The Moon Story

Last night stretched on. I enjoyed the company of friends and sang a song for a small crowd all the while sourly anticipating the inevitable and heartbreaking meeting at nights end. As it would be, it was an emotional event that left me utterly confused and slightly miserable yet once again content and no longer empty. It is in this contentment I find stagnation, it is within the happiness that I seem to find lack of purpose or growth. Some things, though they once grew, do not grow forever.

So it was when I finally staggered into the house and locked the door that I wandered into the kitchen and began the process again. I threw back shots between sobs and it was there that I sank to the disgusting floor of a community household and lost it.

As they will, the sobs eventually subsided into a numb line that hummed steady. It was just before midnight and I was ravished. I cooked a full meal , sloppily , that I didn't taste. I wandered to my room and tried to watch something mindless on the screen. I passed out then and woke a couple hours later, not wanting  to get up, yet realizing the lack of grace. An empty bowl on my bed, lights on, my dress riding up. An ugly scene to say the least and not one I care to repeat.

My mind was spilling over with thoughts all racing each other as I cleaned up a bit and made myself decent for bed. I lay there in the dark and needed water. Which conveniently was in my car. So I turned the light back on and fetched water. I wasn't falling to sleep. I kept thinking  , my mind working so hard, how would I make this decision? So I turned the light back on and grabbed homeopathic sleep aid tabs and took one. Again , to no avail, not even after a third. So I sifted on the computer and found some reasonable advice on my situation along with some fitting and needed quotes from Khalil Gibran. I wrote upon a sheet of paper and paired it with a gift in a small bag that I tucked into my purse.

At this point we were well into the 4 am hour and I could hear the morning hum beginning, I could smell it wafting through my window. My eyes were wide open, my mind still active. This had been the pattern for at least a week now. But I did have this sensation of something solid. It was the realization that I was seeking growth, not happiness. I found comfort in the thought  that what is meant to be will find its way. Still, there is never a true remedy for a broken heart. And in those rare circumstances, it is worse to do the breaking than to be broken.

So, back on with the light and on with the running clothes. I was hesitant at first, but I put the music in the ears and headed out the door solo. I was going to run up the mesa. My legs went and did not stop. Chris Isaak began the journey  , and then something strange happened.

As soon as my feet hit the trailhead, Dark Side Of The Moon started. I thought it perfect. This would be my soundtrack. But how right I was I soon realized. With every turn and every emotion, every thought and step, the music was narrating my existence in that time and place. Part of me might argue that that is simply the making of good music, that it might find a way to fit every situation. But as I passed the blue flowers and the single white one, as I ran through the mud and the dry cracked dirt, as I climbed the small rock wall and headed to the mesa all glowing with the sun, I felt this was more than coincidence. I considered I was , in this time , the product of something written. Every word was speaking my surroundings , and the music my inner most frequency. Now , not to be mistaken, I am always quite taken with music. This experience was something much more incredible.

So as my feet hit the landing of the stairway to the mesa, there began, in perfect synchronization , Great Gig in the Sky. And as I stood atop that giant rock and the rising sun shown in all its beautiful glory, I basked in the epic-ness of the moment complete with its soundtrack. And as two small jet planes passed overhead, waving my attention from the beauty of nature, there began Money.

Back down the hill I went, all the while listening to the words echoing. Talking to me, even telling me "down, and out" as I descended , speaking of what lies in the grass and of my own insanity which inevitably made me giggle.

So as I came to the road once again, I felt I could go forever in this state of physical and mental elation. I wished I could sustain this. As the house neared I checked the time left on the soundtrack and realized there that I was twenty seconds from the end. I sprinted the last block and as the journey ended I once again laughed to myself. I stretched, grabbed my computer, and here I sit writing this. Perhaps this is one of those pieces you re-read and in hindsight understand you were delirious from sleepless night upon sleepless night. But regardless, the energy was solid and while I have an extremely trying time in front of me accompanied by such big decisions, I feel lighter than I had. I feel progress has been made, an understanding.

 I should attempt sleep. At least for a few hours, so that when I enter the studio today I can remember a few words.

The morning is lovely, perfectly chilly, moist and alive. Wish me luck.