So I’ve hauled out the Bjork for a moment. One of my great secrets (until I post it here) is that her song Desired Constellation is one of my all-time favorite songs.
What an odd case of the specifically personal–whatever her intended meaning was in writing the song–becoming somewhat universal in that it speaks so personally to me.
This song reminds me of how my weird memory functions, and therefore, of how I function. This song “feels” to me like how my thought and memory feel to me.
Not just the words.
The music too.
Listen to it on headphones someday. Listen twice…once for the music, once for the meaning. The song is worth it. Even if I am not.
As I hear her speak the words “desired constellation appears.” I look at something I have created. And I am pleased by the very randomness I sought to exclude in my design.
This makes me smile.
I had the thought tonight, probably born out of my readings is psalms and Whitman, that we are more than angels.
Yet we are more than angels locked inside this flesh, inside this biochemistry. And both strive simultaneously for and against our more angelic selves.
And sometimes the conflict is mighty.
I have this friend who today wrote to me of how we are reflections of each other. For her sake and mine, I wish I did not know of what she speaks. I wish I didn’t understand.
I would take away the moments that make us true reflections of each other and leave us both with pure joy and happiness. Yet would either be true if she and I did not have to pass through darker valleys?
Would joy and happiness be anything but ignorance without pain and suffering?
And so again the specific becomes universal. We clasp hands and bear witness to the pain we both carry as we seek to find lasting joy.
And we press on…
…with the one thing that cannot falter even if we falter: hope.