Tintinnabulation

Edgar Allen Poe "The Bells", my favorite poem as a child, the irony has not escaped me. As chronic bilateral tinnitus has become my nearest companion, filling the rare silent moments of my life with crystal glasses caressed by moistened fingertips. Many people suffer temporary tinnitus after listening to loud music, machinery or after head injuries. No one knows exactly what causes the incessant ringing of chronic tinnitus. Something in your diet? Chemical imbalance? Inner ear damage? Emotional shock? Physical trauma? Prescription Medications? Heredity? All of the above?
Whether physiological or psychological, here's what I've found:
Elevated blood pressure, caffeine intake, OTC pain medication all make the ringing more noticeable. Distraction has been the key to my sanity, whether it be the "white noise" of a fan, a television, playing video games or reading until my eyes feel like balls of jello, I can actually tune out the ringing and forget it for a while.
Oddly enough, when it rings loud enough to give me a headache. loud music has become my favorite cure. At first I assumed the tinnitus had over-ridden my ability to hear, that I was simply listening around it, but after multiple CAT scans, MRI's,
Blood tests and a full audiological screening "WE" still don't know why my perfectly functioning ears are not sending comprehensible messages to my brain.
After suffering through the grief of my hearing loss and subsequently losing my job and career plan, I threw myself into the deep end of the Musical pool, taking a Musical Literature class at school to study the History of Rock and Roll, revisiting my favorite artists through video documentary: Bob Dylan, Jerry Lee Lewis, Brian Wilson and Bootsy Collins. Since then I've attended as many Live music concerts as possible, starting out at The Trails End Saloon with many of the areas best Blues Musicians.
Then John Mayer came to town, and in many ways, his was the most inspiring concert I've ever witnessed, especially when, late into the evening, John sang a ballad that simply lulled my young son to sleep in my lap. The "Battle Studies" record seemed to speak to me on a personal level. Then with the television series "Leverage" back in town, I found a new addiction in the music of "Kane". I can't really pin them down to a genre or a particular sound. Which is probably why I like them so much. From Steve Carlson's hypnotic rhythms to the ethereal sound of Ryan Baker's drumming and Christians wide, yet expressive vocal range, rounded out by the solid and sometimes playful bass of Will Amend and topped with an extra helping of face melting guitar solos by lead-guitarist Jason Southard. What more could I ask for? They play to feel it.
On a recent literary binge, I learned about Tibetan Singing Bowls [Dr. Mitchell L. Gaynor's "Sounds of Healing"], hand-hammered metal bowls used in meditation and more recently as a form of therapy. Circling a wood or cloth covered dowel around the top edge of the bowl creates a harmonious yet discordant sound, combined with the vibration of the bowl in your hand it is unexpectedly pleasant and soothing, and amazingly not unlike the ringing in my ears. Further exploration will prove whether the singing bowl can keep my brain in tune with the World around me or simply distract me from myself.
Tinnitus: Nature's healing sound?

A Love/Hate Relationship

Note: No disrespect or copyright infringement intended, merely an observation, an inspiration, and a mechanism for expressing my current emotional state.

If Joyce Kilmer were allergic:

Trees

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lethal as a tree.

A tree whose only goal to sneeze
Pollen ‘to earth's flowing breeze;

A tree, as I, to God doth pray,
For another breath, another day;

A tree, that in summer makes
Air I breathe; it, in irony takes;

Upon whose bosom snow, now is freezing;
‘Ere the Season, I’m free from wheezing,

To coexist? the cure, tis plain
We intimately live with rain.

Poems are played by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Woo who?

Today was the last day of Finals Week for me, 3 exams down, 1 final presentation to go. The class? Watercolor Painting. On a scale of hours needed to complete the work assigned, it ranks somewhere between Technical Theater and Biology 101, and although stressful working with a deadline, a more enriching experience.

As it turns out, this class has provided the practice I needed in letting go of my perfectionist ideals. A great example of this is the painting posted here. I chose the composition with the intention of painting every rock individually. How crazy is that? Before you answer that, apply it to every aspect of my Parenthood/Student/Employee/Artist life. See?

As an artist, my favorite style of painting is Impressionism, the idea that an image can be produced, with or without a random technique, and every brush stroke and drop of paint can appear so deliberate and natural. With Impressionism, you often have to step back and view it from a distance to understand it completely.

So this morning I loaded up the car for school. My framed painting, ready for display in the student art show this Spring, my portfolio and an extra pane of picture frame glass. My portfolio, a soft-sided 2x3 carrier, which I had leaned against the car fell over when I turned the key to unlock the trunk, but the glass inside was unharmed.

I felt lucky, but at the same time, confused. Why did I bring a sheet of glass that I had no intention of using? Rushed for time, I carefully laid it flat in the trunk and continued on to school. I slipped into the classroom and quietly made my way around the back to my usual table, glancing at the variety of paintings my classmates had on the tables in front of them.

Just as I approached my table, an unbelievable scene played out in front of me. One of my classmates had apparently dropped his framed painting and broken the glass from corner to corner, I could feel the disappointment and sadness he must have felt, trying to decide what to do next. I just stood staring in disbelief for a moment and then trying to calm myself and not draw too much attention, I offered him my extra glass.

His shock and gratitude was equal to the satisfaction I felt at being able to help him.
When he proudly displayed his work at the front of the class for his presentation, the entire class, including the instructor seemed to let out a sigh of relief, they had, I guess, been witness to the accident. His presentation was a success. And the pride I had in my own paintings now paled in comparison to the aura of positivity that blanketed the room. Call it lucky, coincidence or fate, sometimes the small things that we need come to us by strange random happenstance, but the residual effects can be interminable.

Those who are aware of my Strengths might cite this event as proof: Learner, Positivity, Achiever, Connectedness, and Woo. If this can be considered "Woo", I think those of us endowed with the "diplomatic" strength can stand proud. *sings* "It takes Woo to make a thing go ri-ight, it takes Woo to make it out of site" I'm sure that's what Soul II Soul meant. ;)

My take on the situation? God. Yeah, not all miracles are earth-shaking, cloud-breaking, sunlight streaming, and a choir of angels singing events. And I don't need the voice of James Earl Jones to answer all my questions.
Happy St. Patrick's Day, have a Safe Spring Break, look out Spring Term, here I come!

K.