I know y'all are probably getting tired of my posts about the struggle of sadness. It's difficult to write happy or funny things when you're in the doldrums. So, if need be, let my words become white noise--constantly present, but easily ignored.
Billy Collins on background sounds . . .
The Music of the Spheres
by: Billy Collins
who was lodging the old complaint
that her husband never listens to her
reminded me of the music of the spheres,
that chord of seven notes,
one for each of the visible planets,
which has been sounding
since the beginning of the universe,
and which we can never hear,
according to Pythagoras
because we hear it all the time
so it sounds the same as silence.
But let’s say the needle were lifted
from the spinning grooves
of those celestial orbs--
then people would stop
on the streets and look up,
and others would stop in the fields
and hikers would stop in the woods
and look this way and that
as if they were hearing something
for the first time,
and that husband would lower
the newspaper from his face
look at his wife
who has been standing in the doorway
and ask Did you just say something, dear?
When I woke this morning, I knew today was going to be rough. Tears were just behind my eyes like a headache, and they remained there all day. A couple of times, I couldn't hold them back. A friend stopped by my office to give me a card and a hug, and I cried. A Doris Day Christmas song started playing on the radio, and I cried. (Doris Day was my mom's favorite singer.) I read a poem by Mary Oliver, and I cried.
When my mind is busy with work, my blueness fades a little. I don't give myself time to feel. That might not be the healthiest method of coping with depression, but it works for me. However, when I experience some downtime (like right now, when everyone is in bed, the TV is dark, and silence hums in my ears like a furnace), I feel myself spiraling.
It's like how Collins describes the music of the spheres--so constant it becomes invisible to the naked ear. (Yes, I'm conflating two senses in that previous statement. So sue me.) When the planets stop singing, that's when everyone notices the silence.
If I stay busy, I can hold the darkness at bay. Not notice its music. When I sit down and allow myself to "rest" (if you can call it that), the sadness roosts like a flock of crows in the trees outside my window, cawing and coughing.
So, I try to keep myself moving and thinking, all the time. It's kind of exhausting, but it beats the alternative, which would be balling myself into a fetal position and weeping. That's also why I write these posts so late--a busy mind is a happy mind. Or at least a not-so-sad mind.
Saint Marty will take the music of the spheres (or ACDC or Metallica) over peace and quiet right now.
Another poem from Collins--about being self aware . . .
Orient
by: Billy Collins
You are turning me
like someone turning a globe in her hand,
and yes, I have another side
like a China no one,
not even me, has ever seen.
So describe to me what’s there,
say what you are looking at
and I will close my eyes
so I can see it too,
the oxcarts and all the lively flags.
I love the sound of your voice
like a little saxophone
telling me what I could never know
unless I dug a hole all the way down
through the core of myself.
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❤️
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