Have you ever been driving at night or lying on your bed on a Saturday, listening to music, when a certain song comes on that enhances your senses?
There’s something about the percussion that perks up the awareness, the strumming of strings that solicits a nervous system response, the melody that molds the shape of your haunts and desires.
It becomes the soundtrack that lays the groundwork for your grief, gives stability and tangibility to your joy, like plugging an amplifier into your heart.
That certain song comes on and suddenly I’m a poet. The lines fade from my face and I’m strong and wise and innocent. My head is the world, my eyes a telescope, my tongue a trumpet. I’m talented and I know what it feels like to be in love, to kiss and be heartbroken, to be in bed with someone special.
The music dances atop my senses, grabs my arms and pulls me into everything, connecting me with all emotion and every person that plods through this planet. I’m no longer small or inconsequential. I am more than myself, a part of something timeless and ethereal.
The song is a vessel, a simulation of the senses, and I can explore the ups and downs of life and love and forget about my own downs, to surge from love to heartache back to love again, all within those musical moments, within the safety of my sheets or steering wheel. I’m not lonely as long as the music massages my ears. No matter the emotion, I am connected to the music because the music feels the same way I do, has the same aspirations and needs.
We ride along together, hand-in-hand, an expression, a moment of connection, a reverie to release the pressure.