moon-bathing

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AnnaShai Joy said...: If you don't know how much I understand this post by now then Im not sure our friendship is as developed as it should be by this point. I began to have obvious signs of clinical depression when I was 15 years old. I didn't start playing guitar and writing songs until I was 19. For 4 years I was tormented by the feeling that I needed to create, but I didn't know what or how. My brother was the artist, musician genius in the family and my sister was the the academic, intellectual acheiver. I had been reduced to the "athletic one" in the family. We each got labeled for the purpose of distiction when being introduced to strangers. In actuality my brother is as academic as my sister and so am I. My sister is as much an aritist as my brother in her own way and we are all musicians who create our own music. We are equaly gifted in our own uniquity. Is that the right way to use that word? Anyhow, for 4 years I felt creatively constipated and the best I could do at expressing the torrent of emotions and depression and rage I felt was to write very dark poetry and journal. I was brain washed into listening only to Christian music, so I did listen to it, but sometimes it made me feel worse because it was all about how great and loving God is and that is not how I was feeling at the time. When I was 19, I began picking up other peoples guitars and holding them. I would hold them like a blind person holds a book he can't read and I would yearn to play it and use it to express myself, but I knew nothing. Eventually I learned some basic chords. That opened the floodgate of being able to play just about every worship song in my sisters binder. And man did I play them a million times just to feel the ability to make music and sing along. But I got sick of those songs after a while because they still weren't expressing me. Then it happened. The convergence of desire, ability and a spiritual gift. I wrote a song. It was called, "Joy Will Come Again". I'll never forget it. It's repetative and a bit boring to me now, but the words hold true. It is musically juvenile and brilliant for all its worth because its a part of me, an expression of my life at that time. I've been writing songs about my life and my journey with Jesus and other relationships ever since. This is year 11 of being a songwriter officially, but I was an artist long before I had a pallet or a painting. Its who I am not what I can do. God used my music during the darkest and most dangerous times in my life. He gave me songs to keep my heart beating and my faith from dying. Now, I do sing songs about how good and loving God is, but there will always be a mix of the real, the hard, the ugly and the scarred in my worship songs. All I need now is my audience. I long for them and wait for them to trickle into my life and listen. They are beginning to show up, but the process is slow and I am trying to be patient. I've had insomnia more nights and days of my life than not, so I know sleep is precious. Music is available when sleep evades us. I hope someday my music will soothe your soul like David's harp playing kept Saul's tormenting spirit at bay.; 11:33 AM