'Twas the day before the New Year...
It's December 30, and the New Year is approaching fast. The end of the year brings with it a flurry of emotions: regrets, some resentments, awareness of 'oopppss's!', fond memories, sad ones, impossible ones, and with a little work, joyful moments, contentment instances, together with their sighs and lung-filling inhales.
The morning brought with it sadness. Tiredness? Interrupted sleep, maybe? Or was it that 2nd. cup of Porto, on ice. That extra 2 oz., most probably. Hmmm. Anyway, not being able to dwell upon it for the dogs were 'chomping at the bit' to go out and relieve themselves, we went for a longer than usual walk and then after feeding them sat down with a cup of coffee in hand, to read Nepo's thoughts of the day. Wonder what he'll have for the end of the year...
Boom! The reading reveals somewhat of my inner drama making itself felt thru sluggishness, soft discomforts, a sense of sadness, and a high- pitched session of the 'jungle-in-between-the-ears', other wise termed 'tinnitus'. Aggghhh!
Dec 29: Sing Then
As long as we sing, the pain of the world cannot claim our lives.
"Where is this going?, I internally ask. And the answer makes itself readily available...
Boom!, boom!, boom!
Before I could recoil into attempting to imagine myself profiling a song, a tune, the paragraph that follows makes itself present:
Tears...
Sing? Permission to sing? In Spanish, in my "spanglish"...? How did he, the author, know?
But it's not that, it's the language reeling from pain. He is referring to my usual response, my behavioral habit, my reactive addiction upon hurt and its correlated pain. That language is the one.
And to open up in a cry all the places that have been shutdown, by myself, by others. Those places that contain the willful silence squashing a response in the face of danger, of a slap, of a fist, of a shrieking voice, of a "pity-me" string of verses uttered yet once again by an 'offended' loved one, relative, friend or stranger. That 'dungeon' that harbors so many unexpressed words, thoughts, fears, pains, that have been kept locked for so long, for their energies if released, would surely splinter me. They sometimes ooze out especially upon some sweet, kind utterance from a venerable soul unaware of their impact, touches them.
Nepo asks me to sing for that energy will transform the bottled, shuttered cries, softening the dangers that created them. But also within that, there are the forces named by similarly structured letters forming the label - not "d-a-n-g-e-r", but that remaining when the first letter is dropped, the 'd': "anger". Hmmm: "Danger-Anger". Are these two so involved? Naturally linked? How much of that 'soup' can possibly be contained within, and needs to come out if anything in small spills, so as to avoid "a catastrophe of living" and thus heal??? OMG!
Yes, I must sing. Yes. So much needs to "be brought from within into the world".
And in obedience, I move to the keyboard, my life-long "confession-aire", my inner room where memories are honored, intentions proposed, hurts softened, shadows lit...tunes and chords enjoyed. I open one of the older song books. Its spine is ripped thru the years of use. And I let my fingers, thumbs and index fingers of both hands shuffle edges to a place, any place will do. And there it is. Wow. Can't be. I feel the rush - palpitations. An old favorite, a special song. Not "Sing, sing a song..." but...Bacharach's & Hal David's "What's it all about, Alfie". Its words...
What's it all about, Alfie?... Is it just for the moment we live?
What's it all about when you sort it out, Alfie?
Are we meant to take more than we give?...Or are we meant to be kind?
...
As sure as I believe there's a heaven above, Alfie...I know there's something much more,
Something even non-believers can believe in...
I believe in love, Alfie
Without true love we just exist, Alfie
Until you find the love you've missed you're nothing, Alfie
When you walk let your heart lead the way
And you'll find love any day, Alfie...Alfie
Too much - too early. Let's go running instead, walking won't do: tears are oozing...
The morning brought with it sadness. Tiredness? Interrupted sleep, maybe? Or was it that 2nd. cup of Porto, on ice. That extra 2 oz., most probably. Hmmm. Anyway, not being able to dwell upon it for the dogs were 'chomping at the bit' to go out and relieve themselves, we went for a longer than usual walk and then after feeding them sat down with a cup of coffee in hand, to read Nepo's thoughts of the day. Wonder what he'll have for the end of the year...
Boom! The reading reveals somewhat of my inner drama making itself felt thru sluggishness, soft discomforts, a sense of sadness, and a high- pitched session of the 'jungle-in-between-the-ears', other wise termed 'tinnitus'. Aggghhh!
Dec 29: Sing Then
As long as we sing, the pain of the world cannot claim our lives.
"Where is this going?, I internally ask. And the answer makes itself readily available...
"...it has become very clear that giving voice to what is inner is essential to surviving what is outer. No matter where we live or whom we love, no matter what we want or what we can't have, this is the lesson...
When everything in life presses from outside of us, we have no choice but to sing like scared children relying on the song to stop the pain, the way that fire stalls the cold. This is the secret of all spirit, why it cannot stay inside, but must be brought from within us into the world. For it is the song from within that keeps the pain of living from snuffing our lives. It is the song from within ignited, again and again, that keeps the world going. ...
As night and day take turns on this massive Earth spinning nowhere (my edit: 'now-here'...?), the song we share within takes turns with the catastrophes of living. When we go silent, the age goes dark."
Boom!, boom!, boom!
Before I could recoil into attempting to imagine myself profiling a song, a tune, the paragraph that follows makes itself present:
"Sing, then, in whatever tongue your pain has taught you. Sing, though you have no training and never went to school. Sing, because the cry from all the places you have kept quiet will stall the cold, will soften the danger, will keep the world possible for one more turn...."
Tears...
Sing? Permission to sing? In Spanish, in my "spanglish"...? How did he, the author, know?
But it's not that, it's the language reeling from pain. He is referring to my usual response, my behavioral habit, my reactive addiction upon hurt and its correlated pain. That language is the one.
And to open up in a cry all the places that have been shutdown, by myself, by others. Those places that contain the willful silence squashing a response in the face of danger, of a slap, of a fist, of a shrieking voice, of a "pity-me" string of verses uttered yet once again by an 'offended' loved one, relative, friend or stranger. That 'dungeon' that harbors so many unexpressed words, thoughts, fears, pains, that have been kept locked for so long, for their energies if released, would surely splinter me. They sometimes ooze out especially upon some sweet, kind utterance from a venerable soul unaware of their impact, touches them.
Nepo asks me to sing for that energy will transform the bottled, shuttered cries, softening the dangers that created them. But also within that, there are the forces named by similarly structured letters forming the label - not "d-a-n-g-e-r", but that remaining when the first letter is dropped, the 'd': "anger". Hmmm: "Danger-Anger". Are these two so involved? Naturally linked? How much of that 'soup' can possibly be contained within, and needs to come out if anything in small spills, so as to avoid "a catastrophe of living" and thus heal??? OMG!
Yes, I must sing. Yes. So much needs to "be brought from within into the world".
And in obedience, I move to the keyboard, my life-long "confession-aire", my inner room where memories are honored, intentions proposed, hurts softened, shadows lit...tunes and chords enjoyed. I open one of the older song books. Its spine is ripped thru the years of use. And I let my fingers, thumbs and index fingers of both hands shuffle edges to a place, any place will do. And there it is. Wow. Can't be. I feel the rush - palpitations. An old favorite, a special song. Not "Sing, sing a song..." but...Bacharach's & Hal David's "What's it all about, Alfie". Its words...
What's it all about, Alfie?... Is it just for the moment we live?
What's it all about when you sort it out, Alfie?
Are we meant to take more than we give?...Or are we meant to be kind?
...
As sure as I believe there's a heaven above, Alfie...I know there's something much more,
Something even non-believers can believe in...
I believe in love, AlfieWithout true love we just exist, Alfie
Until you find the love you've missed you're nothing, Alfie
When you walk let your heart lead the way
And you'll find love any day, Alfie...Alfie
[Alfie lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC]
Too much - too early. Let's go running instead, walking won't do: tears are oozing...
Comments
Post a Comment
Share with me your thoughts, insights, reactions, your way of seeing it;. That is a real conversation. Thanks! ¡Gracias!