My parents forbade anything that sounded like music: from banging on pots and pans as a toddler, to anything “radio”, “tape”, or MTV. They watched the news. The most radical thing they ever bought was JC Superstar (and he is, but so are all the other Gods, IMO.) That, I think, was Father’s error – he’s a highly religious man, steeped in the good book learning. (Which in my opinion is the right idea, but wrong book to read. He needs to read the book in his heart – something I’m thinking a whole lot of others of us should be doing, BTW.)
But as a result of a ‘music-less’ childhood (which in my special case, seems so apt) – I’ve gone through my life NOT listening to music. Oh sure, I’ve come to learn some: I’ve got my beats I enjoy; songs I like hearing; some even ‘talk’ to me. But … for the most part, I can drive all day long with nothing but the window open, or, as now, sit here typing on my computer for hours on end in total (and I mean total!) silence.
BUT, here lately –
There’s been a song in my heart. It is a song of love and . . . well, amazing things to all of us (I’m DID). What this means is I am healing. And for a person like us, with our spotty past – that mean more than a miracle. For a person like me, well: its the hand of god*.
JW and friends.
(*your god, my god, anyone’s god. THEY are ONE to us. LOL, we see a subtle symbolism and irony in that bitter yet sweet symbolism! See ya! Later! the editor, your man Elvis)