The Breathing Stone

I'm not sure why I've started a blog, really. I don't expect many to read it, and I highly doubt that it'll do me much good at all. Nevertheless, I was encouraged by a friend to try it, and to sate his curiosity and my own, I shall oblige...

What to say? Where to begin? Why to begin? These are the first questions that seep into my mind, and I'm sure this has happened to many others. I don't consider myself very special in the writing or creativity department; I never have really. I suppose I should begin at the spinning of my first thought as I stare at this life sucking device I call my laptop...

Music. I'm not sure why that's the first thing that fluttered in my mind...no wait...now I know.

Music has always been my "key to feeling." I've always had trouble reacting to things with feeling and not logic. Occasionally I'll have a spurt of anger and burst out in an immature fashion, but other than that much of my emotion is fake, forced. It's strange because I used to be quite empathetic...weird, how something in your life can flip you right around and turn you into something you weren't.

If life were as simple as pushing a button or taking a step, I'd excel; but no, it's a life where many of your decisions must come from your heart, where you must feel your audience's "vibes" and react accordingly to please them and move ahead. There is no such thing as self wrought success. It is a necessary part of life if one wishes to move ahead and provide for one's family. Stupid, right? I guess after a few years of trying to feel sorry for someone, trying to love someone else, trying to smile and be happy or excited, one emotion simply stood out above the rest and came naturally - Loneliness.

This is not to say that I felt alone in my struggle to feel, that no one else fought the same inner demon. I'm sure there are many like me...but even if I had met one like me, what good would it be? We'd simply we two beings struggling to feel anything about not feeling anything together. I guess loneliness prevailed simply because I was wanting to be like everyone else I was around. I wanted to be excited and smile and cry - there's something that hasn't happened in a while - and just be all these things. Something is blocking it, right? Well, I found my vice, my little wedge to pry open these walls I've unconsciously built for no reason, it seems.

Music.

Once I slip on the headphones and just shut my eyes and let in the beat of the drums, the tinny twanging of the steel stringed guitar, the soft swelling innocence of the piano, and the underlying support of the bass reverberating through the whole song. Each subtle difference brought out a tiny sliver of emotion that seeped through the infinitesimal breaks in my walls. Music was an infiltrator to my otherwise impervious base of a soul.

The funny thing is, this somehow came as no great shock to me. I felt relief, perhaps, in the knowledge that I was able to feel, that I wasn't some freak who simply mirrored the emotions of others to blend in. I took to listening to music at every available opportunity. Emotion was like a drug coursing through my veins and my soul with tendrils of power formerly unbeknownst to me. It was addictive, and I'd spend hours just laying prone on my floor or bed, my headphones in my ears, blasting different emotions into my mind. Sorrow, anger, peace, joy.... all flowed into a myriad of change, feeding my starved heart with a basis of understanding.

Still a problem remains, though. I can't access these wonderful emotions when I speak to someone in person. When I hear someone say something, I react how logic and observation dictates I should, and then I store the information in my mind for later analysis. More often than not, I'll respond through written or typed messages later on in the day when I've had a chance to process the information, slipping in the appropriate track 5 minutes prior to typing to "feel" my words. If I don't, and I'm pressured into immediate reaction, more often than not it is an immature response, an illogical breach in conduct. Even now, I play music that makes me think, that makes me feel, that makes me try.

I don't feel like an enigma. In fact, I know I'm not. I know I'm just like everyone out there. Something just keeps me from showing it as well. Maybe I'm trying to protect myself? Maybe something happened that made me shut down...maybe that's not a bad thing. I like to think of it as my protection, my own special shield, my invulnerable, impregnable fortress of the soul. I can take any insult, any offense... and not feel a thing. How cool is that?!

This music makes me feel so full of hope, inspired even. Maybe it's the swelling of  intensity that rolls down into a calm, almost motherly feel. It makes me feel safe, even if only for the one song. I suppose there's a slight sadness though, in knowing that as soon as I take out the headphones, I'll slip back into my stone shell, become the living statue once again, no heart, only a mind. Still, I don't think there's a safer place for me. Not yet. Not again.

I think I've talked enough for today. The music is almost finished anyway. Till next time, I suppose. Goodbye, beautiful reader. Hello, Breathing Stone.