Friday, January 27, 2012

Slap out of it!

Flickr- via Llima

Okay, so before I even start I have to admit something terrible. No doubt you're going to think less of me after I say it, and you might even stop reading this blog for a while. I can't blame you, because what I'm about to admit is so awful that I almost hate myself for it.

I was listening to Enya. 

And it made me think.

I'm so sorry, everyone...but it's true and that's just how it is. I can't help what makes me think and even though I CAN help what I listen to, I was weak and fallible. Blame it on the "human condition" if you like. We all fall down sometimes, right?

Anyway, back to Enya. (Again, let me say that I never, ever thought those words would appear on this blog...) The song is called "Marble Halls" and let's just pretend it's a poem. After all, had I read some Dickinson or Bronte no one would think the lesser of me, except philistines and they can go to hell.

I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls
with vassals and serfs at my side,
and of who assembled within those walls
that I was the hope and the pride.
I had riches all too great to count
and a high ancestral name.
But I also dreamt which pleased me most
that you loved me still the same,
that you loved me
you loved me still the same,
that you loved me
you loved me still the same.

I dreamt that suitors sought my hand,
that knights upon bended knee
and with vows no maiden's heart could withstand,
they pledged their faith to me.
And I dreamt that one of that noble host
came forth my hand to claim.
But I also dreamt which charmed me most
that you loved me still the same
that you loved me
you loved me still the same.

The words to this song absolutely murder me. They're so very romantic and idealistic. They speak of unending love, of vast and dramatic commitment and heartbreaking devotion. What's not to love?! But this is a song, or a poem, or just a list of words strung together depending upon how you read them. They're just words and words aren't real life.

Promises are made and broken every single day. Paths are started and abandoned as well. We think we know something, we think we're on the journey to one place and suddenly we find that something has happened to knock us off kilter. And sometimes that's good. Last week I told you that your Muse will do just that very thing and you should embrace it, savor it, and protect it with all your might. But what happens to us when the journey we start and can't finish, or the path we're knocked off of, is the one we WANTED? What if we're with our Muses and something comes along to break it apart?

All the romantic talk in the world can't fix that, and that's just life. We will have heart breaks and let-downs and periods of intense sorrow and suffering. There will be times when our Muse is silent and it feels like forever...and what do we do then? The times when we feel adrift, and unloved, without suitors or high ancestral names are the very times we need to summon something other than a Muse.

When we're lost we have to tap into our human condition, the same one that brought me to an Enya song (and hopefully your moment won't be quite so dire and awful...maybe hit up Miles Davis or Death Cab for Cutie...even Elliot Smith for the love of government cheese). Or maybe you read the Queens of death knells: Emily Dickinson or Syliva Plath. What I'm saying is that if you open up to the condition of suffering, in all forms, that everyone on the planet is feeling at any given moment, maybe you'll feel less alone. Buddha agrees with me on this one, and you KNOW how I feel about him. (If you don't, read here.)

I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls...but I also dreamt, which charmed me most, that you loved me still the same. Even if it's just a dream, tap into it and trust that you're not by yourself on this journey. Find whatever small positives you can to balance the negativity and hang on for dear life to that.

Sometimes it's all you have, but sometimes it's all you need.

And remember too, that each moment no matter how hard, no matter how tragic, SHALL PASS. It's all fleeting. The beginning of this post is in the past and it's gone. The phone call you dreaded to get is over and it's a memory now. Each day and each moment is fleeting, and there's nothing so permanent that it'll never ever stop. Perhaps your Muse will return to you someday, the meantime, trust that we're all having hours and days and weeks and months where we wish we could slip into the dream and stay there. It's called "being alive" and like everything else, it too shall pass. 

So dig in and hang on. We're all in it together.

1 comment:

  1. Well stated. Like you, I've been on a poetry in music kick, but the stuff I am listening to is good. ;)