Archive for the ‘Dark Phase’ Category

I’ve been meaning to write.

I’ve been meaning to write about pain and loss and grief and the importance of finding small joys.  I’ve been meaning to write about uncertainty and inevitability, the uncomfortable position of navigating a friend’s mourning process in hopes of offering solace and support, and the even more difficult conversations you have with people for whom hope is not an option, but neither is defeat.

I’ve been meaning to write about my own anxiety and the endless one-note symphony of my creative failure.   I’ve been meaning to write about the hard, dull thud in one’s soul when, just for a moment, you catch of glimpse of your place in the universe.   I’ve been meaning to write about fear – fear of having traveled the wrong path for too long, the fear of aging and the unspoken powers of youth.    I’ve been meaning to write about the inequities of physical beauty, and raw, tangible talent versus much-practiced, lesser abilities.

But when I sit down to arrange any of this in a reasonable, logical fashion I get stuck on how unreasonable and illogical it all is.  And I feel helpless.  I cannot give myself the attributes I do not possess and I cannot change the circumstances of those I see around me.   And really, they aren’t in the same realm are they?  Absolute loss and misguided expectations are two different aspects of the hard parts of life.

And so I haven’t written at all because I don’t know what to say.

I tell myself to keep seeking out the small joys – dancing in the living room with my kids, singing in the car, enjoying that first cup of coffee in the morning.  I tell myself that as long as I’m alive and healthy with a roof over my head I can still work out the feelings of inadequacy and failure.  I tell myself that the time to save face and hold back is over.  There’s nothing to save; let people look and laugh or look and admire or ignore it all.  But there really is nothing to be saved for later.

Give it all now.  Give it all you’ve got.

small joys

Letting Go

Posted: September 6, 2013 in Dark Phase, images, motherhood
Tags: , ,

I am teaching my children time travel.  It works like this:

Wherever you are right now – pay attention.  Close your eyes.   Notice how your feet feel on the floor; move them around a little to get the full texture.  Listen to the sound your feet are making as they move.  What other parts of your body are touching your surroundings?  Move ever so slightly to take in the sensation.

Listen. What do you hear?  The whoosh of cars going by?  Dishes clinked together while being washed?  Someone typing on a computer?  Music playing on the stereo?

Now take a deep breath.  The air doesn’t just carry the scent of your surroundings; it has a quality to it. It might be heavy with humidity, or thin and cold. But also pay attention to the smell.  Scents are evocative; they can be powerful triggers of memory.

Finally look around and look closely.  See the whole area from the large objects to one or two tiny details you may have never noticed.  And really look at those details.  If you look long enough it will be like seeing something for the first time because perhaps it is.

When you’ve captured your surroundings like this, in a mindful way, tell yourself you’re saving this for later.  I can’t guarantee that everything you save will still be there, but you will find some of it again years from now.  And when you find it, for a second you will be back in that space.   And maybe, depending on how much time has elapsed between the initial imprint and the playback, that place won’t really exist anywhere but in your memory.  And it will feel like time travel.

I tell this to my children but I’m not sure they fully understand.  When you’re a child it can feel like your world is a rock, solid and unmovable.  But as an adult you come to realize how quickly things can change.  Something that seemed certain on one day is already gone the next  and then you need to learn to let go of it.  But if you weren’t really paying attention in the first place  you can get all messed up.  You start making substitutions for what it is you thought you had.  You imagine it bigger or smaller or more or less important than it actually was.  You start having feelings for it that you didn’t have at the time.

And so it’s good to take a moment, wherever you are, to really look around to see what is it you have right now.  Later, when it’s gone, you can visit with it as it really was, or at least as close to what you perceived it to be,  and you can be there again just for a moment before you let it go.

memory board

Disappointment (who perhaps looks a little like Mr. Howell from Gilligan’s Island)

One of the hardest things to do is to sit with your own disappointment; sit quietly with it in a room, no running or reaching for the phone to call for help, no opening a bottle of something to drown it. Disappointment can be huge, and yet still drowns neatly in a small bottle of the right stuff. Funny how that works. The challenge is to just sit with it, look it in its colorless eyes and wait until it gets bored. Eventually it shrugs and says “what did you expect?” before it finally lopes off to some other non-event.

But I can’t do it. I can’t wait out disappointment like that. If it looks like disappointment is on the way, anyone’s disappointment, I will be the first to cast an anxious eye to the horizon and scream, “Distract, distract, distract!” And  it must have been that time when I could not distract myself from looming disappointment, that I discovered the power of failure.

Failure can be a beautiful thing. It builds no expectations, and with no expectations there can be no disappointment. The twisted twin of: “Do or do not. There is no try,” there is only “try” in my power of failure. And I try everything – film making, sword fighting, singing in front of an audience, creative writing groups, so many endeavors that make others pause and worry, “What if I’m no good?” I simply mutter my negative affirmation “I’m going to suck. Oh well,” and barrel onward.
Sometimes I do stop and ask, “Where has this gotten me?” Because obviously approaching everything with the understanding that you will fail doesn’t leave much room to strive towards improvement. I suppose the answer is nowhere, but it’s an interesting nowhere. And I’m rarely if ever defeated, which makes me something of an alpha loser.

Sadly though, any expectation, even an expectation of failure, will lead you back to disappointment. Witness the moment a peer in one of my activities turned to me and said, “You know, you’re not as bad as you think you are.” It was intended as encouragement, but it meant that I had failed at failing.  And what do I do with that?

“Burn” with Pauli Gray

 

“Say Anything” with Pauli Gray

 

My youngest wakes up crying for a certain kind of breakfast food I don’t have in the house. For reasons still unknown to me, I agree to run out to the store to appease his craving. I throw on some sweatpants and my winter jacket and head out to the local store that is not as safe as its name implies (you’d better check the dates on the organic yogurt, if you know what I’m saying).

As soon as I start-up my husband’s car, the mp3 player comes to life and “There is a Light That Never Goes Out” blasts forth from the stereo, throwing me back in time a good 25 years. And then, like a character from a Philip K. Dick novel, my timeline is scrambled. I am both a middle-aged woman driving down the pleasant, suburban street on which she lives on a crisp Monday morning, and I am also an awkward, discontent teenager, shut up in her room listening to records, dreaming of a future she knows will never materialize.

“It’s okay,” I want to tell my tell my teenage self. “Things turn out nothing like you planned, but it turns out fine. By the way, can I pick up anything for you at the grocery store while I’m out?” My teenage self gives me the silent treatment as usual.

There’s no one else out here except for a teenage boy walking to the bus stop; his dyed black hair provides no contrast to his black hoodie and his black t-shirt.

“And if a ten ton truck crashes into us, to die by your side, well the pleasure the privilege is mine,” croons Morrissey.

For just a moment I fight the urge to pull over to the Emo boy and say, “Hey, want a ride?”

It’s that time of year when I should be neglecting my blog because I’m so busy with the bustle of the holidays, but instead I’ve been fighting inertia.   I’m not sure if it’s the shorter days, or the anniversary of my mother’s passing four years ago, but  this holiday season has found me listless and unfocused.  Tasks I normally look forward too like decorating the house for Christmas, seemed overwhelming.  I managed to pull the boxes of decorations out one day, but then let them sit in the hallway for a week before I summoned the energy to actually open them and put things out.  My music practice space in the basement has become cold and unbearably dark as well, so I found myself avoiding it, even though I had an on-line show scheduled.  Mostly I’ve been wanting to curl up and sleep.  This is not really a viable plan when you have kids.

So I started doing some research on ways to combat winter depression.  Here are some of the tips I found:

Eat lots of fruits and vegetables:  The vitamins will give your immune system a boost and the carbs will give you energy. Bananas are particularly good because of the fiber content and they contain dopamine,  a hormone that improves your mood.

- Get some light: Sunlight helps our bodies produce vitamin D and serotonin, a neurotransmitter that helps regulate the  central nervous system and digestive tract and is thought to contribute to a feeling of general well being.  Because of the shorter days,   some people benefit from daylight lamps to get the light their bodies need.

- Exercise:  Any kind of exercise can lift your mood, but yoga in particular has some moves that target the pineal gland which helps regulate the production of melatonin, yet another hormone  that helps balance the mood by keeping the body’s sleep-wake cycle in check. A quick side note here,  I found a yoga program on Netflix’s streaming library that targets depression.  This was ideal since I did not have to leave the house for a class;  the idea of leaving the house seemed exhausting. However, yoga can be difficult to do properly from just an instructional video, so use your best judgment.

All of these tips are good, and other than the daylight lamp, are things everyone should do to stay happy and healthy.  I have a few more personal tips that may be helpful to others as well.

- Music: My safest drug of choice, music is the ultimate mood-altering substance for me.  Upbeat music made me feel angry, and Christmas music made me feel even more depressed, so I tried some ambient electronica/chillout music. I recommend Soma FM’s Groove Salad should you need some mood boosting grooves to pull you out of the doldrums.

Wallow in your depression creatively:  Make something.  Make something dark.  Use your depression as the ultimate shield against disappointment.  You expect nothing, so anything you create will be better than expected.  Oddly enough, this philosophy works well for me in times like this.   This is what I came up with.  Certainly not my best work (I hope) but it made me feel like I accomplished something and also conveys my feelings right about now.  For the record,  the music was recorded many years ago,  I only put video to it.

- Engage others in an activity, if only electronically:In the thick of my listlessness, I didn’t want to chat with anyone in person or even in real time online.  It all required too much effort.  My husband, never shy about commandeering my iPhone, downloaded Words with Friends without my consent and then challenged me to a game.  For the most part I hate games, but I’m a sucker for word games.  I reluctantly gave it a try.  The back and forth and the need to re-engage my brain actually drew me in and in doing so, pulled me out of my mood.  Plus, I couldn’t help but feel pretty good about myself when I scored 60 points for the word “hamlet”.

I will say I’m feeling much better these past few days and am now looking forward to Christmas.  More so, I’m looking forward to getting past the whole holiday hoopla, so I can move on to 2012.  In the meantime, have yourself a Merry Little Christmas!

I’ve been a fan of machinima since I discovered the built-in movie making feature of The Sims 2.   I’ve been a resident of Second Life since 2009.  And  I’ve been a fan of the Eurythmics since the 80′s.  This video came together almost effortlessly, thanks to the very talented creators of the Mysterious Waves Sim.  The vocals are actually produced using programmed midi notes and TC Helicon’s Vocal Works Plus vocoder effect. The rest is just minimal synth-pop played real time.  Hope you enjoy it!

From my upcoming EP – Phases Like The Moon

Elevator Music

In the made for TV movie of you and me
You would be played by James Spader
And I would be Ally Sheedy
And we’d meet in a hospital elevator
Where you had just learned that it was terminal
While I was checking in for shock therapy
And our eyes would meet as the doors slid closed
And then – Ah, and then – Oh
And then seven stories – down we go!

Don’t walk away
Don’t walk away
I still need you babe
In my own special way

I like elevator music
Do you like elevator music?
Elevator music
I like
Elevator Music

I hear you coughing in the darkness
And now I’m crawling through the debris
My hands are groping all the skin, blood and bone
They won’t be showing this on TV
I don’t know if my legs are working
And still I feel a little ache
I climb on top of you
Confess that I’ve been stalking you
And then Ah and then oh
And then time for a commercial break!

Don’t walk away
Don’t walk away
I still need you babe
In my own special way

I like elevator music
Do you like elevator music?
Elevator music
I like
Elevator Music

A little bit dark, and a whole lot of weird, this song was inspired by a long-term crush that ended badly.  The song itself has its roots in a musical project than never got off the ground, but introduced me to the groove-based punk band, The Transplants. While it sounds nothing like The Transplants, their music gave me  new ideas on how to approach writing.

This song has, in my mind, always needed a music video and so when I first recorded it I put one together.  Eight months pregnant at the time and deep into making machinima with The Sims 2, Elevator Music first hit YouTube like this.  Let me know which one you like better.

 

It’s Monday.

 My husband is 3000 miles away on the east coast celebrating a milestone birthday with his father.  My oldest son is in a nearby town with a friend, playing video games at an arcade.  My three-year old and I are in the backyard weeding and planting lavender and poppies. 

 Our backyard is fenced in, but behind the fence our property continues several hundred feet down a steep hill before it turns into state preserved park land.  I often dump my lawn clippings down the hill, where two huge decaying tree trunks also reside, having been cut down last summer when they began dropping large, dead limbs onto our deck.

My three-year old is standing triumphantly on a remaining stump; the stump might as well be a throne placed on our hill   You can’t help but feel you’re in command of something with a spectacular view like this, looking down on the valley and the ocean beyond.

 “Be careful,” I tell my son, because my mother danger detector tells me he might slip and fall down, down, down the hill, and collide with the rotting tree trunks causing all manner of bodily injury.

 In my head, I’m running through an end-of-the-world scenario.  Although my logical brain tells me it is highly unlikely we have reached the end of human civilization as we know it, tornadoes in the south and a major earthquake in Japan has put my animal brain on alert.  We could be next, my inner paranoid says, and it could be bad. It could be the “big one” they keep telling us is inevitable.

 In my daydream of doom I imagine my son and me riding scooters on the deserted highways, eating left over Halloween candy because all of the other food is gone, playing games to distract him from the devastation and death that surrounds us.  In short, I’m cooking up a post-Apocalyptic take on Life is Beautiful. And then the rumble begins.

 I look up at the house and see the window panes rattling in their frames.  I look back to my son perched atop that dangerous stump and I snatch him down.

 That quickly it’s over.

 My instinct is to get inside, but my second thought is to wait, because if there’s more to come we’re actually in a pretty safe place now that we’ve moved away from the treacherous tree stump.

 My son has barely registered the quake.  After a few moments we go inside where I discover the power is off.  I use my cell phone to contact a friend.  She confirms that yes, there was an earthquake, a 3.8, and yes the power is off.  Before saying goodbye she reminds me that it’s the anniversary of the 1906 earthquake. 

 My son and I read books and play a few games of Bingo to pass the time while I wait  . . . for something; news that something far worse has happened nearby, a second, stronger earthquake, anything to put an end to this lingering sense of dread that intensifies every time I read the news these days.

An hour later we are still without electricity.  A helicopter flies over and circles the valley.  I try to imagine what life would be like if the power never came back on. No more computers, television, refrigerated food. No more recorded music. My synthesizer would be rendered useless, but I could always play piano by candlelight in the evening.  It has a certain appeal.

Suddenly everything whirrs back to life.  The power is back.  My son calls to say he is on his way home.  My husband calls to say he just got in from the restaurant with his family.  I start dinner .  Life as I know it goes on.

No Child of Mine

Posted: April 7, 2011 in Dark Phase, images, music

 

 

The early morning sky held the color of her skin

You’d been gone for days and I couldn’t sleep again

I poured myself a drink to ease my throbbing head

I poured myself another to help me off to bed

Oh and one to feel that happiness that you could never give

 And one to help me to forget that this is how we live 

 Well this is how we live.

She’d been crying for hours, empty bottle on the floor

Hers or mine, I don’t recall and it don’t matter anymore

I took her in my arms and rocked her off to sleep

I went into the bathroom and ran the water warm and deep

And then I did the one that no one can forgive

And I’m reminded every day, every day I live

Every day I live.

The early morning sky gave way to the darkest day

But the look in your eyes was worth all the time I pay

They came for the story but never got the truth

All those years at your hands, the neglect and the abuse

Yeah, the misery of this life, you know I’ve had my fill

But I can sleep in peace each night knowing

No child of mine ever will

~P.S. 

2007

Inspired by the John Updike novel, Run, Rabbit, Run