i get into obsessions and fixations.
Food and music mostly.
Lately it's this mix I've made, called tarthang.
I feel self-conscious about deeply deeeeeply loving my own art, but its probably what's healthiest.
I make my own medicine.
I'm not exactly sure what it is about this song and mix, but I know I feel it in my body when I hear the opening 7 minutes, a simply song about trying to see someone, but just not quite being there yet.
I'm on my way.
It has a satisfying round mouthfeel, a gentle but firm silk-like wrap at the throat,
and a resonate deep pluck of the harp in my chest.
I'm coming home.
In truth I hate waiting, especially for men, it is a trigger for me, so ironic I would love this song.
Somewhere about 15 minutes into this meditation, I remember the mantra that sets me free
"I myself am heaven and hell"
I love dorthy ashby's operatic voice, I let mines float up up up in effigy,
my chest an empty cathedral
going deeper and deeper.
I'm obsessed with the "wughwughwughwughwughwugh wughwhoompwughwhoompwughwhoompwughwhoompwughwhoomp"
and the great satisfaction it just brought me to type the above sentence as accurately as my syntax could allow.
It sounds like a voice laughing, knowing, mocking, teasing, inviting.
A matter of the afterlife to tell.
The sounds inside this 30 minutes is a home for me,
soft fabric to fold myself into
my nervous system down regulating
I imagine myself on wheels, fluid and expressive.
I pull that reality closer to me,
anchored in my chest.
****
I be self-conscious about this obsession.
Do my neighbors know I listen to it twice a day?
Do they hate me for it?