Category Archives: Random

Language of the Soul

I’ve been listening to a lot of music, lately. I like it because it speeds the day up. I spend 8-9 hours a day staring at a computer screen. Anything that will speed that time up helps. Anyway, I’ve been listening and I’ve noticed, or rather rediscovered, how effectively music stirs up emotions.  I’ve always had songs that made me think of certain people or events events in my life, but it’s more than that. Music is a language all its own. It speak to the human soul (if you don’t believe you have a soul, stop reading now. You probably won’t understand the rest of this).

In the last 7 hours I have laughed, rocked out in my chair, cried, and simply become lost in my own mind. All because of Jango, my chosen streaming site. But, just before I started this blog, something happened that I don’t ever remember happening before.  I heard a song that sent me face to face with one of my own demons. I won’t say what song, that is a bit too personal for a non-fiction post. Though the rhythm was disquieting. I couldn’t stop listening.  It was a familiar song but I couldn’t place it. Then, the words caught me. I pulled up the lyrics (thank you Google) and there is was – my demon… or demons… spread out before me on the page. Every word I have said to myself in the last several months, every thought, every emotion. It was all right there. That’s when I realized why I couldn’t stop listening. The music was speaking to me, on a very deep level. I wasn’t listening, my soul was. It was a powerful realization.

I know this isn’t news to most people. Even when I was a child I understood the depths music could effect people. After all, I grew up in an age where Ozzy was sued for causing teenage suicides. We would all stand around and say it wasn’t the music, but deep down we knew the truth. Music speaks to everyone at the level of their soul. If that soul is black, empty, it will find emptiness in the chords. It is also clear in my mind, a failing grade I had received on a writing assignment. We were to chose something that gave us comfort and explain why. I chose music; I failed for not writing on the topic. Apparently, the writing topic referred to an OBJECT and music, in the instructor’s opinion, was more of an idea. Whatever, I’m still writing and those tests are obsolete…. But, I digress…. again. Back to the music – I often wonder if song writers realize what they create when composing their music.

Has anyone ever heard a country song and imagined themselves barefoot in a pickup truck, driving down to the river for fishing? (*author raises hand*)  What about a song that makes you want to hit the highway and drive without a plan? (*hand up again*) For me, the song determines the direction I head, either west to the ocean or east to the hills…. I usually head east. What about love songs? Married ladies, can you remember the song you danced to at your wedding? Do you remember why you chose it? And how many of us, after suffering a broken heart, have sat listening to every sad song in our library (*author raises hand*). Eventually, we get over it. But there is always that one song that breaks our heart all over again, even after someone has come along to mend it. “My Immortal” always brings me back to my first pregnancy… and miscarriage. As I said, we get over it. I did. That song has taken on other meanings in recent months but the pregnancy is always the first event I associate with the music.

Music is an amazing art. It is a series of tones, mathematically arranged into chords, which are mashed together in organized chaos to create a tune, which is transformed into a language. The language of the soul…

…Oh! If you are wondering, during the song I faced my demons, admitted they exist, and quietly moved to the next track… I’m still to much of a coward to take them on…

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Lost Inspiration

I’ve learned over the years that inspiration is not a force to be commanded. It is a whispering sigh from The Universe when it feels the need to create. I have been waiting almost a year for inspiration… Well, maybe not that long. Certainly, I have not heard it’s call since starting the antidepressants. Which begs the question, does alcohol and Depression feed The Muse? Look at the great writers: Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Poe.. Even the “King” of horror has had his battles with drugs and alcohol. And there are so many others who’s names escape me. All of them suffered with one vice or another. I suppose, it is better to not suffer and let The Muse be silent…

     …It is strange, though. I never considered myself depressed. I was unhappy, of course. And that unhappiness fed the darkness where my writing occured. But Depression? No, not me… never… Just goes to show self diagnoses it not the way to go… Neither is self medication but why take all the fun out of life. Now.. what was I saying…..

      Oh, yes! Inspiration. It’s true, my Muse is quiet these days. The worlds I created in my imagination seem no more or less exciting than the one I live in. The one we call “Reality”. Sigh, I hate that word sometimes. It holds far too many “impossibles” in it. It’s odd to feel the void left by my departed Muse. She has been with me so long, watching in good times, helping me to escape in bad times. But She is gone now. I half hope She is going to return on the storm clouds I see gathering outside… but they feel as empty as the imaginary rooms in which She once thrived. No, I fear She is gone forever and I am now lost to reality…. that hated word.

      I am not entirely alone, though. I have my daughter, my husband, my friends, my meds and red wine. But none of them, no matter how precious, can fill the void I sense inside, the one left by my Muse. And, it is times like these I feel it most. Days when the clouds gather, darkening the sky. Days when the silence inside is so loud I can’t ignore it. Days when I want to write and have nothing to say.

     So, here I sit. Waiting for posters to print and calculations to finish. And I write a sentence here or there. Rambling about nothing. Perhaps, if I truly wish to write, I should consider writing Non-Fiction? I could write about….. what? My life – my “reality” – doesn’t hold much in it worth writing about. I suppose I could share my struggle with Depression. I do feel that familiar feeling returning…. The feeling I am a ghost within the lives of those I have known, and those I still speak to. But it is faint, somehow. Fighting to surface like mist searching for a keyhole. A small crack in which to slip through. I suppose the meds have filled all the holes in my armor. Kind of like that foamy stuff you spray and watch expand. I tell myself it is a good thing I have that barrier of protection. It’s good I am safe from the darkness where unimaginable thoughts can circle like vultures. But I’m afraid I have locked my Muse out in that darkness by mistake. and without the full force of the Depression weighting on me it becomes  hard to write about.

      You see, for me Depression was never about sadness. It was about numbness. So, to talk about how I felt before the medications is impossible. I felt nothing…. there were one or two that touched my heart, but mostly I was numb. And my Muse fed on that emptiness as she whispered to the pen in my hand, or keyboard under my fingers. And now, She is gone. I must give up writing or find a new Muse. I don’t have the energy for such a search; not right now, anyway. I have too much to do. Work, school, websites, and rescues… I have a very full life. And if I continue to fill it with these things, I may forget to miss my Muse. But for now – meds or no meds – I am saddened by the loss…. And I will continue to hope for Her return….


Silence

I’m having trouble sleeping tonight. It happens on occasion. While I sat sipping my tea, a single line came into my head. From it, I built the following. Perhaps, it is meant to be a poem. I believe I am too tired to tell. I may refine it in the future, when I’ve had more sleep…..

Between life and death, there is silence. You’ll hear it in the middle of night. While all around sleeps quiet, the spirit emits its soft sound. You won’t hear it by daylight, as you rush about in your day. You won’t hear it by moonlight, as sleep carries you away. It is not a product of deafness, nor an unwillingness to hear. It is the silence within us, music for only our ears. It is times like these you will hear it. Only now does the song of the spirit ring. Between life and death there is silence. The sweet, simple music of being…