Article
Trusting the Muse

I learned to trust the muse a long time ago. So long, in fact, that I can’t remember when it occurred. Music speaks to me in ways that I cannot speak for myself. When words are log-jammed and my brain can’t figure out how to articulate what my heart is feeling, a song is usually the thing that gets me unstuck. Often, when I need it, music can deliver truth in seed form, and hitting repeat is my ticket to linger in a moment that illuminates my darkness.
Those who know me well know that I express myself best on the page, where I can sculpt my thoughts into something useful. I often wonder why I don’t hear theme music at those critical junctures in life. Where is the soaring score that underlines the fact that you have just passed some life test, completed passage into some higher level of wisdom or maturity? When my father passed away suddenly, I found myself at one of those places where more is required of you than you know how to deliver.
In 2002, Kari, the third child of my six, became the first to get married. I only had a few minutes to speak with my father at the reception that day, busy as I was circulating amongst the family and friends who had gathered there. My father was leaving the next day to visit my sister Linda, out west in Idaho. I asked him about his health, and the fact that the doctors wanted to see him immediately. He said he felt fine, and would see them in the fall.
A week later I received a voice message from a park ranger in Yellowstone stating I should call the ranger station. When I did, the ranger informed me that they had found my father sitting against a tree staring at Bridge Bay. It was a coronary event. The sailor’s last look, staring at the water. This was on a Sunday. The next day I called and spoke for the last time with my cousin Kathleen, who was in the final hours of her battle with the cancerous wolves that had been on her trail for far too long. It was a hell of a week. I was to do a reading at Kathleen’s funeral on Friday, and my father’s eulogy the next day.
We packed up the van and drove from North Carolina to Maryland. I gathered with my brothers and sister and we did as families do in those moments. There were arrangements to be made, and my father's affairs to be put in order. So much happened that week that, come Saturday morning, I still had yet to write a eulogy. The house was full of everyone getting ready for the day, and I couldn’t find words to say, or a quiet place to form them. Feeling the tension mount and the time grow short, I slipped out of the house and into the car. I rolled up the windows, and sat in the air conditioned silence. Nothing. I was jammed up; too many thoughts and feelings descending on me at the same time. I decided to put on some music, something peaceful enough that I could have it in the background without it disturbing the rush of coherent thought I was praying for.
I turned to an old favorite, David Wilcox’s album How Did You Find Me Here. I didn’t have a plan, I was just searching for a slow song, quiet, gentle, comforting -- all the things I needed that morning. As I relaxed, the words began to break loose, to untangle themselves. In a matter of a few minutes I had a theme and began writing furiously. When it was finished, I sat back and closed my eyes. I had been hitting repeat on the title track for over half an hour, to stay in the mood of the song that had helped me break out. And it was then that I really heard the words coming through the ether.
Now inches from the water
About to disappear
I feel you behind me
But how did you find me here
I feel you behind me
Laughing in the water
To wash away these tears
I feel you behind me
But how did you find me here
And so a song I leaned on in a moment of desperation delivered my heart back to me in a way I could verbalize. I went on to try and give the best eulogy I could, and after, to rest in the solace that comes when family gathers around the table. The muse knew what I needed, and God, who is the best friend of the weak, used it to bring me through. I’m a believer.
Artist | David Wilcox |
Other tags | folkacoustic folkacousticsinger-songwriter |
jmcspadden3
November 17, 2014 - 3:37 am
Here is a little video of David singing that song...
TenLayers
November 19, 2014 - 10:16 pm
Thanks,
You let me drift off for a couple minutes thinking back to my own similar experiences.
Jim Hunter
November 21, 2014 - 7:02 am
Thanks for sharing such a personal moment. David is a long time favorite of mine, and I can see how his music could put you in a comtemplative place, as it certainly has done that for me...I've seen him live more times than I can count, November 8th this year was likely the 15th/16th time, and he is always wonderful, and at his best transcendant...he often says when he performs live that the real meaning of the song reveals itself over time...that it can seem to be about one thing, but later on, he realizes that it is about something else or something more...and of course, it may mean something else, or more personal to you or me...you used the music to clear your mind at first, and only realized after the weight of the task at hand had been lifted that the words were speaking directly to or about your life at that moment.
I certainly can't speak for David, but he does refer to the power of songs to heal, soothe, inspire, comfort, commiserate, as Musical Medicine...he has most of his catalog on his website arranged in catagories so that you can listen(free) to a song that corresponds to what you are feeling or may need at the time...for what it is worth...I usually just get the CD out myself, but that is there for people who need it.
Thanks for shining a light on a wonderful artist, and for illustrating how music speaks to us all on some sort of deeper, subconscious level...as you noted "truth in seed form".
jmcspadden3
November 21, 2014 - 7:11 am
Thank you for your comments! I first heard David with Eye of the Hurricane, and have followed him for years. I need some time to write a longer piece on him. I have a lot of things I want to write, but time is always an issue I have to face.
The longer piece really is about his lyrics. There are some very specific instances when the lyrics hit almost too close to home, although I am always glad they do. A small example, my daughter was in a car accident in which she broke all three bones in her left leg. A compound fracture. A year or so later David trots out "In the Broken Places." Very specific lyrics. Amazing. I feel he should be awarded some sort of national award just for his lyrics alone. Like he says in one of the songs, "you make it look easy."
peace,
Joe
Jim Hunter
November 21, 2014 - 8:57 am
I agree with you...his ability to tap into something directly via lyrics is amazing...I have had similar experiences with his music..."Young Man Dies", "Slipping Through My Fist", "Chet Baker's Unsung Swan Song", "Kindness", "Farthest Shore", "Common as the Rain", "Someday Soon", "River Run Dry"...all tapped right into specific situations going on with me or people in my life, my history...amazing it is...
And then, as a life time guitar player, there is all the crazy stuff he does with open tunings (he sometimes plays in open tunings that aren't any of the ones most of us know, he just makes them up), playing with two capos...he's a wonderful musician as well, and again, he has his own map for that...his chord voicings aren't like most other players, and his music and lyrics are better for it...
You write very well...I would encourage you to write the "longer piece" you are contemplating, as time allows...in the meantime, again, thanks for this...
jmcspadden3
November 22, 2014 - 7:54 pm
Paul Wilner
November 23, 2014 - 11:30 am
Lovely piece. Let me echo what Jim said: Keep writing.