what we can't not listen to

I have learned this year to sing for spaces, regardless of whether or not people are listening. It's something that helps me stay in the moment. Tonight was tough. The last show of the year and I wasn't into singing to spaces because the people weren't listening. Right there, that's the drama of being a musician. My favorite story was years ago when the literacy council asked me to sing at their valentine's day party. There was a line-up of readers and the room hung on every word. I think poetry readings and my songs fit really well together so I was looking forward doing my set for this audience. I was introduced and wouldn't you know the second I opened my mouth to sing my words, people started gabbing. Like it was intermission. Like my words didn't matter and I wasn't even there. I have to admit that I was pissed.

So here I am again tonight. Part of me says well it's on me to inspire people to pay attention. But that, historically, has taken me down a pretty negative road. So, note to self: ask the booking agent whether or not it's a listening crowd before agreeing to play. Just as a head's up.

In general it's been a rough week health-wise. I am having a lot of uncomfortable symptoms of detoxing. The worst is late at night and the sound of blood wooshing through my ears is deafening. It almost drowns out the ringing. It's entirely possible that the neurological damage of my ringing ears cannot be reversed. But the wooshing and the pounding pounding blood vessels all over my body. It's intense. Someone make that go away.

Hmmmm, talk about a captive listening audience. This is one song I can't not listen to. Noisy bloody music.

now, and now

So, one of the additions to my house is a far infrared sauna (with a mini trampoline!). I've been warming myself a couple of times a week. It's weird. Sometimes it's like my body craves it, like exercise. Then, other times my head pounds and I can't stand the heat and have to leave the space well before I'm 'supposed' to.

I've been so focused on the health stuff that I've neglected the song I was working on. The muse has flown for now. I hope it won't be one of those cast-away songs because I liked the premise: the idea that in your dreams you see the truth of who someone is, the idea that when your dreams have disappeared you gravitate towards their truth because you have none of your own.

I know a thread of melancholy runs through my music. As much as I'd like it to be a thread of contentment and play, it's not that. These days I have no dreams to speak of. There is nothing that I'd like to do. So I want to write a song to grieve this loss. The gain, I suppose, is learning how to be in the moment more often. My dream -- if you can call it that -- is to feel here. The moment is extraordinary and overwhelms me. I sit in the sauna and watch the temperature light waver and the minutes count down. My only moment is to feel the sweat gather in folds of skin, on the small of my back, under my hair.

I wish I dreamed of tomorrow because that is what Americans are supposed to do. I would lean into it with everything I had, if only I had a picture of what I would do or could be. But I see no threshold to tomorrow. I just see now, and now, and now. A non-dream that will not fade.