Ever notice the lyrics of songs these days? I'm sure, like me, most people belt out the lyrics to their favorite tunes, at least every now and then. This means that those who do are conscious of the words that these songs are comprised of. What, I am wondering, is the effect of these words on our daily lives? Do the similarities between people cause them to share musical interests? Are the plights of our souls compounded by the stories we listen to daily through the lyrics in the songs we choose?
I got thinking about this because of the recent changes going on in my life. I noticed a couple of years back how I went through stages with the music I most commonly enjoyed. At times, perhaps the most peaceful in my life, I enjoyed the simplicity of themes, mostly love, and the sound of innocence from artists such as Taylor Swift. This is contradicted by other periods in my life when I would turn from the angelic, teen song-writer to an angrier, harried version, Alanis Morissette. Now these stages could be months apart, but there were also the daily changes from old-school R&B, perhaps a little R. Kelly or Boys 2 Men when I was feeling sensual or SIA when I was feeling fragile to Rebelution during a playful mood. It is only recently that my tastes are undergoing a change and I feel uncomfortable with what my ears have been allowing my heart to tune into. I say this light-heartedly and mean no offense to light rock followers. Even though it is a reaction to turn the song when one of these starts to play, I have recently let them play on and it has been to my enjoyment. Like a sneaky, heavy handed bartender, this music sweeps me off my feet and it is utterly out of my control. I feel childish as my body reacts to the outdated lyrical allusions and positive beats. I probably shouldn't be complaining, but it is weird, like an out of body experience.
It did get me thinking though about the causes for the change. If, indeed, it follows with my recent re-conversion to a life led by faith in God and therefore a more "pure" approach to the daily life, in the Christian sense of the word, are my ears and body filtering the appropriate material on a sub-conscious level or is my brain on terms with my heart and making the best effort to remain one whole rather than parts divided?
If this is confusing, I should probably back up anyway. I am suggesting that what we listen to affects what we think or how we think even on a daily basis. I am thinking that modern music, within the last 20 years or so, is typically based on love. All types: unrequited, fantastical, sensual, dangerous, flamboyant, obscure, innocent, familiar... What is, and has been, the effect of this on society? Do we mimic the music and is it a cyclical situation (I won't call it a problem because that is entirely personal at this point and unfounded)? I don't have the answers here, just somethings I'm thinking about. Comments welcome!
Monday, August 29, 2011
Frustration
Today was my first official day back as a Sonoma State student. By official, I simply mean that it was the first day back after syllabi had been distributed and some people have already discarded their sense of uniformity in preference of the ever controversial, much loved sweat outfit. It isn't that I have any feelings against this demonstration of personal comfort, I note it only to illuminate my own separation from that innocent, self-absorbed mentality that entitles one who means well in being present, but offers much less effort beyond that. Maybe the times have changed, maybe I'm off in my accusation. I will concede that the little effort being shown is sometimes all the student can give, if they are to be present at all, in which case, as in the other, I reserve judgment and simply state it as a result.
Some may wonder, what makes me an expert on student appearance or even gives me the authority to speak like a campus veteran? Well, kudos, because I am as good at hiding my secret sensitivity as a bulimic who has throw-up on her elbow. I spent the last few hours of class today trying to out run that thought, though it followed me out the door of that fateful meeting. As is the usual for me, I was drawn to a fiery student next to me, let's call him Andrew, Drew he would insist. A respectful individual with the intelligence to back his reserved yet confident position. I had noticed him the first day, along with others, and honestly had overlooked the amount of thinking he was doing based on his appearance. A rookie mistake and completely unacceptable! Be that as it may, we sat in the same places today and I quickly felt an affinity with him, although to be honest, his thinking may well have passed my own as his thoughts came out clean and polished when I produced similar quality with what felt like a much clankier machine. All this to say that, as clearly as in a dream when you've shown to class wearing nothing more than your chonies, I felt a huge label of "Too Old for School" across my head. Vanity of all vanities. However, there I was and there, in my mind, the thought resides.
My self-esteem was not the only tragedy in today's activities. My idealism was confronted, as it had been in the early stages of my experience in higher education. I walked into class with a giant misconception and without any reason. For, my first assignment had been to read a piece by Bacon in which he suggests a radical reform to education and perception of knowledge. Given the year of 1620 you might imagine the vast inclusion of religious references. To my satisfaction. I am at a place in my life where I find comfort in offering up my contentions and related, rather admirably, to Bacon's divergence from topic to pray for Divine leadership and ayuda. Well well well. Welcome back, Jennifer Webb, to higher education in a liberal, public education system. Not only did I find myself surprised with the force of anti-religious sentiment coming from the students, which I feel wouldn't be so bothersome as I am used to differing opinions, but it knocked me on my feet to realize how far changed my own perspective was. Here I was relating to a speaker, and had whole-heartedly contended with his remarks, and thinking I had understood him and then I get to class and apparently what he said was heresy in sheep's clothing and his poetic metaphors were all about his latent sexual desire. I was in a precarious situation. Before I knew what was happening, my hand was up defending a prayer to a God for safe-keeping and it was stated in what could have only been the most righteous, 'naive,' matter-of-fact position. I figure I'm alright there, as long as I can keep a handle on my frustration enough to deliver my thoughts in a rational manner, as opposed to a half-crazed religious zealot. Where would the fun of that be, anyway? So I press on, knowing I will be defending a dying breed. Wondering though if feelings like mine would be considered strife? I hope so in the sense that there is something of a flame being ignited when you have a point to prove or an honor to defend.
Some may wonder, what makes me an expert on student appearance or even gives me the authority to speak like a campus veteran? Well, kudos, because I am as good at hiding my secret sensitivity as a bulimic who has throw-up on her elbow. I spent the last few hours of class today trying to out run that thought, though it followed me out the door of that fateful meeting. As is the usual for me, I was drawn to a fiery student next to me, let's call him Andrew, Drew he would insist. A respectful individual with the intelligence to back his reserved yet confident position. I had noticed him the first day, along with others, and honestly had overlooked the amount of thinking he was doing based on his appearance. A rookie mistake and completely unacceptable! Be that as it may, we sat in the same places today and I quickly felt an affinity with him, although to be honest, his thinking may well have passed my own as his thoughts came out clean and polished when I produced similar quality with what felt like a much clankier machine. All this to say that, as clearly as in a dream when you've shown to class wearing nothing more than your chonies, I felt a huge label of "Too Old for School" across my head. Vanity of all vanities. However, there I was and there, in my mind, the thought resides.
My self-esteem was not the only tragedy in today's activities. My idealism was confronted, as it had been in the early stages of my experience in higher education. I walked into class with a giant misconception and without any reason. For, my first assignment had been to read a piece by Bacon in which he suggests a radical reform to education and perception of knowledge. Given the year of 1620 you might imagine the vast inclusion of religious references. To my satisfaction. I am at a place in my life where I find comfort in offering up my contentions and related, rather admirably, to Bacon's divergence from topic to pray for Divine leadership and ayuda. Well well well. Welcome back, Jennifer Webb, to higher education in a liberal, public education system. Not only did I find myself surprised with the force of anti-religious sentiment coming from the students, which I feel wouldn't be so bothersome as I am used to differing opinions, but it knocked me on my feet to realize how far changed my own perspective was. Here I was relating to a speaker, and had whole-heartedly contended with his remarks, and thinking I had understood him and then I get to class and apparently what he said was heresy in sheep's clothing and his poetic metaphors were all about his latent sexual desire. I was in a precarious situation. Before I knew what was happening, my hand was up defending a prayer to a God for safe-keeping and it was stated in what could have only been the most righteous, 'naive,' matter-of-fact position. I figure I'm alright there, as long as I can keep a handle on my frustration enough to deliver my thoughts in a rational manner, as opposed to a half-crazed religious zealot. Where would the fun of that be, anyway? So I press on, knowing I will be defending a dying breed. Wondering though if feelings like mine would be considered strife? I hope so in the sense that there is something of a flame being ignited when you have a point to prove or an honor to defend.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
His love.
She was addicted to drama, as fate would have it. From a young age she had learned to satisfy her soul on excessive intake of extreme emotion. When there was little food in her cupboard, she gorged on the secret indecency of a heart wrenching cry. If she felt alone, a mania-like curling of laughter might escape her youthful lips, anything to fend off the beast within. As she aged, and was able to participate in such exchanges of one adult to another, the stories from those she encountered were her drugs, before she knew or knew of, the lable 'co-dependent' in that she would listen and be transported to their souls, their lives and the drama enfolded would transport her from a troubled mind and fragile, eccentric spirit, to that of a dramatic encounter between two strangers. Life around her was an ever unfolding film that only drew curtain when she sat alone in her room. That was always a dark and scary place until she realized she was living a drama all her own. It was one of tears and depression and life-shaking pain and it was exhausting. It took years to realize that it was a drama she was writing all herself and it might take many years more to turn this tragedy into a comedy, but it was a conversion worth making. It would not be a love story unrequited or a comedy based on the pain of others, simply an appreciation of life and love and the problems that unfold throughout in the ordinary. It would be nothing more than her story, but it would be the story of her and she would be deciding the joy and the exciting and the inspiration which would ensue.
For years she had no idea what was missing. It felt like the Grand Canyon had been created in her soul, the schism between who she knew she could be and who she felt herself being was that great. It was not until she completely fell apart that she was able to see God. She saw her opportunity to live her life when she finally surrendered to the need she felt for Him to lead her life. Like the song says, she found him when she fell apart. She lay on the floor thinking her life would never go on and there was no way for her to continue when she opened the Bible, turned up the radio and waited. Waited for the flood of emotion to pass, waited out the negative voices that screamed failure in her ears, waited until she had the strength to look at herself in the mirror and ask what it was that she needed. She stared at those landscape colored saucers and she forced herself to keep staring until she asked, "Why?" She was wondering why she couldn't look into her own eyes with an eighth of the amount of love that she had so often bestowed upon previous lovers. Not that she wanted to elevate herself to any level, in fact she feared pride. She feared vanity almost above all else, most certainly beyond her fear of failure, as it was a constant reminder each time she happened upon any reflective surface.
Love though, she knew she couldn't do without it. In any religious context one is to believe that they must love themselves in order to fully love others. So, tonight she lie there and she made herself ask that question. "Why?" And she waited. She waited for God to speak through her this time. No answer from her mind and the knowledge she possessed would give her a satisfactory answer, it most certainly hadn't worked without God in the last few years. Until it clicked. It clicked and she saw what she missed at every other similar exchange between her being and its reflection. There was nothing that she did that should incite any sort of the unlove she so frequently felt when the thought of herself came up. It wasn't that she spoke negatively in her own mind which made her circumstance that much more confusing. Before now she would not talk harshly to herself, but as her friend once stated, there was something fundamentally wrong, most always.
To her, although she wanted to ask she wouldn't, the why, the question of why it took so long for her to realize that their approval and their love and lack of showing it, why all of that took so long to not matter, wouldn't matter. Time was gone once it passed and it wouldn't be regained with the why, that much she knew. From this point on she knew it would be different. Before this night, the night of her breakdown, she knew God loved her and she knew she was suppose to believe that, but it was almost impossible to convince herself that the ruler of this world would truly love the girl at the bottom of the world who kept complaining in a time when people were struggling for nutrition and support and safety. Well, she heard his voice through all of that and for the reasons she already listed, she couldn't ignore the answer. He loved her because she tried, because she would be great, because she needed him and she looked to him to strengthen her and she wanted more for her life and realized it would only happen when she let go of them and reached for the one who made her. How much better would life be once she gave up trying to please others and realized that she was already pleasing in his sight, especially because He could see where she was going and could see the heart of her efforts to get there? From all of that she felt loved, she could love herself and she could go on. Go on writing her story and rejoicing in all the acts of love that would most certainly accrue throughout the way.
For years she had no idea what was missing. It felt like the Grand Canyon had been created in her soul, the schism between who she knew she could be and who she felt herself being was that great. It was not until she completely fell apart that she was able to see God. She saw her opportunity to live her life when she finally surrendered to the need she felt for Him to lead her life. Like the song says, she found him when she fell apart. She lay on the floor thinking her life would never go on and there was no way for her to continue when she opened the Bible, turned up the radio and waited. Waited for the flood of emotion to pass, waited out the negative voices that screamed failure in her ears, waited until she had the strength to look at herself in the mirror and ask what it was that she needed. She stared at those landscape colored saucers and she forced herself to keep staring until she asked, "Why?" She was wondering why she couldn't look into her own eyes with an eighth of the amount of love that she had so often bestowed upon previous lovers. Not that she wanted to elevate herself to any level, in fact she feared pride. She feared vanity almost above all else, most certainly beyond her fear of failure, as it was a constant reminder each time she happened upon any reflective surface.
Love though, she knew she couldn't do without it. In any religious context one is to believe that they must love themselves in order to fully love others. So, tonight she lie there and she made herself ask that question. "Why?" And she waited. She waited for God to speak through her this time. No answer from her mind and the knowledge she possessed would give her a satisfactory answer, it most certainly hadn't worked without God in the last few years. Until it clicked. It clicked and she saw what she missed at every other similar exchange between her being and its reflection. There was nothing that she did that should incite any sort of the unlove she so frequently felt when the thought of herself came up. It wasn't that she spoke negatively in her own mind which made her circumstance that much more confusing. Before now she would not talk harshly to herself, but as her friend once stated, there was something fundamentally wrong, most always.
To her, although she wanted to ask she wouldn't, the why, the question of why it took so long for her to realize that their approval and their love and lack of showing it, why all of that took so long to not matter, wouldn't matter. Time was gone once it passed and it wouldn't be regained with the why, that much she knew. From this point on she knew it would be different. Before this night, the night of her breakdown, she knew God loved her and she knew she was suppose to believe that, but it was almost impossible to convince herself that the ruler of this world would truly love the girl at the bottom of the world who kept complaining in a time when people were struggling for nutrition and support and safety. Well, she heard his voice through all of that and for the reasons she already listed, she couldn't ignore the answer. He loved her because she tried, because she would be great, because she needed him and she looked to him to strengthen her and she wanted more for her life and realized it would only happen when she let go of them and reached for the one who made her. How much better would life be once she gave up trying to please others and realized that she was already pleasing in his sight, especially because He could see where she was going and could see the heart of her efforts to get there? From all of that she felt loved, she could love herself and she could go on. Go on writing her story and rejoicing in all the acts of love that would most certainly accrue throughout the way.
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