Sound and Fury
Migraines are for sissies.
That’s what I like to say.
Sissies.
And I’m not one, so I’m not about to resign myself to having them. I just get some headachy sort of thing on occasion. It always goes away, even if it does take three days. Sure, it’s kind of pesky, the way my right eye is forced shut. And the occasional nausea can be a little annoying.
But I’d hardly call it debilitating.
And yes, I’ll say that with a straight face, even after my friend with the masterful therapist hands for three days in row labored to ferret out and subdue trigger point after trigger point while I drew up groaning into a tight ball on the floor trying to understand what she meant when she said, “Umm . . . do you think you could relax a little for me?”
It sure is a good thing I don’t have migraines.
Because if I did have migraines, and if I were entrenched in the midst of one last night, the last thing I’d want to do is load up the family and fireworks and join friends in the shadow of their barn to shoot off bottle rockets and Roman candles and some crazy-painful 200-shot missile thing that went on for almost an hour all by itself.
So I must not have migraines, because I went along.
And in light of the no-not-debilitating but just-partly-blinding headachy thing I had going on, tossing myself into the middle of flashing light and deafening report was, perhaps, the stupidest thing I’ve done in a long time.
Know this, though: the stupidity was largely offset by the laughter of my kids and the company of friends of whom I don’t get nearly enough anymore.
::
I had planned not to post this week in the continuing discussion at HCB on Julia Cameron’s The Right to Write. Partly because I didn’t have a post to write. And partly because every time I do, a reader or two finds his or her way to the exit, punches out on the “Unsubscribe” button and doesn’t come back.
True story.
But here I am anyway, itching to live dangerously. I’m thinking this morning about noise, and reading back over the assignment for this week and realizing that in an entire chapter about sound, Cameron didn’t employ the word noise a single time.
She speaks of whispers, nods, and swishes. Her pages tell of grunts and rattles, bells and chimes. I read of roaring, of barking, of drumbeats and whirring. As I read, I can hear it all in the background.
Amidst all that racket, she never called it noise.
But it seems to me I hear a lot more noise than sound.
My world is noisy. I spend half my day translating in a call center surrounded by ringing phones, talking heads and venting customer service reps. I often wear an earplug in my open ear just so I can hear.
When we follow our kids, we can sit for hours listening to cheering crowds, complaining fans, the crack of the bat, the shrill whistle of a referee, shoes squeaking and balls pounding on hardwood, and the jarring end-of-game buzzer.
We live life at home to the accompaniment of windbaggy sportscasters, shrieking cartoon characters, buzzing or blaring cell phones (depends on whose is ringing), churning appliances, dribbling basketballs, conversation shouted from one room to the next, doors knocking, feet pounding up and down stairs while friends run in and out with my kids, a barking dog and a hissing cat.
Even when I settle in for some quiet time with my laptop, the fan that will not turn off since I spilled a steamy latte on the keyboard howls back at me.
::
When the house empties I take my turn-off tour around the house and power down televisions and video games and mp3 players, and I breathe out deep. I feel my heart rate drop with the noise level and consider how resistant I can be to stimulation sometimes.
But then I wonder, could I begin to hear the noise as sound?
I considered this last night. With my head wanting to detach from my body with each new screaming flame thrower that shot off into the night, I listened to the other sounds.
The sound of a miracle boy, experiencing light with tiny two-year-old hands and squealing to “Hold it! Hold it!” as his daddy lit another sparkler.
The sound of teenagers, still friends after years of families hanging out together, laughing as they raced through the dark to track down the parachuter ejected by an exploding bottle rocket.
The sound of grown men giddy as children oohing and aahing as the big lights blasted into the sky.
The sound of a mama snuggling a little one into the blanket with a puppy.
The sound of the Dakota Honkers package blazing off into the night, sick goose sounds accompanying the light show, only drowned out by uproarious laughter amongst us on the ground.
The sound of my phone buzzing, a text from a friend a chair away, I think fearful to ask out loud if I were going to live.
And the sound of my strong love as he sidled up close to an agitated me and, knowing I don’t have migraines, said, “I hope you’re going to be okay.”
Cameron notices that “the world is alive with song — the city’s cacophonous jazzed-up symphony and the variable pastoral of my country life.” (p. 184)
And I notice, if I stop listening to the noise long enough, that there is music, beautiful music, all around me.
::
What sounds do you hear today, especially amidst the noise?
Posted, despite the inherent risks, as part of the High Calling Blogs discussion of Julia Cameron’s The Right to Write. To read more, join Laura over at HCB for “I Eat With My Eyes,” a look at how driving is a great way to devour images and refill the well. You can read the rest of my offending posts here or better yet, check out these other great posts from esteemed participants this week:
Erin’s Fighting the Writing Monsters
ELK’s Random Sight
Nancy’s Music Everywhere
Cassandra’s Sound
Marilyn’s The Real Reason for Highway Rest Stops
Glynn’s Writing, Music and Airplanes to San Fransisco
L.L.’s Dancing on Spec and Driving into Words
Photo: Dome Cathedral of Riga, Latvia, by Takis Kolokotronis via Stock.xchng
did you hear the sound that noise made?
2010/07/06 at 12:03 AM
You make me giggle in the wee hours, nAncY.
2010/07/06 at 12:12 AM
We call that 200 missle thing “Screamers”–that’s definitely “noise.” I find it so hard to separate the noises to enjoy the sounds, the music, the poetry. It takes concentration, sitting down, and the ability to just listen and not respond…which doesn’t happen often.
2010/07/06 at 1:00 AM
No, you have your share of built in noise. It can be hard to listen…I do it so poorly. But there are such good sounds if I’d let myself.
2010/07/06 at 7:46 AM
Really? People have left? Well, that’s just wrong. We didn’t even get into the more controversial stuff, did we?
I love this picture of your life (i don’t have migraines either, BTW…just every once in a while I think I’m having a stroke because the symptoms are the same. Never had them until I had these blasted, blessed children). Sometimes I think the noise of my life distracts me from the meaning of it all. It’s good to sit and listen to it sometimes. It kind of makes a picture.
Love to you, Lyla. Sounds like you had a beautiful holiday–despite not have a migraine.
2010/07/06 at 5:42 AM
I don’t know if it was the controversial stuff, maybe just the subject matter as a whole. If I weren’t writing, I’m not sure I’d be all that interested to read posts on writing, you know? So most folks here are a patient lot and are graciously waiting me out while we finish it up.
And yes, I can see the stroke-like symptoms…maybe that’s what it is…
2010/07/06 at 7:48 AM
So sorry about your um unmigraine. Praying you are better today. Your story here speaks to me. It goes so well with what God teaches me constantly – there are treasures in the darkness. You pushed through the blinding pain, listening to the music around you, and found beauty in the midst of it all. I love reading about how God does that for His children.
I’m with Laura – “Really? People have left? Well, that’s just wrong.” I for one am glad you keep posting for I reap the blessing!
2010/07/06 at 7:13 AM
And you, Nancy, you. Far be it from me with just two in the house to talk about noise! Someday I should learn from you how you navigate that so gracefully.
2010/07/06 at 7:45 AM
As some one else who does not suffer from nondebilitating migraines who has gone to work and wore sunglasses because I am not a sissie…I could cry for you…glad you got to spend the day with friends.
I love your posts so I will not unsubscribe.
2010/07/06 at 7:30 AM
Ahh, sunglasses…I might try that.
Not that I have any symptoms related to light or anything.
Thanks Holly. You are a great encourager.
2010/07/06 at 7:44 AM
I’ve stopped watching my numbers. Seriously. If people don’t like me, I guess they can leave.
Are you a coffee drinker? My husband has to have coffee every day, or he gets horrible migraines by the end of the day.
I am glad you made it out. Headache or no.
And this comment is so weird, like I’m not really listening to what you said, but I heard you, I just can’t quite make sense out of stuff this morning. Whee.
2010/07/06 at 7:35 AM
Not the numbers so much but the actual email notification on the unsubscribe or I wouldn’t put two and two together on this series of posts and when it happens. I don’t worry so much about whether folks like me…perhaps I should do that more. But I hate to be writing stuff that folks don’t want to read, either. So, no worries. Just a quirky thing that should wind down soon enough when we finish this book.
Coffee drinker? Umm yeah.
2010/07/06 at 7:42 AM
You asked, “What sounds do you hear today?” Lots lately …
And all these sounds come as I’ve been trying to find true REST in Matthew 11 — in my seven-day Lyla-style Bible study. I’m trying to figure out what all the noise means, because it keeps interrupting me. It sounds like this (from an old blog post of mine, circa 2009):
alarm clock singing
neighbor ringing
washer humming
footsteps drumming
keyboard clicking
motor, kicking
front door, knocking
newscast, shocking
music, playing
politician, braying
static, hissing
Stillness?
MISSING.
Oh that sounds so depressing …. But ah … God is speaking through the noise. I just need to figure out how to sit back and LISTEN and try to sort it out in my non-migraine mind.
(Great post, Lyla. You rock.)
2010/07/06 at 9:01 AM
Maybe you need another seven days?
That is rest — to sit in it and not have to figure out what it all means.
That’s hard for me — I want to get it, and I want to get it now. Sometimes I think He’s not so wound up about us getting it as we are.
He just wants us to get Him. Well, have Him.
2010/07/06 at 9:28 AM
Lyla,
I’m shocked that you weren’t rendered incapacitated by your unmigraine, and found the stamina to attend a festive family function. I used to get migraines off an on since I was a kid… and then they mysteriously seemed to stop about 6 years ago. Knock on wood. (quietly) . Hope you are feeling better.
and I don’t do well with noise. I really like what you ‘ve said here. I try. But are some people just wired differently? I wonder. I try to concentrate or block it out or whatever. Can we be over sensitive to sound? Just seeing the difference in my husband and I in this makes me certain of it. I can get to the point of crazed with a furnace sounding a little louder than normal , and he swears he can’ t even hear it to start with.
sigh…
2010/07/06 at 9:13 AM
I love this, Deb. As one who could do fully without noise, I love this.
Yes, I believe we’re all wired up a lot differently. Some folks aren’t fazed by the noise, others thrive on it, and then there’s us. (Turn it off, please.) My problem I think is that I try so hard to tune out all the noise that I miss the sounds.
2010/07/06 at 9:30 AM
Like.
2010/07/06 at 8:55 PM
I remember being told to be quiet when the boys were napping. I’m a bit louder than you.
With this new insight, i think the quiet was for you. Babies can sleep through anything if you let them. Lesson learned later…
very sorry about you not having migraines. I hope you don’t have to drive when they are not coming on. You must be in God’s hands. Be well.
2010/07/07 at 7:16 AM
Lyla:
No medical or theological insight here. Just that you jogged my memory of growing up. I recall your grandmother having migranes on occasion. She also never never called them migranes. She called them sick headaches, they lasted 2 or 3 days and she took copious amounts of Bayer. So like so many things, it could be genetic. I’m sure you didn’t need to know that.
Dad
2010/07/07 at 8:36 AM
Laura, yes, needed quiet for me.
Dad, sick headaches is a great term. For someone who had them, of course…
2010/07/07 at 12:52 PM