Why are the best songs always the shortest? I know some are in fact the longest - Pink Floyd comes to mind. So often, though, I feel that I have only just begun to understand the rhythm, that I have only just begun to understand the words, and then suddenly it's all over. So I go back to the beginning of the track hoping to find some unforeseen error within my iPod, some glitch unknown to me that will rectify itself so long as I turn it off, throw it against the wall, yell at it, stomp away, shout at it with suitable annoyance and an indignant attitude. When I return to the vessel that holds all of my emotive musical memories I find, yet again, that the best song is always the shortest.
Makes me think of time: all the time I have lost; all the time I have gained and not respected; all the time I have wasted; all the time I have not understood; all of the time within which things have happened, the nature of which I barely come to recognise; and all of the time within which things have seemingly not happened, the nature of which I often understand all too well.
Time itself is a mystery to me. It appears to carry my life within its palm. It appears that I am my own time's breath. It appears that within it I exist, without it I am timeless and, therefore, outside of it I am conscious of all that is within and without.
And so, looking to reignite the relationship, I again press play. The song begins another time from the beginning and I am witness, within my own mind, to the same tune, this time with time passed. I do not hear it in the same way that I did before because too much has changed. I have a preconception, a primary belief, about the lyrics, the melody and the beat. I have a timeline with this song, and yet I wish for it to to play out anew. I want it to be longer. I want it to give me more than it already has, to reveal more to me that it did the first time.
I am a hungry beast for time and yet I still show little appreciation for its Majesty because I am forever wanting more, forever searching for that perfect moment in time, instead of learning how to love her just the way she is.
14 Dec 2011
26 Oct 2011
That Story Bridge Feeling
As I am dangling upside down, still strapped into my seat belt, on the wrong side of the highway, down an embankment, and almost embedded in a tree, I am thinking about my life. Said life has just flashed before my eyes, is in sharp focus and has my full attention.
My mind shows me a picture of the Story Bridge, Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. Yes, I agree. It is time to head to that bridge whereupon our first meeting, only two months ago, my eyes filled up and my heart called out.
I packed up my secretarial life in Adelaide, learned 30 songs and headed to Brisvegas to become a singer. I had no family here, no contacts and no history. I had never been a singer before, never run my own business and never been away from home. But Adelaide had spun me around at high speed. The Story Bridge had called out to me. So I listened.
15 years on and I have spent enormous amounts of time going over the glorious bridge that brought me here. I walked it day and night. I drove it summer to spring. I took photos of it. I even broke down on it. Eventually, I fell in love beside it. Greg, my husbanda to be, and the father of my two children, lived beside the Bridge, high up in a residential tower, all the while looking down, never knowing that his one true love was hooning back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in a bright pink convertible Volkswagen.
Eventually we did meet. A rampage of passion ensued. Two months later, a pregnancy! A guy I hardly knew. A comedian no less. Me up the duff.
Now, I have always been the kind to push. I try really hard to make things happen. I frequently organise the life out of my life and I tremble in the face of uncertainty. But in this, and for the second time, I let go of control. I saw myself hanging upside down in the car. I saw the Story Bridge. I saw Greg. I jumped in.
Brisbane brought me the love of my life, it brought me motherhood, it brought me a university degree, it fostered a writing career, it connected me to my spiritual family and it taught me how to sing! And then....as if it hadn't already done enough, it introduced me to Northern New South Wales.
I got that Story Bridge feeling as I drove through the Northern Rivers about eight years ago, and I know well enough by now not to ignore it. Everything that has ever really mattered, everything that has ever changed the course of my life in unprecedented and unexpected ways, has come when I have bypassed the masterful logic of my mind and surrendered to my feelings.
At the moment Greg is underemployed due to a recent change in radio contracts. My book isn't out yet. In order to move we will most likely have to pack up and relocate inside a 3 week whirlwind.
Yep. It's time again. Time again to surrender to that Story Bridge feeling.
Krista
My mind shows me a picture of the Story Bridge, Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. Yes, I agree. It is time to head to that bridge whereupon our first meeting, only two months ago, my eyes filled up and my heart called out.
I packed up my secretarial life in Adelaide, learned 30 songs and headed to Brisvegas to become a singer. I had no family here, no contacts and no history. I had never been a singer before, never run my own business and never been away from home. But Adelaide had spun me around at high speed. The Story Bridge had called out to me. So I listened.
15 years on and I have spent enormous amounts of time going over the glorious bridge that brought me here. I walked it day and night. I drove it summer to spring. I took photos of it. I even broke down on it. Eventually, I fell in love beside it. Greg, my husbanda to be, and the father of my two children, lived beside the Bridge, high up in a residential tower, all the while looking down, never knowing that his one true love was hooning back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in a bright pink convertible Volkswagen.
Eventually we did meet. A rampage of passion ensued. Two months later, a pregnancy! A guy I hardly knew. A comedian no less. Me up the duff.
Now, I have always been the kind to push. I try really hard to make things happen. I frequently organise the life out of my life and I tremble in the face of uncertainty. But in this, and for the second time, I let go of control. I saw myself hanging upside down in the car. I saw the Story Bridge. I saw Greg. I jumped in.
Brisbane brought me the love of my life, it brought me motherhood, it brought me a university degree, it fostered a writing career, it connected me to my spiritual family and it taught me how to sing! And then....as if it hadn't already done enough, it introduced me to Northern New South Wales.
I got that Story Bridge feeling as I drove through the Northern Rivers about eight years ago, and I know well enough by now not to ignore it. Everything that has ever really mattered, everything that has ever changed the course of my life in unprecedented and unexpected ways, has come when I have bypassed the masterful logic of my mind and surrendered to my feelings.
At the moment Greg is underemployed due to a recent change in radio contracts. My book isn't out yet. In order to move we will most likely have to pack up and relocate inside a 3 week whirlwind.
Yep. It's time again. Time again to surrender to that Story Bridge feeling.
Krista
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