Soundtrack of my heart
Sound • track: a thin strip at the edge of a movie reel or videotape on which sound or the soundtrack is recorded
At the edges of my mind there is a narrative, a song, a whisper, a laugh, a sob, a steady pulse. Even in the wildest times, the times most pressed with worry, when there is little air and even less time for reflection, if I listen, I hear it. In the place between the reality of every day, and the wonderment of dreams, is the thin strip of lyrics, the soundtrack that plays out across my consciousness, defining my world.
In bed just before sleep; in the car driving the half hour stretch between our house and apartment listening to jazz on VPR; in the shower with hot water running in rivulets between my shoulder blades where wings would be, if I could fly; or standing at the stove stirring soup, I hear it. This is when I tune in to the words that slip edgewise into the conversation I keep with myself. The things I hardly say out loud, or never. The things of intuition and inkling, that shape my drive, my fears, my love.
Right now I’m trying consciously to tune in. It is hard to do. The dialogue is illusive and when I try to pin it down, it is as though static is lacing the airwaves. When I listen closely I hear this: below the joy of being offered a job I’m excited to accept, and beyond the worry of finding a daycare program for Bean that will nurture him, is the battle cry of my creative self begging not to be abandoned with these upcoming changes.
It is startling to find myself here, on the brink of so much change, again. It’s been just over a year since change tore through our lives like a river in flood, redistributing everything, shifting our very geography, altering our sense of home.
Last May we were packing our house in CT and trying to imagine what life here would be like. I remember sitting at our kitchen table (I loved where it stood, in a nook off the kitchen with a big bay window facing the backyard) looking towards the living room, the hall, the front door, noticing with sudden clarity and attention how familiar those angles and rooms were were. Noticing the quality of light on the tiled kitchen floor; the Prapluie-Revel umbrella poster between the front windows, the jars of sugar and rice on the counter, and wondering how it would be not to call that space “home.” Our first real estate investment, a noteworthy stamp in the passport of adult hood.
This May everything is different, and yet we’re packing again. On the brink of moving to a place saturated with promise. Like honey comb, drenched with sweetness this house is drenched with our hopes, our longings, our dreams. Everything in it bears the mark of what we have become: a family.
This time, as everything shifts; as the river fills with spring rains and floods its banks, and the shape of the valley is forever altered, I want to be more conscious about holding on to the things I’ve grown to love: my artist self, my writer self; my camera’s lens, my runner’s thighs. Looking back I’ve started to see how easily these things slip to the margins of my life, when other louder more demanding things push to the fore. This time I want to keep an ear to the ground, attune to the beating of my heart. This time I need to remain whole, even as my life divides.
The Swan
Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?
–Mary Oliver
Work, Writing, The way I operate, My Notebook, Thoughts & observations |9 Responses to “Soundtrack of my heart”
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I haven’t visited in awhile- Congrats! ON THE NEW JOB- IT’S SOUNDS WONDERFUL! and the house is looking beautiful-love all the windows and light! Bean is as cute as ever!
Happy Mothers day-or should I say nite- it’s late..
What a beatiful post. This must ring true for anyone who has ever moved, disrupted lives. However, you have managed to articulate it–not just for you but for everyone. Thank you.
You have an amazing way with words and with insight. Today, I particularly love: “I want to be more conscious about holding on to the things I’ve grown to love: my artist self, my writer self; my camera’s lens, my runner’s thighs.”
Wishing you all the best as the transition continues.
Sharon echoes my sentiments to the letter. You have a strong sense of intuition and I know your soundtrack will play loud and clear over the din of children and the traffic of change.
You sent shivers coursing up and down my body. Change is so pervasive and it sweeps us along whether we will or no. I hope you don’t abandon your creative self either, or at least not for long, in the frenzy of new beginnings and all the demands on your time that a job will bring, but I can also tell you, speaking from experience, that even if you do drop it by the wayside for a while, you WILL return to it. Or it will return to you, anyway.
“a noteworthy stamp in the passport of adult hood” — loved this phrase. judging from how deeply you’ve intertwined your creative life with your ‘regular’ life this year i think you’ll be able to sustain it despite upcoming changes. and i’m sure these new experiences will help fuel you!
you always seem to put words to feelings so beautifully. last year around this time we started packing our first home to move here … and we are starting it again also … to another home that hopefully holds our future and a place for our son to grow. i feel like i lost myself in this last move and hope to find myself again in the next. you sound well grounded, christina. i hope i can be as strong as you one day. as always, good wishes to you.
My sister-in-law gasped the other day when I reminded her we’ve lived here a year already…doesn’t seem possible…people still don’t understand why I would trade ‘paradise’ for a small university town…but riding my bike through the afternoon warmth yesterday…feeling how strong my thighs have gotten from riding regularly…the sureness with which I navigate my now-familiar route…it feels like I was always meant to be here at this moment in my life…from the first moment I developed a crush on this town when I was 13… I love that you’re open to change…some choose only to stand on the shore and let the waves batter them…but there’s so much more to be found–the soundtrack of our lives can grow so beautifully loud–when we let go and let the waves carry us off to a new place. I think you’re about to enter an amazing chapter in your life…and I can’t wait to read about it…
Lovely post, art and poem. I am so excited for you and all the changes in your life. So much change can be overwhelming, but I just know you have such a good head on your shoulders that you’re making all the best decisions for you and your family. xoxo
I have been away for a looong time and just came to see what’s new in your life and on your wonderful, inspiring and beautiful blog. I read that you are moving again. Brave souls you are and you will be rewarded with renewal of your creativity and nurturing because you are so open to change. I wish you luck in your new job, in grad school and a new house (am I understanding you right that you’re moving to yet another home?) all the best to you and I will try to check more regularly to keep up with you!
warmly, Maureen (in Montana)