“But I always come back. I am drawn to this place,
as I’m drawn to you, as I’m drawn to you, as I’m drawn to light.
A moth to the light, to the light, to the light.”
You Chase the Light by The Innocence Mission
written by Karen Peris
I fell out of love. It happens. We’ve all been there. We don’t talk about it much, though we could. Any maybe should. It just seems to be one of those things that brings up feelings we’re not prepared to own. Maybe it’s embarrassment. Maybe guilt. I’m not sure. I only know that when we fall out of love, we push it all down, hoping to hide it away until it’s completely forgotten. Praying no one notices, or heaven forbid, mentions anything relating to that past love. I mean, if others don’t forget, how can we?
In my case, a lot of life wedged itself between me and my love. It kept me from feeling it fully. From expressing the multitude of beautiful emotions. My love was, quite literally, placed on a shelf. And by the time I dusted it off and held it in my hands, damage was done. I had so successfully dug a hole in my soul, and buried all my love/hopes/expectations/dreams, that I felt nothing but detachment. And loss.
I’m not talking about Mister. I’m talking about Music. There’s been a lot of pain associated with music, and it’s been a struggle to understand and live with the void. I’ve not known how to define myself in the face of the loss. I’ve not known how to look forward, how to dream. My heart has felt incomplete for quite a while now. And as I’m a mere beginner in the great realm of life, I’ve not had a damn clue how to deal with these terribly uncomfortable unknowns.
Therapy helps, but it doesn’t fully repair. Filling the gap with other creative endeavors helps, too. And though those are worthy pursuits, their square pegs don’t fully fit my heart-shaped holes. So I get up. I force myself to do something – anything – hoping I’ll run into myself around some corner and that I’ll embrace me and suddenly feel whole. Hasn’t happened, but I still hope.
Through all this disconnect, I’ve not so much as picked up a guitar or contemplated writing a song. I haven’t sung, either. Not in the car, not in the shower. Not anywhere. Worse, I’ve not even enjoyed listening to music. For a long time, I didn’t listen at all. It was painful. It was foreign. If the part of me that loved music was lost, where was I supposed to put sound?
But, like all broken hearts, time creeps into the cracks and tills the soul. For me, it began with turning on the car radio. Only once in a while, mind you, but it was a start. And after a few months, I tried singing along. My voice sounded solid, but I felt wobbly. It wasn’t easy, but I forced myself to sing anyway. The next exercise was singing at home. That should have been simple, but it wasn’t. I had to ease into it. Alone. And let me be clear about something here: it hurt. I struggled to do something simple – singing aloud – that I love. Something I’ve done since I was able to speak. I wish I could explain, but I don’t understand it myself. I only know I was working hard to re-claim a vital part of myself.
By the time Rock Camp came around, I was worried, but also eager to be pushed into using my voice. Teaching the girls to use their voices forced me to step up and own mine. Jamming with other volunteers was frightening, so I made myself do it. And I think this is the truth, what I’m about to share – I held my own and did well.
Cut to yesterday morning, and I found myself needing to hear an old song by The Innocence Mission: “You Chase the Light.” As all our CDs and LPs are still packed away, I was worried the craving would go un-sated. And then I thought to check the mP3 player. God bless Mister, y’all, because that Innocence Mission record isn’t even his favorite, but he had loaded it anyway. For me. I pressed play, turned the volume up, sat between the speakers and just listened. And then I started singing along. And then I was performing, with so much feeling that I started to cry. I was living that song, just like a good performer is supposed to. The melody was lifting my soul and the words were steering my emotions. For the first time in a very long while, I was connected to music. And I knew it.
So I think there’s new life in my heart. I think healing has finally begun. I think I may be falling in love again. In the end, it is the only cure for a broken heart. Something has to fill the gaps and patch the cracks. I don’t mind scars, not at all. So long as they’re wrapped in love’s new growth and tender tendrils. And I can’t make any promises here, but I may very well be on the edge of pulling out a guitar and writing a new song.
For right now, though, I just want to enjoy listening to one of my favorite songs. It’s been such a long time…