Songs in your head
I woke up with an old hymn stuck in my head. It was a song that we used to sing ALL THE FREAKING time at meetings. And, oh, it was a bad song. Terrible words, poorly written music... but it was an extremely effective ear worm. "Sing out with joy of heart. You too can have a part. Live for the day ::long pause:: When you'll say ::long pause:: Life without end at last".
Ugh. Just. Ugh.
I woke with it stuck in my head because I had a dream about going back to my old Kingdom Hall. I was visiting family, and went to a meeting with them. And was treated like a beloved prodigal daughter, returning after a short absence by most of them. All of these sweet elderly women kept coming up to me, kissing me on the cheek, and exclaiming over me. People I haven't seen in over ten years, looking the same in my dream as the last time I saw them, were coming up and hugging me, telling me they loved me and I wasn't to leave again.
And the entire dream I felt like I was walking through a steaming hot sauna, minus the sensation of heat. You know that cloying, muffling, overwhelming sense of walking through taffy you get if you stay in a sauna too long? That's what it felt like. I ran to the door to get air, and was immediately surrounded by people. During the meeting itself, I raised my hand to answer a question about scripture, and when I got called on there was an intense mixed rush of euphoria and terror. And, of course, I dropped my bible just as the mike came to me and couldn't remember the scripture I was supposed to be quoting for the life of me...
So much of my past, at least my memories of my past, is about the desperate desire to escape. Every sharp, poignant sense memory I have revolves around feeling caged. This memory of walking in the snow through a pine forest in back of our old house, alone save for my sleek gray cat, every moment suffused with the possibility of romance, the scent of pine in the air, snow hitting my cheeks like soft little pin prick burns, sucking a pine needle and reveling in the taste of juniper and winter... this memory of pure freedom is encased in the knowledge that I had to go back to the house. I couldn't stay out here alone in the cold forever. My hero wasn't going to come bounding out of a snow drift and seduce me into happiness.
Another memory, walking through the long grass in late summer, heading up to the pine forest and beyond that, to the cemetery. Late summer sunshine beating down on my head, warming my brain, gold dust motes dancing in the air in front of me, holding my arms out away from my sides, letting the wheat heads caress my palms as I walked. That summer smell, hay and sunshine and old, rotting wood from the barn. Walking away from reality, towards my dreams for a too short period of time.
It's not like I had a terrible childhood. I don't know what I was so desperate to be free from. Dishonesty, mostly, I think. Those cloying lies which obscured so much throughout my youth. When I was alone, with nothing but nature around me, and no one but animals to define my behavior, I could be whatever I wanted. At home, surrounded by people who loved me, I had to be what they needed me to be. I had to be smart, I had to be sweet, I had to be quiet, I had to be thoughtful, I had to listen, I had to say the right words.
Alone, I could be selfish. I could fall into my dreams and think of no one but myself. I didn't have to fear the unreasoning and unreasonable anger my mother and father were both subject to. I didn't have to protect my siblings. I didn't have to pretend to a faith I didn't feel. I didn't have to be a friend to people who had no idea who I really was.
No wonder my strongest memories are sense memories. Alone at the ocean at night, listening to the ceaseless murmer, lying in cold sand and staring up into the vast, black night. I wasn't alone that night. I was with my sister, my friends, my brother. But when I was lying there, senses wide open and surrounded by cold honesty, I was alone. When I lifted my head and started to interact again, I fell back into the play that was my life.
It makes me sad that I only truly feel honest, only truly feel myself, when I'm alone. I'd like to change that. But it doesn't surprise me. I've been this way for as long as I can remember. Every time I try to tear the veil that keeps me separate from the rest of the world I just find another muffling layer.
Ugh. Just. Ugh.
I woke with it stuck in my head because I had a dream about going back to my old Kingdom Hall. I was visiting family, and went to a meeting with them. And was treated like a beloved prodigal daughter, returning after a short absence by most of them. All of these sweet elderly women kept coming up to me, kissing me on the cheek, and exclaiming over me. People I haven't seen in over ten years, looking the same in my dream as the last time I saw them, were coming up and hugging me, telling me they loved me and I wasn't to leave again.
And the entire dream I felt like I was walking through a steaming hot sauna, minus the sensation of heat. You know that cloying, muffling, overwhelming sense of walking through taffy you get if you stay in a sauna too long? That's what it felt like. I ran to the door to get air, and was immediately surrounded by people. During the meeting itself, I raised my hand to answer a question about scripture, and when I got called on there was an intense mixed rush of euphoria and terror. And, of course, I dropped my bible just as the mike came to me and couldn't remember the scripture I was supposed to be quoting for the life of me...
So much of my past, at least my memories of my past, is about the desperate desire to escape. Every sharp, poignant sense memory I have revolves around feeling caged. This memory of walking in the snow through a pine forest in back of our old house, alone save for my sleek gray cat, every moment suffused with the possibility of romance, the scent of pine in the air, snow hitting my cheeks like soft little pin prick burns, sucking a pine needle and reveling in the taste of juniper and winter... this memory of pure freedom is encased in the knowledge that I had to go back to the house. I couldn't stay out here alone in the cold forever. My hero wasn't going to come bounding out of a snow drift and seduce me into happiness.
Another memory, walking through the long grass in late summer, heading up to the pine forest and beyond that, to the cemetery. Late summer sunshine beating down on my head, warming my brain, gold dust motes dancing in the air in front of me, holding my arms out away from my sides, letting the wheat heads caress my palms as I walked. That summer smell, hay and sunshine and old, rotting wood from the barn. Walking away from reality, towards my dreams for a too short period of time.
It's not like I had a terrible childhood. I don't know what I was so desperate to be free from. Dishonesty, mostly, I think. Those cloying lies which obscured so much throughout my youth. When I was alone, with nothing but nature around me, and no one but animals to define my behavior, I could be whatever I wanted. At home, surrounded by people who loved me, I had to be what they needed me to be. I had to be smart, I had to be sweet, I had to be quiet, I had to be thoughtful, I had to listen, I had to say the right words.
Alone, I could be selfish. I could fall into my dreams and think of no one but myself. I didn't have to fear the unreasoning and unreasonable anger my mother and father were both subject to. I didn't have to protect my siblings. I didn't have to pretend to a faith I didn't feel. I didn't have to be a friend to people who had no idea who I really was.
No wonder my strongest memories are sense memories. Alone at the ocean at night, listening to the ceaseless murmer, lying in cold sand and staring up into the vast, black night. I wasn't alone that night. I was with my sister, my friends, my brother. But when I was lying there, senses wide open and surrounded by cold honesty, I was alone. When I lifted my head and started to interact again, I fell back into the play that was my life.
It makes me sad that I only truly feel honest, only truly feel myself, when I'm alone. I'd like to change that. But it doesn't surprise me. I've been this way for as long as I can remember. Every time I try to tear the veil that keeps me separate from the rest of the world I just find another muffling layer.
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