I have had disappointments. Struggles. Moments that I’ve lost faith in what I used to believe. Oh yes, more than a few. Like most lives, mine is sprinkled with the moments that passed me by, the opportunities I only saw in the rear-view mirror, hopes lost in the fading light of what I thought would be my day. Yet, here I am. Here we all are, those of us still here.
It has not all been easy. It has never been black and white. It has never been that simple – perhaps that is why I dream of adding color to it all in my creative endeavors. But I am not defined by my disappointments, nor am I confined by them. I am shaped by them, changed by them, but never owned by them. It is in the learning that I am set free: free to try again, or free to do my life differently.
I’m an intelligent and logical person but I’m also an empath. I am what many from childhood and even up til now have considered wasteful. You know, the uselessness of having a head in the clouds or a heart perpetually full of feelings and passion that are all an unproductive, non-conducive waste of time. Those things are true, taken to extremes they can be detrimental…but so can the excess of anger and judgment and many other things.
It is through all of my own experiences – especially the difficulties and painful experiences – that I have learned how to authentically be me and to make my soul characteristics, both the darkness and the light of it, not just my way of living but also my way of EARNING a living – because to be a creator is MY PURPOSE. Others don’t have to understand or relate to that – they don’t even have to respect it…they’re consuming what I’m bringing to the table and not bringing a plate to the potluck.
We ALL have a soul purpose. The world needs ALL of us, with ALL of our different gifts. Don’t put people down or judge them because they don’t live the life you would choose for yourself. Thank them, instead, for what they bring into your life with their differences.
The world needs construction workers and emergency services workers and doctors and nurses and teachers and IT people and factory workers and farmers and truckers and on and on to help it to run smoothly. Of course it does. OF COURSE it does.
But do you know what it also needs that just about every one of those “essential” people consume like vitamins? The light of the artists – the realms of the writers, the musicians, the deep thinkers, the actors, the comedians, the magicians, the drawers of magical worlds and the painters of scapes in sound or in color, or both all at once – to escape to.
The world NEEDS the creators of comfort and escape to help the “essential workers” to cope with the stresses of their lives serving others. It needs the creators to help to invent and build the world, but also to help the world remember it’s inner child – the one that existed before it was told it couldn’t be itself and had match the rules that killed it’s true joy – and hopefully in some small way to help that inner child stay alive.
The world needs the dreamers and those brave enough to share their wildest and craziest ideas and creations to help the world see beauty and creativity, to find inspiration, and maybe, in some ways, to heal.
The world needs ALL OF US, all the time.
What has not worked for me in my life has taught me the depths of who I am. It has also taught me the limits of who I am. What has worked for me may not be for everyone but it has helped me to shine when I want to hide in the dark, and the broken parts of me and my past are not monuments made of stone, nor have they turned ME to stone. They are, even at their worst, portals through which I travel into a better tomorrow…or the hope that I one day will.
The experiences I have had and will have are the tools through which I create, through which I manifest and through which I show others (if not by word then by example) exactly what thriving – not just surviving – is.
Or, that is my hope. That is my goal.
That is my heart, and it just wants to make a difference in the lives of struggling people by sometimes making them feel less alone in their darkness by being dark with it but also by helping them to escape through the magic that sometimes pours out of me.
Our magics and our roles may be different, but it takes us all to make the world a happy and comfortable and interesting place to be. So don’t down the dreamer. Don’t loathe the lover. Don’t hate the hurt – because hurt people hurt people. Don’t damn the already damaged.
Don’t waste your time or energy playing the role of jury or judge because you’re neither. That’s not the job of a single one of us. We’re just here to do whatever we do best, whatever drives us and serves the world for the better, and to love – because love is the center of everything, even logic.
We are energetic, crystalline beings living in physical, 3D bodies. We are souls that are taking residence in a vessel so complex we haven’t even completely figured the vessel out yet. There was a time where there was very few awakened souls here on earth, and now many are becoming awake to these truths.
That is the purpose for all of us. We are here to experience this realm of existence while it lasts and to do our soul’s job in this realm to leave it better than we found it. What’s so hard about that? Apparently a lot – perhaps that is why we also need philosophers and psychologists and theologians and spiritual intellectuals whose jobs are to help us to sort through the two realities of spiritual and human existence.
The synopsis? Different types of people with different goals in life really aren’t meant to rub each other with friction causing constant lifequakes (pun totally intended). They’re meant to grease each other up, like lube, if you will, so that we can move more easily through the time that makes up our human life and actually EXPERIENCE IT.
Start moving with life instead of trying to force it to be a certain way. Creating your life is a process. Lube up already. Otherwise, life’s going to keep being rough and leaving friction burns in your soul. 🤷♀️❤️
Hans Zimmer’s “Time,” from Inception, performed by the Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Martin Gellner. Always an all time favorite. Oh, and that’s Hans Zimmer himself playing lead guitar.
This is the most peaceful (in my definition and experience of peace), beautiful piece of orchestral genius I have ever heard in my life. I bawl (usually on the inside) every time I hear it and it’s so healing. It’s on my list.
Before the end of my life I want to play this with an orchestra. The swells. The hidden notes. The soul. The high. The sounds – the language – of the cosmos within it… 😭🎶🙌
I wish I’d never given up music professionally. I wish I’d never studied anything else sometimes. I wish a lot of things, but I chose what I chose. Maybe it’s time to change what I chose because I was “supposed to” at the time, and choose what my heart wants now… My heart is not really at home anymore. It lives someplace it can never really belong, except maybe on that stage, making one sound out of many with all the other musicians, and touching the hearts of others listening (although the practices are the best – when there’s no audience but the orchestra and conductor).
That’s what I’ve come to realize in these months since mama died. I’ve spent all this time trying to figure out how to do life now, and it suddenly hit me why it never feels right now matter what I do. You know? ❤️
What about you? What are your real passions? What is your heart’s truest desires – the things (or thing) that makes you feel like you’re truly where you’re meant to be and not just there because you were shaped or conditioned to be there? What would you do if you didn’t have the responsibilities you have now that you feel like you can’t leave behind?
I’d play the music and move people’s souls – at least, the one’s whose souls are moved by music. We’d travel, and we’d live wild and free in a world of art and music. That’s what we’d do. 😌
Day 2 of the #FavoriteSongsChallenge to #spreadmusicnothate: Moonlight (Quasi una Fantasia) in C# (from Beethoven’s 14th Sonata), performed by Fazil Say. I love this version. It’s a favorite classical piece, but this version is beyond moving because of who he is as a musician….the way he plays it…
I love the way he connects with his instrument…how he treats the music as though it is a tangible, material thing. It’s as though he is not only feeling but also respecting the beauty of what is around him, inviting it into existence, communicating with it, cherishing it, unaware that he is creating it with his tool (and what a tool those Steinway and Sons pianos are) and his skill and gift. It’s all an extension of itself, connected by his innermost being. He breathes it from depths only the sound can express, yet it is almost like you can see the music in a literal sense. It’s so ethereal.
I’m moved. What else can I say. I know this sounds wild to a lot of you…but it’s just so profound to me. Anybody can play – just like anybody can take a picture – but it is the heart and the life and the love of the art that makes it different from what “just anybody” can do. This is how I feel with music… he personifies what happens inside me when I listen to it, or make it. He is literally breathing it in, absorbing it. Beautiful music feeds my soul like soul food feeds my stomach. LOL
Beethoven is one of my favorite classical musicians/composers and Moonlight Sonata is one of my favorite of his works. I’ve never had chill bumps from it the way I did when I listened to this and saw him interacting with the music with such grace and feeling. ❤️
So I saw this challenge in the blogging community where you share a favorite song of yours each day, in no particular order, and as many days as you like (so we’ve got an eternity’s worth here in my “favorites” playlist 😂), and share why you love the song.
For day 1 of the #FavoriteSongsChallenge to #spreadmusicnothate, I give you one of my favorite film songs (and yeah, there’s a lot of scores in my favorites) – Vide cor Meum, from Ridley Scott’s adaptation of Thomas Harris’ book, “Hannibal.”
There’s no reason I love the song other than it’s incredibly moving to me and I am, behind closed doors, a hopeless romantic who loves Dante Alighieri, beautifully moving classical/orchestral pieces, and Hannibal (one of my favorite novel and film trilogies).
Vide cor meum (See my heart) is an aria composed by Irish composer Patrick Cassidy based on Dante Alighieri’s Vita Nova, specifically on the sonnet A ciascun’alma presa, third chapter.
The translation from the lyrics (and the Vita Nova) is:
While thinking of her
A sweet sleep came over me
I am your master
Here is your heart
And on this burning heart
(she) obediently fed
Then I saw him (Amore) leaving in tears
Joy became bitterest lament
I am in peace
I am in peace
See my heart.
The music (not to mention Sir Anthony reciting Hannibal’s interpretation of the Vita Nova) of “The Burning Heart” (another song, from Hans Zimmer’s Hannibal score) is also fabulous.
WTH. I’ll share both for day 1. LOL 🥰❤️
From The Burning Heart:
“He woke her then,
And trembling and obedient
She ate that burning heart out of his hand.
Weeping, I saw him then depart from me.”
Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her
And find nourishment in the very sight of her?
I think so. But would she see through the bars of his plight… and ache for him?
Fun related fact: Dante’s “Inferno” is one of my favorite books. Should we do a favorite books and favorite films tag, too? I say yes. I like seeing the things that make you who you are and having a bit of artistic culture in the mix. There’s more to the world than memes, politics and conspiracy theories. 😉
I love insomnia. 🙂
Ahhhhh memories. Snowmageddon in Alabama, this week in 1993.
I was 14, and I remember my dad yelling at me because I would not come inside once it started snowing. I had never in my life seen snow like this snow – I was completely fascinated. It was different snow. I swear it was physically different than any snow I’d ever experienced up until that moment in my life.
I remember being out there in the backyard, in the dark, at something like 11:30PM, bundled up and just sitting there letting the snow fall on my face and consciously feeling the snowflakes melt on my skin in a way that connected with my soul. I remember thinking about magic and all these ideas I had that were “sinful” according to the cult I was raised in but that were so beautiful to me and how it WAS magical, even if the biblical God created it.
Like, how could those two things not go together, in my mind? They believed in a “holy ghost” that they willingly allowed to possess them and speak in unknown languages through them that wasn’t supposed to be real unless someone in the immediate vicinity could interpret the message.
First of all, why couldn’t God just give it to them straight, and secondly WHY? That was me from about age 2 until the day I die. WHY? What? Constant curiosity. Constant trying of new things. Constant exploration of self and soul and consciousness and the physical earth. None of it ever made sense to me from a religious aspect. Why couldn’t it all just be signs and magic and the fates and wonder and beauty? I still want to know that – where do people go in their life experiences that makes them forget the magic? The spark? The music…?
And yet, here I am. Deep in the depression and what to others seem to be mere suicidal thoughts when those thoughts are really so much more than that. But, we will visit that notion a bit later on…
I remember the “good” things but I remember the “miserable” things, too. And in reality, they weren’t miserable things to me. No power? That’s fine. We had kerosene heaters and propane gas in a tank outside that I used to pretend was a horse and I couldn’t tell you how many cows I roped that were actually logs I’d stood on end or how many criminals I’d captured by shooting them in the leg with hip shots that were actually soda cans I was shooting with a BB gun. We were warm. It was fine.
I remember not having power because I remember the coolers on the back deck that were buried in the snow with all the cold stuff in them, and I remember my dad being a smart ass and using the BBQ grill with an iron skillet to cook eggs just because it was “a fun new way to grill chicken” even though we had a gas stove. Ha! But I remember being completely unbothered by the lack of power. Why? Because of the time I spent with my dad. I remember my dad building a snowman with me that he named Larry and making a tiny one with me that I named Mo.
Curly never got made (built) because that was my mom’s choice but she never came outside and my dad said that if Curly was being built she had to make him with us or her snowman wouldn’t be magical (without her energy in him), so there was no point building a snowman with no magic in him. My dad was an evangelical deacon and that was the first time I ever heard him mention magic from the perspective a kid would and not from the perspective of evil. My mom said to my dad, “oh, fiddlesticks. Magic is not reality.” I will never forget that. It crushed my soul in some way. What happened to the “magic” that had brought me into her life? Did that not exist anymore, or had it ever existed for her at all? That was heartbreaking to me.
My mom did play the piano, though. And instead of being filled with the sounds of Andy Griffith and Lucille Ball and Perry Mason, I was surrounded by the comforting sounds of old (what I thought at the time were just) Southern hymns like, “It Is Well,” How Great Thou Art,” and “I Surrender All,” and classical “hits” from Pachelbel’s “Canon” and beautiful Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” I adored Beethoven. I adored romantic era classical music. I adored music washing over me. I adored my dad’s voice. I adored singing with him. There was that…and laughter. Not so much my mom because she was busy with needlework and knitting and incessant organizing, but my dad and I were having a ball.
I remember walking in the woods behind where my grandmother’s giant garden always lived in a path he cut out for me in this deep ass snow – we walked to this specific place that he would often visit just to sit and reflect on life in the quiet (and magic) of nature, crossing the frozen and snow filled wet weather stream and climbing over mounds of snow on fallen limbs and logs on the way and me being glad the fae that lived in the holes in the bank had “moved away,” as my grandmother had told me, so that they weren’t blocked inside their little fairy houses and if they were ok (the fae in the holes turned out to be snakes, I later learned when I tried to catch a fairy at the age of 7 and ended up pulling out one of those little grey ring neck snakes that I tried to keep as a pet but that went suspiciously missing overnight, only later to learn that my father had let it go – I was so distraught and depressed by this reality that my grandmother literally told me they’d just moved away or gone on vacation and the snake was protecting their homes…ha!).
I digress – as usual… Anyway, we got to this specific place and my dad and I sat there on a log he had cleared of snow. He proceeded to have this talk with me about my religious beliefs and the difference between that and spirituality. He didn’t yell at me for being a sinner or for not believing in or for questioning the cult (obviously, he never thought of it that way but I always did – even before I understood cultism – it NEVER made sense to me how this was love and freedom). He simply quoted to me for the first time in context two scriptures that have always stuck with me (hey, the literature of the Bible is really rather brilliantly written – it has everything good and terrifying in it).
He explained his thoughts on death and salvation to me and I remember very specifically and vividly him saying to me that it didn’t matter WHAT I believed, really, about religion. What mattered was that there was, in his perception, absolutely life after death because how could there not be? Our souls had to exist before we were born in order for them to enter our bodies, he said, and so we must logically still exist once our bodies died. That made sense to me.
That was the day – maybe two days after the snow had fallen – that he told me that the only real truth was the truth in my heart, and that was always the truth I should follow – and seek out, and sometimes chase in times of great despair. “Wherefore, my beloved, as ye have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” It’s Philippians. Chapter two I think (I’m not looking it up, I’m lazy right now).
And then he told me – at 14 and a fourth years old – something that I remember very clearly but am struggling with since he (since they all) died. “We all die, but we never leave the ones we love. I will always be with you. Our Gods may not have the same name but they are one and the same being – love (which I questioned deeply and still do because the God of the Bible is only rarely ever what I would call “loving” – he has to invent a son before he becomes that, which to me is kind of this whole personification of the experience of growing and learning and becoming better and letting go of who you thought you had to be in order for life and your world to work).
Then he quoted another scripture to me that has been my north node for the past five and half years since his death. “And Ruth said: “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”
I want to believe that they are still here. I used to be so faithful to the idea of spirit and energy that it didn’t matter whether I could see the energy with my eyes in a physical manifestation of itself – it was just there, even if it wasn’t, in some form. Now? I don’t know what I believe anymore. Do I still believe that? Absolutely. Scientifically. I mean, hello, gasses that can’t be seen or smelled but can still kill you. Energetic, invisible death.
But in that sense of spirituality and magic? How does that energy put pennies in my bathtub or place heart shaped rocks and leaves directly in my oath where there should not be rocks or random fallen leaves (like in paved parking lots or on concrete pathways in well manicured city parks? I don’t know. Where do the random smells of bacon cooking or the paper mill or even jasmine and smoke when no one is smoking (Dorie) come from? Where does the audible sound of the piano or a typewriter come from when there are no working typewriters in my house (a couple of broken ones, though) and no one is there but me and I’m not playing the piano?
Are these experiences a mere wishful figment of my imagination? Or are they my people, who are still in some way my people, that have not left me? DO THEY still dwell where I dwell, just in a different dimension?
I want to believe that. I choose to believe that. But sometimes that belief hurts…because when I “feel them there,” it’s not enough. I want to hug them and hold them and say the things I didn’t say to them and apologize for things I did say that I wish I hadn’t said. I want to feel their warmth and hear their breath and their voices. I long to just sit with them for a moment and hold their hands in mine. To sing with them. To laugh with them. To feel the safety and the gratitude of their physical presence. But none of our bodies are safe. They will die. They are literally dying now – and have been from the moment we were born. But what about our souls?
I want to go there. I want to know. So when I say I’m ready for that trip? It’s curiosity and it’s existentialism and it’s wonder and in all of my thoughts about it, that place is so much better than this one. It’s not that I don’t deeply love and want to be around the people I love and call friends and family now. It’s missing the soul connections with those people because the physical gets in the way of that in this society and in this world today. It’s not as magical as it used to be.
Things are no longer filled with so much color and shine – although for a moment they were again, for a recent moment…a moment I sometimes wish I’d never had now because the taste of that and then seeing the mirage that it was…that hurts almost worse than losing my people to death, because maybe, just maybe, they still exist where that never did.
These are the thoughts in my mind tonight – or this morning – at 3:33AM. I know they may sound a little delirious and maybe they are. Are my thoughts any more or less real than my soul? Or are they one and the same? This is why I studied and continue to study human behavior and human cognition and spirituality and philosophy. Because I NEED to know. And one day, I will. But not today – because today things need to be cleaned and washed and taught to the boy. So not today…and I should try again to sleep.
I have no idea who I even am anymore…nor, who I wish to be.