Song lyrics

As most of you know, I’ve been going through an intense period of medical treatment and emergencies. In hindsight, it’s been quite a string of what one might call bad luck. But I've been able to hold gratitude, humility, and curiosity through most of it. It’s been a great opportunity to learn more about myself and this weird existence we call Life. Some unexpected triggers for these lessons have been song lyrics — popping into my head vividly, loudly, or persistently. Usually, these “ear-worms“ are just the mind on its hamster wheel of constant thinking. Now and then, though, it feels to me like something is surfacing, as though the subconscious is relaying a message. From the depths, wisdom uses whatever tools are at hand to get through to us. Leading up to the bilateral mastectomy on April 11th, the lyric that replayed in my mind was “I wish nothing but the best for you, too.” It is from a song by Adele about encountering a former romantic partner. It’s a beautifully crafted song and catchy, but this one line was very persistently repeating in my head so I asked, “Why are you here?“

Because, my dear, you are facing a scary thing, cancer, and a major surgery. You will face weeks of dependence on others as your chest and shoulders heal and regain strength. This may exacerbate the MS and contribute to further deconditioning. I wish nothing but the best for you. I wish nothing but the best for you. I wish nothing but the best for you, too. The version of this line in my head is by an opera singer (and her trio counterpart) on the popular TV show, The Voice. She brings an ethereal and emotive quality to the line and especially to the word “nothing” which somehow she appears to sing on an in-breath. The Adele version of the song and this recent beautiful cover of it are linked below.

This view from a hospital room reminds me of the
every-day spirituality of an Alex Colville painting

The next lyric is “To finally feel the climate instead of always staying dry and warm.” I loved cycling in my younger days, but I was a fair weather cyclist. When I spent a winter with my sister and her husband on Vancouver Island, I learned to tolerate cycling in the rain (one has to there or else stay indoors all winter). “Are you made of sugar?” Rebecca often teased me. In this lyric, the climate is a metaphor for the fullness of experience and about opening to every part of it, even the unpleasant stuff. This doesn’t mean allowing abuse, injustice, or the like. It means actually seeing the truth of those situations, so one is empowered to act. It’s conducting an experiment, being curious, and opening to conditions and results — because life gets small and tight or dazed and vague if we always try to stay “dry and warm.” It’s a great description for mindfulness and for equanimity — to be present with what is rather than fight, flight, or freeze. For me, this was accepting the challenges that came with MS and also being willing to look honestly at my habits and behaviours that had me at war with the world. Back then, I believed that life owed me something, that the MS, among other things, was unfair. But that was the climate. We can’t change the weather. Though some of us try really hard to do so. Now, here it is again in the form of cancer where a relatively clear path of treatment is laid out, and fear, pain, and grief arise. This is the climate. Intense and surreal, but it’s beautiful to be present for it and let it wake me up a little more. To be “soaked to the bone.” The song is Saint Honesty by Sara Bareilles, link below.

Most recently, from the well-loved and oft-covered song, Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen, this line rang in my consciousness like like a clear bell in the still air: “To stand before the lord of song with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah.” With nothing left — getting kicked so hard, I’m brought to my knees, totally devoid of argument, commentary, agency. Yet, in that empty space, there is something humbling, powerful, and profoundly still: reverence. For all of it.

Lastly is a lyric I misheard as “She’s imperfect, but she’s kind.” I came across what looks like a bootleg video of a duet by Sara Bareilles and Brandi Carlisle. It touched me enough to save it and watch again later. I was reviewing that same YouTube watch again playlist while in hospital. The song is She Used To Be Mine written by Sara Bareilles for the musical, The Waitress. Listening to it again, I could tell I had the line wrong, so I looked up the lyrics. A number of lines in the chorus resonate with my life (probably anyone’s life) at some point or other:

She's imperfect but she tries
She is good but she lies
She is hard on herself
She is broken and won't ask for help
She is messy but she's kind
She is lonely most of the time
She is all of this mixed up
And baked in a beautiful pie
She is gone but she used to be mine

It’s not immediately obvious that the character is singing about herself in third person. She is mourning her former self. Read each line and ask for yourself, is this true of me, at least at some point in my life? Or stand in front of the mirror and say to your reflection, “I’m imperfect, but I try. I’m good but I lie. I am hard on myself. I am broken and I won’t ask for help…” The line that gets me now is, “She is gone, but she used to be mine.” The young Sarah (me), able bodied, active, confused, kind, hurting herself, racing against time. She is gone. But she used to be mine. Not that I would go back in time or change anything. Just that it’s resonating with the nostalgia of mid-life, with that realization: oh! I’m not that anymore. How Sara holds out “mine” in a long clear and resounding note rings with the poignancy of that realization.

Also touching here, if you click on the link below and listen to the whole song, is the character finding, in a new way, “the fire in her eyes” because of the life inside her. She is pregnant and a new power follows that will save her from desperate circumstances. For me, a new level of resiliency arose in my recent hospital stay. I was admitted after waking up last Sunday morning unable move; it seems a couple infections were overwhelming my already burdened body and exacerbated the MS. As the medical teams figured out what was going on and my body slowly responded to treatment, there was often deep calm and clarity, curiosity and energy, Life’s own resiliency asserting herself. It was also some kind of letting go. Reaching bottom and bounding up instead of remaining in the muck.

My recovery since feels re-invigorated. I feel more alert and attuned to what will aid recovery. I share here some stills from this surreal journey I’ve been on.

I wish nothing but the best for you, too.

~

Someone Like You Adele The Voice contestants

Saint Honesty Sara Bareilles

Hallelujah Leonard Cohen Pentatonix

She Used To Be Mine Sara Bareilles The Waitress