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Hear The Tune July 10, 2011

Posted by Lauren Cooke in Music.
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When I was younger, there was a time when music was everything. It was the only way to understand what it was I was feeling deep down in my heart, the only way I knew that the strangeness in my head didn’t make me totally, utterly, brutally alone. The singers, song-writers, musicians and producers together shared with me thoughts that I had assumed lived only on my heart, they pinned down emotions so painfully elusive that, until those chords struck through me, I had only caught glimpses of them as shadows down darkened corridors. Ideas so slick and faint that they were no more than intangible traces left on the breeze.

Then, as I grew a few years older, I left the music behind. This bible, this diary, this collection of sounds and emotions were cast aside, not consciously but as the trials and tribulations of life became my obsessive focus. I passed over musical poetry to live life as much as I could, and I battled on throughout without any comfort from my muses and idols. What had been my lifeline before, in many ways my saviour, had become yet more unnecessary hassle. Before I knew it my narcissistic self-focus had left every trace of the music behind, had rendered my world silent. I forgot how to hear the tune, I forgot how to listen.

The past few months, however, have seen a step back to the old way of thinking. First came the fact that I was, again, alone in the world, albeit in a way entirely of my own making. Suddenly I was free to listen to what I wanted, free to feel it, free to have it turned up as loud and all-encompassing as I could want. Then came the discovery that music could still touch me. It could still send me stir crazy with desire, whisper me into paroxysms of grief. It could sing me gently to sleep or charm out the darkest sides of me.

There are still beats to be drummed, melodies to weave. The difference is that now I am hearing the tune again.

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