, and I think of this lyric probably 3 times a week. I want to be 140 pounds. Do I honestly want to work it off ounce by ounce, 1-2 pounds per week until I get there? Goodness no! But, I'm going to, because magic wands do not exist, except for in Harry Potter....Those b*st*rds. ;-)  Win, I'm fighting back!

To those who feel like they need to fight or flight and are weighing heavily on the latter part, think about the second and third bolded lines: What are you running from? Are you looking for the scar, but running from the pain of the scab? Remember, it was always the broken hand we learned to lean on after all.  We can run, we can lash out, we can give up. We learned to lean on the broken hand, we learned to be weak, we learned to give up.  So UN-LEARN it all. 

The voices of Negative Nancy, Pissy Paula, Bitter Betty (sorry if your first names are any of these!) will visit us all sometimes, but have the option to have last word with them. I'm choosing to Win. Win with me.