Each weekday morning at the station at approximately 7:29am the tannoy on the opposite platform starts to make the announcement for the next southbound local train. And without fail the London express comes thundering through drowning out all the calling station names. Then all that is left of the announcement after the cacophony passes is an almost apologetic ‘operated by Northern Rail.’ I’ve no idea how the timing manages to be absolutely spot on each day.
That is life reflection at the moment.
I know my well-being is not great and hasn’t been for at least a few weeks now. Way too much medicating with chocolate. Life, work and social media feel like they are all drowning ‘me’ out. Half the time I don’t know what I feel, another news topic flares up or a hot subject whizzes around twitter and my senses short circuit. And the monkey on the shoulder hops from foot to foot jabbering amongst other things ‘you’re just jumping on the back of recent blog posts on depression and mental health, copying others by thinking of taking a social media break..’
Truth be known I’m not sure what I will do, but I am on a list for counselling. I also think I feel for the first time that I’m not totally scared shitless at the thought of darkness loitering again. One of those seasons which comes around periodically and lets itself in through the door for a sit-in.
I want to be able to articulate ‘it’ perfectly but for sure I don’t always know what ‘it’ is
How can I explain what deep down I don’t know?
I have also longed to explain how music has often saved me in tough times. How my soul has a deep affinity with interpretation of the dots and lines on a page. I don’t know how a particular combination of sounds (harmonies) in music might move me deeply. That Chopin’s dark thoughts have probably mirrored my own. Perhaps it is the best way for some of those pesky feelings to be dragged up from the deep, from the coal face to the surface?
Time and again when I’ve turned up and sat at the piano with heavy heart and began to move fingers over the keys, whatever the piece of music may be, I’m not the same as I was before I started the piece.
When I prepare songs for leading worship on a Sunday it turns out I am not just playing them over to make sure I am aware of how things might flow from one song to the next.The very act of exercising physical, mental and spiritual muscles together is something which irons my soul.
The whole effort of trying to explain sometimes turns in on itself.
And the perfectionist pitches in for good measure, screeching grammar, poor choice of words, no good, no-one will understand, too much me, me.
But I do need to create, write, to sift and to dredge.
And even if I don’t come out with understanding, the creases are a little smoother and the noise is not quite so overwhelming.