Been thinking a lot, fighting quite a bit. And listening to a lot of DAS (well, music in general). There's a triad of his songs that seem to work together as a trilogy for me now: Reach, In Your Hands, and Slo Glo One (better known as Glory). Today I shall prattle on about the first one.
Reach actually took a really long time to grow on me. I always appreciated the chorus, but something about the song irked me; something about the execution of it. I never could figure out what it was, but apparently it's not an issue now because I can't remember what it was that bugged me (probably the tempo -- I'm still young enough to like my music fast and fairly complex).
I have a history of locking up inside myself ('history,' heck -- I'm doing it as I type), convinced that nobody could love me, even if they tried. I actually believed (and sometimes still do believe) that for somebody, anybody, to care about me was impossible. Depression is funny that way... it seems so obvious to other people on the outside that people love me and that I'm resisting their love, but depression is truly a mental illness. It actually blinds us to things like that. It's not a wilful ignorance of our 'worth' -- we actually truly cannot see it. We need you to tell us every single day that you love us because our diseased minds discard the truth mere minutes after you speak it to us. You can't rely on our 'knowing' you love us though you never say anything and you can't rely on thinking 'well, I told her that one time that she was pretty cool.' Depression is hell-bent on destroying those it infects. One offhand instance of 'You're pretty cool,' as much as you may sincerely mean something by it, simply does not stand up against my own mind telling itself it's worthless twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.
For years people would get frustrated with me. They would always say to me, "Just let yourself be loved!" They tried to say it kindly, but there was often pent-up frustration in their voices. I could not wrap my head around this idea that they seemed to take for granted. Here I was figuratively screaming for somebody to care for more than five seconds, and you're telling me it's my fault? I can't let you love me if you're not showing any love for me to allow in. That phrase is still a source of frustration for me.
(End rant -- my apologies...)
But although Brian Healy uses the words, Let Him love you, he does not stop there, and that's what gives his exhortation more weight. He doesn't expect that vague, tired phrase to magically fix everything, and realising the weakness of language itself makes a huge difference in how one comes across because it does inform and change how you communicate. Healy continues his thought with Let Him show you... Let Him touch you... Let Him heal you. Reach out your hands... and take what He has to offer. It's a gentle invitation, not an outburst of exasperation. And ultimately it's not by my strength that I can reach out and take it anyway. Grace has to visit me in order for me to have the strength to take it. Taking and accepting love is perhaps harder even than almost anything I can think of. To give love is easy enough. Even when the other person doesn't want your love, it's relatively easy to give it. But to take love someone else is holding out to you... that's well-nigh impossible. There's something in my mind that still tells me it's not real, it's a facade like everything else. It'll turn out to be just somebody else trying to relive their guilt about not loving me by pretending to love me.
How do you surrender yourself to someone else's love?
Title: Reach
Artist: Dead Artist Syndrome
Album: Prints Of Darkness
Year: 1990
iTunes here; YouTube here.
05 June 2015
03 June 2015
A Time Machine of 1/500
I used to do a lot of photography. And even back when I started taking pictures seriously around 2009, it wasn't really about art or money or making a statement (although later it did become those things). My photography mainly centered around two things: people and events.
I learnt about photography principles of course -- the rule of thirds, the power of a wide aperture/selective focus and of zooming in, what sorts of compositions work best, how to use colour and light to draw attention and enhance the mood. My photography grew lovely in its own right, and by now it's so second nature I often barely realise I have a camera in my hand. My Nikon is essentially an extension of my arm. But the subjects are still mostly people and events.
When I started taking pictures, my goal was to capture moments and keep them. It was mostly for my own personal record more than anything. To this day I'll stop to take a picture of something and whoever is with me will give me a strange look -- 'that? Seriously?' -- but because they know taking random pictures is something I do, they say nothing. After all, no harm done. And my friends and family have long since gotten used to me wandering around with a camera at all times.
And now, in the wake of three deaths, one cancer diagnosis, and two shattered marriages, all involving people I love dearly, I'm reminded why I started taking pictures in the first place.
It's like a mini time machine. I was looking for pictures of my recently-deceased young cousin (it was her birthday), and in my quest I found myself scrolling back through 2013 -- the year I discovered Daniel Amos and started college... 2012 -- the year we held our Father's Day party as a barbeque... 2011 -- the year we invited a lady from our church to our family Christmas gathering and our dance school staged Little Bo Peep... 2010 -- the year of my accident, the last family reunion... 2009 -- how tiny my sisters look! the year my sister began ballet classes...
I had forgotten most of this. I had forgotten how my sisters looked so young. It's funny to think how at one time I could not picture them any other way, but five years later I hardly recognised them. Their hairstyles are different, two are now wearing glasses, one has lost a drastic amount of weight. I'd forgotten how short my brother once was. I had forgotten the full brilliance of Brittney's sweet shy smile and seriously cool wardrobe. I had forgotten that once my aunt and uncle would laugh and once they would sit beside each other and hold hands. I had forgotten what my uncle's twinkling eyes looked like -- last time I saw him, only a few weeks ago, those eyes were so lifeless. He was a completely different person from the man who hugged me goodbye last Christmas.
There was a time when things were right -- when everyone was here who should have been, when people were healthy and happy and while there were always smaller problems and the occasional falling out, we were all here. We were together. We smiled and laughed and no-one was missing. I can't bring that back (how I desperately wish I could!). But for a few minutes I can return there and see it all laid out before me, re-insert myself in the space, hear their voices again, if only in my mind.
Maybe it's a waking dream. But it brings the missing ones closer to me.
I learnt about photography principles of course -- the rule of thirds, the power of a wide aperture/selective focus and of zooming in, what sorts of compositions work best, how to use colour and light to draw attention and enhance the mood. My photography grew lovely in its own right, and by now it's so second nature I often barely realise I have a camera in my hand. My Nikon is essentially an extension of my arm. But the subjects are still mostly people and events.
When I started taking pictures, my goal was to capture moments and keep them. It was mostly for my own personal record more than anything. To this day I'll stop to take a picture of something and whoever is with me will give me a strange look -- 'that? Seriously?' -- but because they know taking random pictures is something I do, they say nothing. After all, no harm done. And my friends and family have long since gotten used to me wandering around with a camera at all times.
And now, in the wake of three deaths, one cancer diagnosis, and two shattered marriages, all involving people I love dearly, I'm reminded why I started taking pictures in the first place.
It's like a mini time machine. I was looking for pictures of my recently-deceased young cousin (it was her birthday), and in my quest I found myself scrolling back through 2013 -- the year I discovered Daniel Amos and started college... 2012 -- the year we held our Father's Day party as a barbeque... 2011 -- the year we invited a lady from our church to our family Christmas gathering and our dance school staged Little Bo Peep... 2010 -- the year of my accident, the last family reunion... 2009 -- how tiny my sisters look! the year my sister began ballet classes...
I had forgotten most of this. I had forgotten how my sisters looked so young. It's funny to think how at one time I could not picture them any other way, but five years later I hardly recognised them. Their hairstyles are different, two are now wearing glasses, one has lost a drastic amount of weight. I'd forgotten how short my brother once was. I had forgotten the full brilliance of Brittney's sweet shy smile and seriously cool wardrobe. I had forgotten that once my aunt and uncle would laugh and once they would sit beside each other and hold hands. I had forgotten what my uncle's twinkling eyes looked like -- last time I saw him, only a few weeks ago, those eyes were so lifeless. He was a completely different person from the man who hugged me goodbye last Christmas.
There was a time when things were right -- when everyone was here who should have been, when people were healthy and happy and while there were always smaller problems and the occasional falling out, we were all here. We were together. We smiled and laughed and no-one was missing. I can't bring that back (how I desperately wish I could!). But for a few minutes I can return there and see it all laid out before me, re-insert myself in the space, hear their voices again, if only in my mind.
Maybe it's a waking dream. But it brings the missing ones closer to me.
28 May 2015
Forever Goodbye
Originally written 29 March 2015.
I share this mostly for the final paragraph (as written on 29 March). This has had a profound impression on me since this performance, particularly in the wake of the sudden death of my young cousin one month ago today.
I stand on the edge of the rest of my life. I graduate college in less than a month. The last musical theatre performance is done. The final dance show is this Saturday. Tonight was the last choir concert.
It wasn't real. Usually at these things, I'm in the moment, trying to soak up every second so I can remember these times as vividly as possible later when I miss them. And I've been looking forward to performing in that church again for a full year. But tonight it didn't feel real. I've just gotten back from a performance, but instead of being hyper and telling my roommate about all the stupid insignificant hilarious backstage shenanigans that only performers find funny, I'm sitting here trying not to cry.
Performing is really just a series of goodbyes. I was Mary Lennox for two months and then, right at the culmination of all that thought and work and love put into her -- it was over. She disappeared from my life. How many Christmas productions and choir concerts have I been in that we worked on for months... and then they were over in a weekend? How many dance shows have I spent months honing only to give one three-minute performance and then it's gone? I have all these little parts, these roles that I love and cherish dearly and they become a part of me... but then I have to say goodbye. And to go back to it again and again and again just draws out the pain of goodbyes... Today our choir director seemed off and finally he told us he had just found out less than half an hour before that a good friend of his halfway across the country had passed away.
I was surprised how much that weighed on my heart. Having lost two people close to me in as many months perhaps made me more sympathetic. But for the entire evening it was all I could do not to cry. It's hard to describe -- it's like I felt his pain in my own heart. I carried it with me. Most people probably went, "Oh wow. That really sucks. I'm sorry," but I spent the entire concert watching him, noting how even the ever-present smile trembled though it never faltered. I watch people when I'm worried about them or when I know they're dealing with some hard stuff. I literally sit and watch everything they do with their hands, their body language, their facial expressions. I don't know why. It's just what I do.
Part of me was impressed with the smile. It never faltered. He never changed the way he spoke to us -- his voice stayed pleasant and calm and there was a smile behind it, like there always is. He's the conductor, his back was to the audience. But still he smiled -- at us. And I was aware how I, the performer, facing the crowd, could not summon up a smile from within myself for love or money. How does a man lose a dear friend and carry on with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face? It wasn't plastered on. There was effort in it, but it wasn't a total mask. Somehow there was something in him still giving him the courage and ability to smile and speak kindly to us.
I stand on the edge of the rest of my life. I graduate college in less than a month. The last musical theatre performance is done. The final dance show is this Saturday. Tonight was the last choir concert.
It wasn't real. Usually at these things, I'm in the moment, trying to soak up every second so I can remember these times as vividly as possible later when I miss them. And I've been looking forward to performing in that church again for a full year. But tonight it didn't feel real. I've just gotten back from a performance, but instead of being hyper and telling my roommate about all the stupid insignificant hilarious backstage shenanigans that only performers find funny, I'm sitting here trying not to cry.
Performing is really just a series of goodbyes. I was Mary Lennox for two months and then, right at the culmination of all that thought and work and love put into her -- it was over. She disappeared from my life. How many Christmas productions and choir concerts have I been in that we worked on for months... and then they were over in a weekend? How many dance shows have I spent months honing only to give one three-minute performance and then it's gone? I have all these little parts, these roles that I love and cherish dearly and they become a part of me... but then I have to say goodbye. And to go back to it again and again and again just draws out the pain of goodbyes... Today our choir director seemed off and finally he told us he had just found out less than half an hour before that a good friend of his halfway across the country had passed away.
I was surprised how much that weighed on my heart. Having lost two people close to me in as many months perhaps made me more sympathetic. But for the entire evening it was all I could do not to cry. It's hard to describe -- it's like I felt his pain in my own heart. I carried it with me. Most people probably went, "Oh wow. That really sucks. I'm sorry," but I spent the entire concert watching him, noting how even the ever-present smile trembled though it never faltered. I watch people when I'm worried about them or when I know they're dealing with some hard stuff. I literally sit and watch everything they do with their hands, their body language, their facial expressions. I don't know why. It's just what I do.
Part of me was impressed with the smile. It never faltered. He never changed the way he spoke to us -- his voice stayed pleasant and calm and there was a smile behind it, like there always is. He's the conductor, his back was to the audience. But still he smiled -- at us. And I was aware how I, the performer, facing the crowd, could not summon up a smile from within myself for love or money. How does a man lose a dear friend and carry on with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face? It wasn't plastered on. There was effort in it, but it wasn't a total mask. Somehow there was something in him still giving him the courage and ability to smile and speak kindly to us.
26 May 2015
A Lovely Night
The building blocks of a wonderful evening:
First, you take a dance practice. But not just any dance practice -- it's the first of extra rehearsals for Peter and the Wolf (WHICH OPENS THIS SATURDAY!). (I think my favourite part of performing is the extra rehearsals that get called as opening night gets closer.)
Add to this getting to see dance friends I haven't seen since Christmas break.
Plus, driving -- a commute long enough to listen to two full albums of music (White Heart and Daniel Amos today).
And don't forget the part where the driving happens at dusk (my favourite time of day).
15 May 2015
Music Day - Sin For A Season
This song opens perhaps one of the most emotionally heavy sides of vinyl in the history of vinyl. Side two of this record dealt with adultery, drunk driving, crooked TV preachers, hypocrites, teenage runaways, abortion, suicide, and the American dream with a clarity that one will almost certainly never find elsewhere. And all of it to catchy, groovy, and creative rock.
This, the side opener, comes in with a deep, groovy, almost mournful chugging guitar and a slightly ominous synthesizer arpeggio at the appropriate times. The lyrics spin first a tale of a married man's one-night stand, then the story of a drunk woman driving toward home, but not making it unscathed... And Steve Taylor, in his pull-no-punches way, also pans the lyrical camera to the part that nobody ever talks about and the young and (temporarily) innocent never see: the regret. The months, the years of crippling, life-altering regret.
If the healing happens as the time goes by
Tell me why I still can't look her in the eye...
Now the years run together as the guilt goes wild
She still sees the body of an only child...
Coming on the heels of the mournful lines at the end of each verse, the chorus -- a repetition of the cry we all use to justify everything we do, the sort-of right and the clearly wrong -- seems so flimsy in comparison. It seems disgusting, and then to realise these are our own words on a daily basis -- I'm only human... 'nobody's perfect...' it sort of makes one catch their breath.
The third verse states his point even more bluntly, just in case we didn't get it in the first two verses. And it spells out very clearly that sometimes the Christians -- we who think we'll never fall -- are the worst perpetrators of this deception:
Gonna get the good Lord to forgive a little sin
Get the slate cleaned so he can dirty it again...
It's interesting to note the role of the hands in all three verses. The hand in the first verse with the napkin, the shaky hand in the second verse belying how inebriated she is, the hypocritical hands in the third verse carefully and stealthily chopping down the very people they claim to be building up and supporting. Our hands betray us... oh, be careful little hands what you do.
Title: Sin For A Season
Artist: Steve Taylor
Album: Meltdown
Year: 1984
Label: Sparrow Records
iTunes here; YouTube here.
This, the side opener, comes in with a deep, groovy, almost mournful chugging guitar and a slightly ominous synthesizer arpeggio at the appropriate times. The lyrics spin first a tale of a married man's one-night stand, then the story of a drunk woman driving toward home, but not making it unscathed... And Steve Taylor, in his pull-no-punches way, also pans the lyrical camera to the part that nobody ever talks about and the young and (temporarily) innocent never see: the regret. The months, the years of crippling, life-altering regret.
If the healing happens as the time goes by
Tell me why I still can't look her in the eye...
Now the years run together as the guilt goes wild
She still sees the body of an only child...
Coming on the heels of the mournful lines at the end of each verse, the chorus -- a repetition of the cry we all use to justify everything we do, the sort-of right and the clearly wrong -- seems so flimsy in comparison. It seems disgusting, and then to realise these are our own words on a daily basis -- I'm only human... 'nobody's perfect...' it sort of makes one catch their breath.
The third verse states his point even more bluntly, just in case we didn't get it in the first two verses. And it spells out very clearly that sometimes the Christians -- we who think we'll never fall -- are the worst perpetrators of this deception:
Gonna get the good Lord to forgive a little sin
Get the slate cleaned so he can dirty it again...
It's interesting to note the role of the hands in all three verses. The hand in the first verse with the napkin, the shaky hand in the second verse belying how inebriated she is, the hypocritical hands in the third verse carefully and stealthily chopping down the very people they claim to be building up and supporting. Our hands betray us... oh, be careful little hands what you do.
Title: Sin For A Season
Artist: Steve Taylor
Album: Meltdown
Year: 1984
Label: Sparrow Records
iTunes here; YouTube here.
13 May 2015
On Finishing Projects
Written sometime in February 2015.
You know, one day I will be thankful for how college pushed me. It hurts and it sucks and I hate this feeling of doom until I find out what my final grade was, but it strengthened my will to persevere. I am such a perfectionist that I rarely get anything done. That's part of why I flaunt my choreographic accomplishments and my novels so obviously -- it's not about getting attention, it's just about the fact that I actually finished something. My room is a graveyard of unfinished projects. And being in college forced me to finish things. I hated every second of that Spiritual Formation paper last year (and the Church Ministry paper, and the history paper and every English paper ever...), but because my grade depended on them, I got them done. And it showed me I could.
You know, one day I will be thankful for how college pushed me. It hurts and it sucks and I hate this feeling of doom until I find out what my final grade was, but it strengthened my will to persevere. I am such a perfectionist that I rarely get anything done. That's part of why I flaunt my choreographic accomplishments and my novels so obviously -- it's not about getting attention, it's just about the fact that I actually finished something. My room is a graveyard of unfinished projects. And being in college forced me to finish things. I hated every second of that Spiritual Formation paper last year (and the Church Ministry paper, and the history paper and every English paper ever...), but because my grade depended on them, I got them done. And it showed me I could.
I have an iron will when it comes to things I really want (noveling, choreography), but if I don't care about something with every fibre of my being, I honestly don't care at all (the same goes for my friends, and it freaks them out because this means I'm very intensely loyal -- caring about someone with every fibre of your being has that effect). The perfectionist desire for decent grades forced me to finish these papers I hated. Writing a good paper was not my primary concern -- my primary concern was just meeting the word count and not getting a failing grade. College has forced me to see things through, to complete stupid and pointless things.
But now I do know that I can get things done. I know a few tricks to manipulate myself into actually getting things done. Most of them I originally learnt from NaNoWriMo, but they were refined and expanded on here in college.
I hate the stress. I will be so happy to get out of here, not because the profs or classes suck (I actually really like the profs and the classes, generally speaking), but because I will actually be able to breathe easy again. But I suppose once I'm out of the trenches I will be grateful for how it forced me to finish things.
01 May 2015
Music Day - One More Time
Three deaths in three months. I don't even know what to think anymore.
Title: One More Time
Artist: Terry Scott Taylor
Album: Knowledge & Innocence
Year: 1986
iTunes here; YouTube here.
(Typical iTunes: the song is mislabeled. The song labeled A Briefing For An Ascent is actually this one. The song labeled One More Time is actually A Briefing... Both are good though.)
Title: One More Time
Artist: Terry Scott Taylor
Album: Knowledge & Innocence
Year: 1986
iTunes here; YouTube here.
(Typical iTunes: the song is mislabeled. The song labeled A Briefing For An Ascent is actually this one. The song labeled One More Time is actually A Briefing... Both are good though.)
10 April 2015
Music Day - Ba Ba Ba Ba
This song is catchy as heck. Do not listen to it if you're not prepared to be singing it all darn week. That said, it is a fun to sing along with. It could be worse. You could have Funkytown or something stuck in your head.
Despite the inane title, this song is quite deep. It opens with a cutting observation of how society (including a lot of us in the 'Christian' subculture) operates as Michael Roe purrs:
Welcome to truth custom-made
Come in and have some lemonade
Reality will re-adjust while we evade...
The rest of the song's lyrics develop the theme against a verse structure of smooth keyboard and a throbbing staccato synth before launching into a chorus backed by guitar work that still gives me chills a full year after I first heard it.
Title: Ba Ba Ba Ba
Artist: 77s
Album: All Fall Down
Year: 1984
Label: Lo-Fidelity Records
Listen and purchase from the artist here.
Despite the inane title, this song is quite deep. It opens with a cutting observation of how society (including a lot of us in the 'Christian' subculture) operates as Michael Roe purrs:
Welcome to truth custom-made
Come in and have some lemonade
Reality will re-adjust while we evade...
The rest of the song's lyrics develop the theme against a verse structure of smooth keyboard and a throbbing staccato synth before launching into a chorus backed by guitar work that still gives me chills a full year after I first heard it.
Title: Ba Ba Ba Ba
Artist: 77s
Album: All Fall Down
Year: 1984
Label: Lo-Fidelity Records
Listen and purchase from the artist here.
05 April 2015
Music Day, Part II - Today Is The Day
There was a different song by this artist that I wanted to feature today... alas, the iTunes Store fails me yet again.
The '80s are strong with this one, but as we all know, it's not necessarily a bad thing on this blog... The lyrics are timeless and joyful though, and on Easter Sunday, it's the timeless and joyful that we focus on anyway.
Title: Today Is The Day
Artist: David Meece
Album: Count The Cost
Year: 1983
iTunes here; YouTube here.
Today is the day
Today is the day
He is risen
Today is the day
Today is the day
He is living
Go and tell everybody you see
That He is living indeed...
He is risen!
He is risen indeed!
The '80s are strong with this one, but as we all know, it's not necessarily a bad thing on this blog... The lyrics are timeless and joyful though, and on Easter Sunday, it's the timeless and joyful that we focus on anyway.
Title: Today Is The Day
Artist: David Meece
Album: Count The Cost
Year: 1983
iTunes here; YouTube here.
Today is the day
Today is the day
He is risen
Today is the day
Today is the day
He is living
Go and tell everybody you see
That He is living indeed...
He is risen!
He is risen indeed!
03 April 2015
Music Day, Part I - Beautiful Scandalous Night
I love The Choir's lyrics. The music is sometimes (often) too slow for me, but the poetic lyrics usually win me over in the end. Here the band explores the paradox of Jesus' death bringing us life.
It was a horrible night for those who loved Jesus -- He was arrested without a real warrant, pushed through trial under dishonest judges with their own agendas, beaten, mocked, and eventually sentenced to death, which was carried out the next morning. And it was scandalous -- not only was the entire thing a sham trial by a coalition of corrupt religious and political leaders, Jesus, up until a week prior, had been something of a celebrity throughout the region. For Him to have been sentenced to death literally overnight would certainly have been tabloid material.
But for those who have loved Him since that time, it was beautiful. For a more in-depth explanation of the reasoning behind it, read this. But in a nutshell, it was because of Jesus' death that humans even have the opportunity to be reconciled with God. Whether we take it or not is another matter, but at least now we have that opportunity.
Kneel down by the shore
Be thirsty no more
Go under and be purified...
Title: Beautiful Scandalous Night
Artist: The Choir
Album: Flap Your Wings
Year: 2001
Buy directly from The Choir here.
It was a horrible night for those who loved Jesus -- He was arrested without a real warrant, pushed through trial under dishonest judges with their own agendas, beaten, mocked, and eventually sentenced to death, which was carried out the next morning. And it was scandalous -- not only was the entire thing a sham trial by a coalition of corrupt religious and political leaders, Jesus, up until a week prior, had been something of a celebrity throughout the region. For Him to have been sentenced to death literally overnight would certainly have been tabloid material.
But for those who have loved Him since that time, it was beautiful. For a more in-depth explanation of the reasoning behind it, read this. But in a nutshell, it was because of Jesus' death that humans even have the opportunity to be reconciled with God. Whether we take it or not is another matter, but at least now we have that opportunity.
Kneel down by the shore
Be thirsty no more
Go under and be purified...
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