As I’ve mentioned in past posts, I’ve decided to try my hand at composing…and I’ve found that I don’t suck at it. I mean, I’m not Bach or anything, but I definitely don’t suck.
I’ve been working on one piece for a little less than a week now. I got bored after practicing one day, and a musical friend suggested finding my way through the key of D Dorian. It started with just a melody that had a few chords in it–specifically Neapolitan sixth chords. The left hand didn’t come as easily as the melody, so I had to get the same friend to help show me what to do. The whole process of working on this piece, one VERY small part at a time, has been somewhat cathartic for me. Because I don’t have lyrics for this piece (nor does it require lyrics to complete it), all of my emotion goes into the musical aspects. Would I like to be able to compose faster? Yes. However, since this is composition for healing’s sake, I’m not forcing or rushing the process. It’s not going to turn out to be the next Rach 3 or anything, but that’s not my aim either. The point of this exercise is to actually exist compassionately through the process.
Throughout the course of last night and today, I have listened to a specific song about a million times (okay, that number might be slightly exaggerated). This particular song includes the following words:
I am drowning in your sea
I can’t breathe without you anymore
I can’t breathe without you
Can you hear me?
This whole healing process for me was instigated by the arts. After participating in a program, there were many facets of past traumas that I started reliving. These traumas left a hole that hasn’t yet been filled. Unfortunately, that makes me feel like I actually lost a part of myself. So I got to the point where I literally embodied these lyrics as if I was singing them to myself. That piece of me that is missing…it has gone noticed, and it either needs to be filled or healed through so I can breathe again (both literally and figuratively…though less on the literal side, as I’m still very much taking in oxygen). Call it part of my spirit, soul, or whatever you want, but that is the point of this whole process. And to get through the process, I’ve had to (and need to even more) give up a lot of control. Negativity of any kind has been purged…and I just keep going.