These Songs Just Saved My Life ...

Music is one of the great healing forces, one of the great communication tools, one of the greatest things Thoth ever created. Anyone who knows me knows I think this, and with good reason. It's been my great good fortune to have been taken into the confidence of this great force, this great tool, for the last 32 years. So many nights, I get to wield this great thing, to help people smile and dance and forget (or possibly remember) for a little while. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, at the end of a very long and trying day, it swooped around and took me for a ride, and I am so grateful.

From the time I was small, I made mixtapes. Not schmoopy adolescent love song filled mixtapes (though I did make one or two of those, of course) but themed tapes, with an arc and a flow. Even then, I was able to think micro and macro at the same time. Not only this song is perfect, but how does this song fit with the one in front and behind it? (In another life, I would've made a hell of a disc jockey.) When I got a cd burner in my 20's, I got really passionate about this, adding improvisation to the equation. I would start with one song, and literally pick the next song before the one playing ended. It was exhilarating.

For some reason I can't remember, I stopped doing this years ago. I honestly can't tell you the last time I made a mix. Every once in a while, it will come up between Bug and I, and I say "I should really make one again." And then I never do. Why music visited in this way tonight, I don't know. Was it a reward for being a good friend to Beth Ann when she needed one most? Was it a consolation for dealing with the discomfort downstairs? Was it because I have someone I want to share these songs with? Yeah. Probably. So much comes down to her these days, doesn't it?

Thirteen songs. Improvised, the way I used to do it. All the while, imagining that The Muse and I had made it to Iceland, like we texted about this afternoon, to see the aurora. Maybe on some other Earth, we did make it. My nighttime daydream was imagining what songs we would listen to as we sat there on the cold earth, silent, looking up at the colours, at the gateway to the deep sky. Thirteen songs. One for each moon. No need to be greedy, to have every perfect song. Just the ones that sang in tune with the colours. Each song came, one by one. Those were the songs. I know that. I trust that.

With Bug's encouragement (the mix was for her as well, to be honest, as she was sending Reiki in the room below me as I began, and I wanted to honour how deep our relationship has gotten of late) I am thinking of creating a cover and burning actual discs and sending them to a few dear ones, to share with them what 1AM in The Womb feels like, when everything is just so. I wonder if they'll like it? I wonder if she'll like it? After the things we shared today, through text only, sadly, I think she will.

I realize I probably should talk about the quantum leap Beth Ann and I took in our friendship today, and how deep of a rehearsal we had. I realize I should probably talk about the late night ride that E and I took to Weehawken to look at the greatest machine ever built, and all of the dear ones I thought of while standing at the overlook at Hamilton Park. (I will share the view, though ... ) But all I can think about are these damn songs, each one a perfect puzzle piece, each one helping me find a new way to imagine, and a new way to love. And as I say a lot in here, it all comes down to love in the end.