Today, as most days, songs occupy the inner region of my mind. A chorus will spring up, a trio, a soloist, a rythmn. Numerous times it can be one song repeated over again until it is sung. Other times, it is a thematic display represented by many forms of our diverse musical repetoire.
Tonight, at the crux of reliving some recent memories, Peter Paul and Mary started to sing. Yet, instead of the usual movement of poignant love, somehow the tune threw me into a swirling mix of emotion as Mary and I changed perspective, Carleton came face to face with me, and sang one verse, then I another. Quickly, reality met loved loss, with my barriers of responsibility crumbling and those pang of hurt and disorder being held back joined with the fragments of regret and anger.
The discordant music clashed, causing poised cords to clash in calamity, jarring my control and eliciting anguish as memories accused me and begged me to connect.
Usually, I find the depths of my memory and the vast music repetoire ensconced in my soul assists me to cope with the vagaries of others and the circumstances life can throw my way. Usually music is capable of moving me past hurts, quickly through terrors, and rescues me from that area, that prison where pain, loneliness, worry and depression are confined in my being. Those dark thoughts are restrained and left starved in that small space. Those feelings, the dark history is banished there along with past harmful thoughts.
Yet, when I am at my weariest, or when I venture too close to that restricted prison where regret reigns, or an event throws me near to the lair of mistakes and the morose, the Muse of Music acknowledges their presence. While they speak, Music stirs the survivors of those imprisoned terrorists of my inner strength and peace into a chorus of morose communication, a choir of terrible consequence, which can rob me of my pride and my strength, bending my knees into a sobbing grief. The Muse can communicate a wealth of emotion through any songs which once brought joy to clearly communicate the true costs of those dalliances with darkness.
These dark forces, while contained, still are empowered to remind me of realities most in humanity would prefer to ignore are no on their own, evil. Their whispers do not lie, they simply confirm the worst imaginable, test our sanity, prepare us for possibilities, and balance our fantasies. They can freeze us in our failures, force us to live out our rejection, even examine our resulting pain. Music reluctantly submits to their cries, providing a complex harmony sometimes in minor keys to focus their intent to subject me to their intensity and invasion.
Fortunately, while the examination of past crimes is in full swing, the Muse changes the key, moves minor to major, and with a complexity of chorus, can rescue my very Soul, at its darkest, most overwhelmed, and rush me back to the joy of life for me to recover from the taste of Death itself. The cost may be the loss temporarily of strength, yet Hope quickly responds bringing powerful cords of communion to reenergize the husk. And, while the horror of grief recedes once more, the last of drying tears are wiped from my cheek, the cathartic release of that visit resonates with the memories of Loves. I can rest as I have not rested in nights after a nightmarish hour or two of reliving lost contacts, having greeted their specters without appropriate supervision. Music, having been subject to reality, rescued me once more, after an awful wrong turn had cast me at the doorstep of Darkness.
Tonight, as the song list of my mind played, some of those songs and the words therein touched the dark areas of my mind. Be careful what you carve into your memory. You might identify with me if you have an area of your memory where the morose and the painful are imprisoned. Music takes you where you must go. Fortunately, for me, it continues to rescue me from the places where I find myself lost, bringing me back to safety.
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