I Wrote a Song

I wrote a song. Not too surprising, I’ve written many. But was one of the better ones. I know that because I was inspired by a combination of something I’d read and something I heard. What I read was a poem Voices by Diana DeLuca, about women’s struggles with abuse and our misogynistic, patriarchal, culture. I don’t remember what the song was, but immediately afterward I heard the first verse of a song, based on Diana’s poem, in my head. Over the next few weeks, I wrote the two verses, set them to music, then got the full text of the poem and wrote more verses, added a bridge and finished the whole thing up. That’s the way it seems to work for me, music I have to work hard on turns out forgettable, while the stuff that just “comes to me” is by far the best.

Ah, but that’s not the whole story. You see, something about those words really got under my skin. While I was writing it, I started feeling off, but I really know something was wrong when it seemed that I couldn’t feel any emotions at all! It was like my brain was covered with a thick, white, blanket, and everything was numbed out. It was pretty weird. I knew that my emotions were there, I just couldn’t feel them, and that had me worried. I spent some time in meditation, trying to understand what was going on, but it wasn’t until a couple of days later that it hit me: Working and performing that song had triggered unconscious memories of my own abuse and my automatic defense mechanisms had kicked in. I had detached completely and numbed out all emotions.

Friends tried to help me “cheer up,” but it didn’t make any difference. I wanted to care, I did! But feelings just wouldn’t come. I was torn between wanting them to just give up and go away, and a tiny fear that they actually would. The logical part of my mind knew that this was really messed up, but I didn’t know what was going on. Nothing undermines your sense of self like having your feelings betray you! I’m on the upside now, but I have a ways to go. The key seemed to be the realization, once that happened, the blanket began to lift.

This whole episode was a real surprise, and, maybe, a gift. The process was uncomfortable and a bit frightening, but it had given me an enormous respect for how far I’ve come over the past 50+ years! My friends are fond of telling me how much I’ve changed in just the past couple of years, but that’s nothing compared to what it was like to be nearly emotionless, as I was in my twenties! At the time, of course, I had no idea what I was doing. I had shut things down so early that I had no memory of any other way to be.

Looking back on it now, it looks like a kind of hell: A place where you can’t allow yourself to feel anything but fear, fear of being caught caring about something that could be turned against you. You can’t be passionate about anything, or anyone, and you have to watch people who might want to care for you, get frustrated and walk away, because you won’t ever respond with honest love or affection.

This is a situation, writ large, that happens to all of us, all the time, in the small. It happens to all of us every day, and we are so used to it that we don’t even notice. We hear a snatch of song that makes us happy, or sentimental, or we see a face that makes us nervous or afraid, and we accept those feelings without a second thought. Those feelings are real, they are never questioned! But what if we did? What if we stopped assuming that feelings have any kind of reality to them? What if a feeling was just a feeling, and not a fact? How many times have you had a feeling about something that turned out to be wrong? What would our world be like, if we didn’t allow every person with a scary story, tell us who to love, who to hate, who to trust, who to betray, what to do, what to think? I imagine it would be a very different world, wouldn’t you?

As always, I welcome your questions and comments.

Take care.

The End of September

Now it is the end of September, the days are shorter and weather has been odd. Alternately hot, then muggy, with some spectacular sunrises and sunsets. I’m finding the reality of my situation is coming over me. Being alone didn’t bother me so much, but it seems like the grayness and general bla-ness of the weather is washing all the joy out of my outlook. My persistent lack of work and it’s attending lack of purpose is leaving me with nothing to get out of bed for in the morning. I want to stay optimistic, but there is so little color left and not a lot to look forward to.

Yesterday, a fellow practitioner sent me this note: ”Jealousy is fear. Release it today!” Sounded right to me. I sent back what I felt was a thoughtful answer, but later I realized that it was dismissive. Being honest is a never-ending challenge! I wonder if I will ever get to the point where I can trust myself to not dismiss and deflect the truth when it stares me in the face? I will soon find out if she calls me on it or not. Jealousy is a persistent issue for me whenever I read or hear about other people who have these great spiritual experiences. It makes me feel like a failure. It didn’t take much thinking to find myself back as a 6 year old, being so afraid of being left out, to the point of being excluded by the neighborhood kids because I was so whiney about it.

At any rate, the more I looked into it, the deeper the rabbit hole went. I went as far back in my memories as I could and I saw myself as a small, scared, child. I tried to imagine comforting him, but I couldn’t. I tried the technique of getting my mother to seem better by working with her as a child, but I couldn’t do that either. I couldn’t ever picture my mother as happy and feeling safe. And I recognized that I have always been afraid, and I didn’t know what it felt like to not be afraid. Ever. It’s always there. It doesn’t matter what else is on top of it, or what I’m doing, there is always that undercurrent of what’s going to happen when it’s over. Whatever “it” is: The party, the job, the friendship, the marriage. I have tried, and still try, to hold my life in a death grip of control. I am sure that I will have security by keeping everything exactly as I want it. But even I can see how that doesn’t work. That line from Star Wars “The more you tighten your grip, the more star systems slip through your fingers,” sums it up nicely. The tighter you hang on, the less you have.

On the plus side, I can see that. I can see how letting go and dancing in the flow can bring joy. But then there is always the uncertainty. I’ve never been big on trust, of people, or circumstances. In the back of my mind there’s that knowing that I just need to let things be and continue to put out into the universe what I want to come back. And what I put out can not be out of control or neediness or desperation, because, if I do, that’s what I’ll get back. I has to be honesty, trust, friendship, acceptance, and, someday when I can manage it, love. And it has to be the real deal: Unselfish, non-judgmental, and accepting. Otherwise it’s just more of the same “make me feel better,” or “what’s in it for me,” crap I’ve been dealing with all my life. When I’m objective, I can see that I’m have made a lot of progress, I have a few genuine friends now, which is something I never allowed myself before. But on gray days like this, when the future looks bleak, it just doesn’t seem enough.

When I look at things objectively, there is no reason to think that I won’t be OK, at least for the next few years. But, somehow, a lack of purpose eats away at me. A job would give me a temporary respite from all of this, keeping me busy, allowing me to meet new people, giving me some cash and providing me a piece of stability over the next year, while I rebuild my life after the divorce. Funny how you never think it’s going to happen to you, until it does. What you have may not be great, but at least you have your future planned out and you know what’s going to happen. Then one day, the rug comes out and everything is up for grabs again.

People don’t talk about this stuff, and it’s too bad. Maybe we should have divorce parties and divorce magazines, “How to play the ultimate divorce!” And showers, or a combination garage sale and shower: The two new singles need stuff and they, usually, have a lot of stuff to get rid of. What if it was like a gift exchange? Friends bring in stuff needed to set up a single household, and take away stuff that the former couple no longer need or want. I suppose I should contact a divorce support group. I keep thinking about it, but I haven’t done anything yet.

As usual, writing this out has lifted the grey for now. When all is said and done, it really doesn’t matter if anyone reads this stuff or not, just writing it is an end in itself. It would be nice if this might be some comfort to someone else, or perhaps someone would like to send me a note of support. I’ll just see how that goes.