‘Music is my drug’, written in 2007. After a long term relationship ended I found a lot of time to write. 2007 was a productive year for poetry and journaling. Once again the feeling of displacement and solitude ruled the days. I rented a room, back to square one with myself. The room was carefully organized to include a queen bed, shelves of books and sentimental items, a desk and chair. There was just enough room around the bed to walk and just enough space between the desk and bed to pull a chair out and slide in position to write.
This room offered a view of possibly the largest palm tree I’ve seen. It didn’t appear to ever have been groomed of the dead fronds. Layers upon layers of brown and green that made a most interesting sound when the wind blew. I loved the time in that room. While I was gathering myself back together as one does following a break-up I spent a fair amount of down time staring out the window at that palm tree. There was an elderly woman who I admired told me “Honey, if all you can do some days is watch the wind blow leaves on a tree then so be it.”
I don’t recall ever having heard apathy described in such a way as permission to lay and watch leaves move. I still do it twelve years later as a sort of meditative tune-out.
Music and meditation, apathy and elation.
Let’s talk about the above poem. The beginning is in reference to the person I had ended the relationship with. He had generations of family in the area. I had none. It was a difficult decision to make to go it alone again. “Been drifting since birth into an abyss of drugless justice.” Drifting again, arms open to the possibility of new beginnings. The only ‘drugs’ I’ve partaken of other than prescriptions are weed and shrooms. I’ve been made fun of by guys I briefly dated for never having tried the gamut of drugs that tends to be a part of rite of passage into adulthood. I always had the feeling one, if I tried any heavy drugs I would take it all the way and destroy myself and two, I had to keep my health available to work and not become dependent on anyone thus placing myself in dire situations.
Other than writing, music has been a consistent love. I remember buying my first 45 for the little plastic record player I had. It was Peaches & Herb, “Reunited” song. That song and “Flashlight” by Parliament were my favorites. I grew up in a handful of foster homes which provided me exposure to various genres of music. I also spent a short amount of time living with my birth mother who I remember loved to sing Loretta Lynn and folk songs primarily. “Music is my drug, music heals my soul. Music doesn’t ask me questions and it doesn’t tell me lies, it comforts me in times of need, withholds it’s alibis.”
I’ve been told I have such a great stone or poker face that I should teach it. I don’t know about teaching it but I do know it has served me well during this strange life. “Poker face becomes displaced, eyes penetrate the unknown. The wall is higher than ever before, forever, music is my home.” I was single, with my walls up. Stepping into the unknown, walls of protection around my heart. Letting the days come and go with the comforts of dependable time spent listening to music. “Music is my home.”