I started here to ask if you if music can save your mortal soul, but Don McClean asked that years ago, the Day the Music Died.
There are so many options for music. My current addiction has to do with Auditions from talent competitions (I think I have a crush on Simon Cowell, please don't tell him). I used to say "I love everything but opera". That is no longer true. There are many pieces that I have come to love. I don't know how it happens, but there is a hand that cups my heart and gives a gentle squeeze and my eyes well with tears.
Mozart was challenged to write an opera in German. This had never been done before. He wrote a piece for a woman whose voice was enthralling to him. The Queen of the Night aria, from the Magic Flute.The story is a queen demanding her daughter marry a man she despises or mother will kill her. I can listen to it two or three times in a row, then my brain just cannot make my voice construct that sound. Diana Damrau constructs this particular aria with her soul. I am enchanted by the way her body becomes involved and embraces the sounds:
There is a singer my daughter inducted me to nearly a decade ago. His name is Vitas. His range is phenomenal. This is my favorite of his. It's a love song written by a crane to the Moon. Astonishing.
There are few people who can tolerate my music. Especially when I get motivated. I start looking for things I have never heard. I beg for tunes. I find new and old. This one is fairly new to me. I listen. I feel.
Healing. It covers the wounds of my soul with stanzas and notes and pure sound. A salve for stings. A poultice for pain. A tea for tribulations.
I have no 'go-to' tune for a consistent refreshment. I would love to say there was ONE SONG that made it all better. There isn't. Pain is never the same. The need for bouncing around the house doing my really crappy Risky Business dance just has no soundtrack. Today the Soggy Bottom Boys. Yesterday Sam Baily. The day before, well it was Beyonce.
SING LIKE NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
A mini-me update:
I've been feeling entirely more Me in the last few months. Haven't really said much more than little obnoxious asides on Life & Me.
Four years I've been living under new 'management'. PTSD & ME has been a liaison I wish no one to share. I forget. I'm scattered. I'm moody as a prepubescent girl. I am eagerly distracted (no, that wasn't autocorrect "eagerly distracted").
My closest and best therapy has been Scooter. He helped me learn focus and that little things really ARE the big things.
I've gained a few insights on myself. A big one is that I spent a very log time practicing medicine. With that came the internal dialog, external dialog, global survey, assessing current physiological status of everyone around me to know if/who was capable of maintaining the forward momentum that dictated every aspect of my career. This multitasking thought process is an ability I am sure many are aware of. However, fractured brains that KNOW only this thought process require a multitasking in healing/entertainment/silencing/measuring/growing/sealing simultaneously.
I have researched history. Moved backwards, Nixon, Franklin (my Fav), Vikings, Rome, Greece, Huns, Silk Road, etc....Egypt has been a long time favorite. As have the Aztecs (thanks, Ma).
I have begun a slow and steady nurture in the yard. Removing the locals deadly (to me) insects by drawing in insect eating birds. Supplementing the soil this season with my prolific marigolds.
Leading my rowdy canine down the path of Peace. So she can help remind me to center (for this, I deeply miss Monster Berry Pie).
I spend a few hours everyday creating. Solid goals ahead of me with deadlines. I am making them. I am pleased.
I have found if I have little interest, I give it no attention. None. Delete. Moving On.
I've revamped the Blog I haven't touched in a coons age. I have a few goals with that as well.
I MUST multitask. My brain has no choice. It's just how it works. I can sew for hours, but I need a nature documentary on head phones droning on. I can type thoughts out quite clearly, but I need music to move the words.
There is more. There will be more. I have goals. I make small ones. One step in a process (today I am cleaning out THIS cupboard). I must then STOP. Clean up my mess. And then I can go do something else. Two hour blocks of time. The length of an average 9-1-1 call.
Beginning. Middle. End.
Welcome Aboard, the train is now leaving the station. If I don't LOVE it, it's donated.