Tuesday, August 12, 2014

On Depression, On Suicide, On Not Being an Island

I've been trying for hours to write something that completely and meaningfully encompasses my thoughts on depression and suicide. And I just can't. Plenty of people have been talking about this in the day since we learned of Robin Williams' suicide, so I keep asking why I'm bothering. But... in the past twenty-four hours, I've learned new things about people I know well, and they mean more than the words of a stranger. I hope that, by adding to what's already being said, I'll add a voice closer to home. I'll add something that will make a difference, not to the general public, but to people I know and love.

Let me come right out and say, I have struggled with depression, and I have contemplated the relief it might be to die.

I may not really be able to fully understand chronic depression (mine is situational; it has had a specific trigger), but I know what it is to hold hell within my own soul, to have nowhere to turn within myself that's away from pain or loss or shame. I know what it is to have spent my last drop of hope that the future will be better, and to be unable to believe in my heart the cheering things my head insists are true. And I know what it is to feel perfectly okay with the idea of not waking up in the morning.

If I don't talk about these things openly, some of that is not so much fear of what people will think as being territorially possessive of my own experience. My business is my business. I am a reserved and private person. Still, I'm very lucky to have close friends that I can confide in when I need to. I can feel the balance in my mind shifting, and when it begins to tip too far, I have my safety nets. I know I can't do this alone all the time, but I also don't want to worry or upset people unnecessarily. So I haven't been very open about these things in the past.  If you genuinely feel you need me share more than this with you, we can talk.

The only thing more that I'll say about myself is that the trigger I mentioned is grief. And grief is a pretty common part of life. I'm actually going through a lot of it right now for personal reasons, which is probably why I can't find the distance I need to be more thorough without rambling. What I want you most to know, if you're worried for me now, is that, sometimes it scares me, thinking how I could fall down this rabbit hole, and because it scares me so much, I've done what I need to BEFORE things get bad to make sure I have help climbing out. I am not afraid to ask for help. I will always seek help, because no matter what pain I'm in, I never, EVER want to hurt you. I love you too much, and I owe you too much for the love and friendship you've given me.

But I have one last thing to say about other people.  One of the things that makes me feel most isolated and alone and hopeless is someone who absolutely doesn't understand. Who thinks it's a matter of will power or determination or positive thinking. People who think, since I'm smart and talented and successful, what's my excuse for not being happy? What was Robin Williams' excuse? Isn't it kind of our own fault? Shouldn't we just cheer up, look on the bright side? Count our blessings?

This is wrong. Utterly and completely wrong. As wrong as it is to think that hunger is the fault of a child born into poverty, or blindness is the fault of the person who brain was damaged by fever. I'm not talking about the everyday blues, or even the anxiety attacks I get sometimes when I'm stressed. This is a self-perpetuating chemical imbalance that leaves even someone with my cast-iron self-esteem open to the ugliest, snidest, most sadistic of my inner voices. If you have no experience with depression, consider yourself lucky or blessed, but not superior. I don't say this to judge you or to scold you. I honestly envy you. But please, PLEASE accept that you have formed an incorrect opinion on something you are fortunate enough to know nothing about.

You don't have to empathize or understand, but remember this when you hear about someone battling demons or losing that battle. There, but for the grace of God, and your love and friendship, go I.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Where Am I?

I was digging into some old documents and found the following rambling:

I started thinking, I don't know why, about how the ancient Egyptians preserved the heart but threw away the brain (after extracting it through the nose) because they thought the heart was the center of being, the residence of thought, feeling, self, the soul.

And I thought about how I feel my thoughts coming from my head, somewhere behind my eyes, and conveniently located near my mouth so that they can be informed and shared by/with the world around me.  But I wondered, is that just a culturally created perception behavior? Could I recenter that sense of self so that it felt like the focus of my being was in my chest cavity instead?  I tried, and I found that I could.

Then I wondered, should something as precious to me as my essential and unique personhood be located in such a conspicuous place?  Maybe I should hide it somewhere.  Somewhere seemingly innocuous and inconspicuous.  Like, not my little toe, but the one next to it, on my left foot.  Could I reach inside and refocus myself such that the core of my soul settled in a toe?  I tried, and I found that I could.

So now when I'm feeling shy of people around me, maybe I can try to be braver and more openly friendly with the thought that while I interact with them, they may think they know where the real me is at, but little do they suspect that I've hidden my true self in my appendix, or a bicuspid.

I think... that I think too much.


Wednesday, March 05, 2014

Lenten Lillies

I repose my soul
In Lenten quiet
Englobed, expectant
Deep in dark earth
Innumerable hopes
Kept close in my heart
Cool, moist, still
Chill as young spring
Contained, reflecting
I wait, I want, I wait...
Slowly spreading roots
Fine as filigree
Nascent pathways
Outstretched fingers
Feeling through loam
Around, toward, into
Fresh reserves drawn in
To arms outstretched
Reaching upward
Pressing out against
All that closes in
All that holds me still
Breaking through the shell
Breath held until...
My soul bursts forth again
Into sunlight, new as morning,
Bright as dawn-bloomed lilies. 

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Some Dreams

Some dreams, the only thing worse
Than having them is the waking up
Sitting in golden sunlight amid
The rocks and rubble of broken slab
Looking out from the levee across
The river, gray and glinting and
Rustling in a warm, soft breeze
Looking up into his eyes, blue blue
Blue and deep and so close close
Catching my breath feeling his on
My cheek and his lips so close close
Close to mine and his warmth golden
Like the sun and soft like the breeze
In that moment of eternity before
That one first kiss, there's only
Ever only one first kiss and this
This was going to be ours until
I woke alone and cold in the dark.

Monday, July 15, 2013

Summer Moon

Moon, pale gold like early summer
Whispering, "Autumn..." in my ear
Murmuring weariness in rain-laced wind
Drooping, half asleep, worn thin
Nights of watching, exhausted by
Just the sight of sun
Brilliant, always, as youth
As fire-glinting joy
Ebullience without end
Leaving only listlessness
Worn out ennui in its wake
Cover with cloud your dazzled eye
And dream... 
                    ...While I
Weave words among the summer grass
Tall and wet and rustling
Thoughts like fingers following
Field mice as they whisk away
Slipping from my hands like hope
slipping from my mind like truth
Slipping from my heart like youth
Quick, cup the falling leaves
To catch and hold elusive wisps
Spilling over the ragged edge
Leaking through the smallest crack
Quick, before it slips away
A pen, a page...
                ...Anything at hand
A parched and brittle reed
Snap the point to sharpness
Prick the vein
Write in blood upon the sky
Hopes that were and are no more
Unwritten, they'll have never been
Just dry corn jostled, trampled
Lost amid the harvest
Fallen onto stony ground
Scooped up by flocks of hungry stars
Bursting from the parting clouds
Words scattered, gobbled up
And gone, gone with the faded moon
That murmured autumn in the summer heat...

Put the pen down, dreamer
You cannot write on sky.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Birdfoot Chamber Music Festival 2013 - A Musical Feast at Madewood Plantation House

On Sunday, May 19, the Birdfoot Chamber Music Festival began its second year of festivities with A Musical Feast at the Madewood Plantation House.  Open rehearsals in the afternoon and early evening hors d'oeuvres with wine were followed by a concert of selections from works to be performed throughout this week. The evening culminated in a delicious dinner by Chef Stephen Stryjewski of Cochon, where guests mingled with and met the brilliant young musicians that have come from all over the world to share their talents with us.

The beautifully preserved and restored plantation homes of the American South enshrine a cultural history as rich and fascinating as it is difficult and deeply vexed, but the intense intimacy of chamber music as a genre is amplified by the antebellum grace of Madewood.  These are the chambers this music seems made for, and hearing it here is completely unlike any other music listening experience. High, shimmering notes sparkle in the crystal chandelier. Lush middle tones unfurl along scrolls and leaves of plaster molding.  The deepest notes billow and undulate in lace curtains draped against dusk-dimmed windows. Damasked wall paper, gilt frames, dark woods, and pale marbles all capture and resonate with the tapestry of sound, both broad and intricate, miraculously spun from empty air and woven into magic by a only handful of mortals with nothing more than wood, hair, ivory, steel, the skill of their bodies, and the passion in their souls.

But this is not the insulated opulence of wealth and rank, separated in a bubble from the vibrant, chaotic world outside. The stark, neoclassical lines of tall keyhole doors in this correctly symmetrical rectangle of a room reverberate with strange, unearthly harmonics and overtones, softened by the faint murmur of breeze through oak and Spanish moss. Flame-colored roses and carnivorous pitcher plants adorn each table, amid china, silver, and wine-filled glasses. And as the most ethereal music floats up to the ceiling, it drifts into the lost, lazy wanderings of a mud dauber wasp, buzzing drowsily from window to window. Everything here conspires draw together a civilized refinement and a wild swamp savagery into a union so unique to Louisiana, and so appropriate to this festival.

After all, at its essence, the Birdfoot Chamber Music Festival is not about keeping chamber music in the chambers of the elite. If A Musical Feast at Madewood evokes and brings to life an iconic and historical view of chamber music as performance for the privileged few in a luxurious setting, this week the Birdfoot artists and organizers will surely explode that stereotype in a variety of venues, from community center to university concert hall, and by mentoring and featuring many of New Orleans’ own young musicians. They will release chamber music from an insulated, FabergĂ© elegance, allowing it to fan out and flow like the Mississippi delta that gives the festival its name, to live and breathe in our often delightfully unrefined city, and to take root and grow in the minds and souls of a broader, brand new audience.

Do NOT miss this.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Gull Wings Gray

Gull wings gray
And gleaming white
As mist on foam
At silver-shadowed dawn,
The vast and hollow roar
Of immensity brought near
Rolling into shore
In a crashing tumble,
Salt and sand and spray
Cut clean through
By an aching cry,
Taunting, flaunting,
Arrogant above,
Aloft on knife-edge wings,
"Mine, all this is mine
And I belong
And every day I glide,
Riding the horizon line
Between serenity and storm,
Peace and passion,
Water and wind.
In a sudden swoop
I shatter the divide
Separating sea and sky,
Then, leaping into air again,
I am mastered and I am
Master of them all
And here I am complete."