Falling Into Place

Last night I awoke at 4am to a barrage of news on Wally's multiple ARIA wins. I had not intended to rouse myself at such an ungodly hour, truly, it happened by apparent chance. I am certain it had more to do with my cat laying across my head than anything else per se.
I was not surprised by the news that my favorite music man had swept the ceremony, taking all four of his nominations, all being arguably the most coveted categories of the year. I was satisfied, perhaps, that his talents were lauded appropriately per the preference of my honest and expansive bias (insert sarcasm here.) It's been a mad day of updates and news, arriving to my shores belated but welcome nonetheless.

So what?

Well....I'm not entirely certain how I feel. Just yesterday I was huffing and puffing and generally feeling inconvenienced to pay any manner of attention to it. I feel that from time-to-time; the sense that my own realities deserve tending to such that I'd not mind shirking my other roles entirely. I believe that's rather normative, and even sensible and adaptive on occasion.

Today I am refreshed with new excitement and thoughts about the possible future paths ahead for Wally and even for myself and my much-adored fellow devotees of his work. I'm giddy and chattering. I laughed joyously when even one of my family members cheered with genuine glee when he heard Wally had taken the Album of the Year accolade! "That's fantastic! So deserved!"

Indeed it is-although as is the tendency-Wally himself humbly doubted his worthiness. I suppose any self-aware and careful artist would. But I imagine you agree with me that his moments of quiet glory last night were truly earned with brilliance, hard work and a rare, almost 'diamond in the rough' authenticity. These, among others, are the treasure-traits that drive me to continue to work to support the career of this utterly delightful fellow human creature.

It's rather funny--how the victories and challenges of someone else can be so salient. Granted, as a counselor, the deeply meaningful experiences of others often do sit within my soul in some fashion...but the life-line of this particular fellow has set itself as some sort of seal upon my heart and mind. I care deeply for his journey, I'll not disguise that reality. I have no desire to control that journey or steer it in any way-I am just thankful to be somehow-albeit remotely-involved in it. That's a gift. Beauty of all iterations happens in the moments wherein we touch the lives of others and they touch ours.

I'm tired, and a little emotionally drained over the work of this past year-my own and that of the musical magician I follow. But it's a good tired-like the feeling at the end of the day when the labors of hours have been accomplished and all is ready to rest. I hope rest comes for Wally, for my fellows of this community, and for myself.

 As usual, cheers to my Wall-Nuts and all fellow fans....oh and you too, Wally.

-Paige ("Mum Nut" as they say)


C. 2012

Giving it a Chance

Two of my favorite Making Mirrors songs are undoubtedly "Giving Me a Chance" and "Save Me." I'm sure there's plenty of reasons, beyond the apparent musical beauty, to find these songs compelling depending on which listener you talk to. For me, they represent a powerful, painful and joyous tension inherent to the most intimate relationship one can have with another person.
"Giving" speaks (in my entirely subjective evaluation...see the word 'value' in there) to a moment of reflecting upon one's vulnerable admission of imperfection to their beloved. It strips down flowery pretense and candidly clarifies the internalized guilt of getting "a little wrapped-up in myself" and the fearful awareness that very human mistake may lead one's love to "question what we have." Those are deeply salient to me; that sense that at times our lens narrows so much that when we reopen our awareness, we realize that the choices we have made lead to profound losses. This does not mean that our choices (or our 'self-ish-ness') was wrong or mistaken per se. What it does mean is that when we choose which roles we value as genuine for ourselves, we chance losing other roles which may have held profound power for us. Sometimes the losses are felt with regret, other times with a notion that what was lost had to be lost, for the sake of a true and authentic self. Either way, the wound ripped open by any loss comes with great pain and even doubt at times. Sometimes it seems that one must choose the moments when they give themselves a chance as much as when they ask to be given a chance by those they cherish.

The achingly lovely and celebratory "Save Me" returns, at first, to the narrative of being so "wrapped-up in myself" that one becomes detached and despondent. As it moves, the song lauds the patience and grace of the beloved in making space for that moment, and loving even in light of it.

I find great personal meaning in this song for several reasons. The core being that although it celebrates the concept that someone else can 'save' us, it places the all-too-relevant caveat that only can this be done when "you helped me help myself." As both a counselor and fundamentally as a human being, I believe powerfully in this as a truth-those in our lives who become our saviors are so because they showed us that we could save ourselves. I find that amazingly hopeful and beautiful. What comes with "saving me" is not to heap my burdens solely upon your shoulders, but to love me and support me with radical and resilient acceptance while I carry my load. That is the harder love to show-the one that chooses to support my power to change or repair rather than to usurp it. 

I suppose I could go on about how these (and many, many.....many) other songs speak truths for me in some way, but you likely neither need nor want to hear that. You have your own beautiful truths, and vehicles that express them. Instead, perhaps I'll end with this.....because sometimes you have to stop and see your life with 'eyes wide open'.

Thanks readers, nuts, audiophiles and fellow ephemeral beings ;)

Much love.


Paige