Struggle

At the end of any given Wednesday night meditation, it's not uncommon for our leader to ask, "How did it go for everyone?  Did anybody struggle?"

There's never a rush to answer.  Maybe nobody wants to admit that they struggled, or maybe they really did just fine, thanks.  In any case, the 45-minute session is over anyway, which is a relief, along with whatever struggling might have occurred.  

Still, Wayne asks about "struggle"--because he knows that it's part of spiritual practice at times.

It's not easy to sit in stillness for long periods, especially if we're new to it.  Sometimes we wonder if we're doing it right, or whether we can keep going.  We may start worrying about the wondering...and struggle happens.

It happens in songwriting too.  We may struggle with the gap between our desire to write a great song, and our ability to write only a fair one.  We may struggle to write lyrics that say something meaningful and that also rhyme.   We may also struggle when we notice a self-critical streak that interferes with the joy of simply making music.

Why do we struggle, we struggle so?

That line, I discovered today, has a lovely lilt to it despite its challenging subject matter.  Intuitively, we know that beautiful things can come out of struggle.  In fact, when it comes to art, tension and resistance is essential.

And yet, it's not fun for most of us.  We want our songwriting experience to be pleasant, harmonious and flowing...and our meditation to be calm and peaceful.  Perhaps our desire for struggle-free anything is what trips us up?

As our leader gently reminds us, struggle is to be expected.  We can explore it without anxiety, instead of denying or avoiding it.  Staying present and focused, we realize that we can hang in there.  We don't have to give up on meditation, or a song, or learning to swim, of making a souffle, or maintaining a relationship.

When we keep showing up, despite the effort it takes, we will come to appreciate both the flow and the struggle...the back and forth that affirms we are alive. 

Songwriting and Mood: Two Approaches

The way we see our artistic life can profoundly influence our moods and our sense of well-being.

After working for some time to improve our skills, we may achieve some proficiency.  We may start to collect achievements such as songwriting awards and prestigious bookings.  Our culture teaches us to emphasize these external achievements and we're encouraged to promote ourselves as much as possible. 

It's not surprising that we can become very self-centered as a result!  We might take on an air of entitlement or "special"-ness, thinking that because of our hard work and talent, we deserve to have more attention that others, or a bigger or more appreciative audience than we currently have.  Humility goes out the window.  Resentment kicks in.

To complicate matters,  our high level of sensitivity might cause us to notice those unpleasant dynamics in ourselves (whether we fully admit it or not) and then to feel even worse.  (A good book that explains this vicious cycle is The Mindful Way Through Depression, co-authored by Zen Buddhist mindfulness teacher Jon Kabat-Zinn.)

A different approach is to see our songwriting as a response to life, an expression of gratitude or a reflection of the greater good of which we are a part.  Many artists throughout history, including William Blake, Vincent Van Gogh and Bach, saw their work as an offering to God...but in today's secular culture, that outlook is less common.  It's an outlook worth cultivating, though, because (unlike the more materialistic outlook) it supports our mental health instead of undermining it.

When we see our songwriting as an act of gratitude or joy, and when we offer it up without expectation, we might notice that our feelings of neediness or disappointment decrease.  We may find ourselves feeling more kind toward ourselves and others, and more accepting of the world as it is.  For many of us, that "world as it is" may not include much material reward for our work.  That doesn't mean we cannot create excellent songs or find great joy in the process.  Some of us might make good money, too.  

Whether or do or don't, we support our own well-being--and the well-being of the Whole--when we view our work through a spiritual lens rather than a materialistic one.  Our songs become servants of love, instead of self-interest. 

True Worth

In his book "The Art of Power", Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hahn writes:

When you are filled with understanding and compassion, you have plenty of energy to serve, you are fully alive, very active, and your work, your film, your story, your novel, your poem is an expression of that mind of awakening.  And it brings you great satisfaction to know that your work contains understanding and compassion.  Even if people are not eager to buy it, you don't feel depressed at all, because you know the value of your work.

It's very easy for songwriters to be distracted by external measures of success.  This teaching reminds us that our work's true value has nothing to do with number of CDs sold or number of people in the venue--but instead with aspects of worth that are deeper, and indeed, timeless.  As Thich Nhat Hanh says, what really matters is compassion and insight...love and wisdom. 

When such elements of true worth are present in a song, the creator (songwriter) knows it, the Creator (Source of Life) knows it...and the community knows it too.

We recognize this compassion and insight in our own songs and those of others.  In fact, the distinction between songwriter and audience may even start to blur, when we allow love to guide us. 

When that happens, we find ourselves experiencing peace of mind, and deep satisfaction in our creative lives, no matter how much or how little external praise we receive. 

The next small step

One of the most valuable aspects of the songwriting process is that it forces us to focus on one thing at a time.  

We must make simple, clear decisions.  Which note sounds best in the melodic sequence we're composing?  Which chord creates the right mood?  Every small choice is important.  

If we lose focus on the next step in the process, we can become overwhelmed by the sheer volume of choices available.  Also, we can become distracted by our extravagant hopes for the finished product.  Fear and anxiety enter in, undermining the creative process.  

The same is true of life.  Focusing on the next small step is often more productive than contemplating the "big picture"--as important as we may believe it to be.  For anyone inclined to be overwhelmed by the world's problems, any spiritual practice that focuses on the next small step (note, word, breath...) will support emotional and spiritual health.

Steady achievement of small goals can also, in time, add up to bigger accomplishments, such as finished songs that have integrity and insight. 

Whole lives of integrity and insight can only be created the same way.

Sincerity

This may be the single most important element of a song.

It's not so easy as it sounds.  What do you really believe?  What do you want to stand for...to communicate to others?  Unfortunately, this understanding cannot be willed into existence.  It takes time to develop insight.  Songwriting supports the process...and at the same time, it reflects where we are...how much we currently understand.  

A half-baked idea cannot be camouflaged by nice chords or a pretty melody.  At times that can be humbling.

A songwriting friend, commenting on a recent song, said: "It's really cool.  I like it.  But is it true?"

I think I said, "well, yes and no".  That was a clue that there was more work to be done. 

One Body

We've all heard that everything is one...that everything is connected.  But do we truly believe it?

Consider your body.  How strange it would be if one part of it were celebrated above all others.  The elbow that is superior to the other one....the celebrity eyelash...the one toe that is especially worthy of praise.

We understand that every part of our bodies is important.  When we're wise, we see our physical health as an interconnected whole and we care for each part of ourselves with that in mind. 

But looking at the whole body of humankind and life itself, we sometimes raise certain parts up and keep other parts down.  One way we do this, in our culture, is through celebrity worship.  Many songwriters aspire to join the elite group of people who are famous.  In truth, that's as silly as one of your fingernails wanting to be special.  

The fact is, every human being is a worthy part of the larger Whole, as is every song each person may sing.

When we meditate on this great truth, we remain humble and grateful for the part we play. We do not seek to elevate ourselves, but rather to contribute to the health of the Whole.

That reminds me of...

Sometimes, about midway through writing a song, I notice that something about it reminds me of something I've heard before.  It could be a general mood or a similar riff or an approach or a chord pattern. If it's too close to the original, I change it.  But often I notice that I've built in a little nod, an unconscious tip-of-the-hat, to an artist I admire.

As human beings, we're continually reminded of people we know, places we've been, songs we've loved.  By noticing and appreciating them, we integrate all of our experiences into a uniquely meaningful life.  We do this all the time, simply by being aware of what we value: what we love. When we "create something", we just arrange some of that good stuff and put it in a frame. 

So, next time you pick up your instrument and think...hmm, that reminds me a little of [insert song here], play with it until you make something new...but celebrate the fact that your song is connected to every song you've ever loved.

Open Mic, Open Heart

If it weren't for community open stages, I'd probably still be singing alone in my house.

But I notice, sometimes, that open mics can bring out my "shadow" side.  (Something to do with the lighting in those venues?)

Carl Jung first conceived of the idea of the shadow: the part of yourself you hide from the rest of the world--and even yourself.  The shameful stuff we don't like to see.

When we start noticing our shadow, we can start working with it more consciously.  That self-awareness is bound to help our songs.

Many features of open mics can challenge the ego and bring the shadow "into the light", so to speak. Here are a few:

• Do we feel superior to this singer or inferior to that one?  Compassionately noticing our competitiveness can help us develop humility and self-confidence. 

• Are we impatient, waiting for our turn to play?  When we notice this, we can practice being grateful for the present moment. 

• No time to warm up or adjust the sound system?  People talking over your set?  A golden opportunity for intolerant perfectionists. 

• Your performance isn't as good as hoped?  Are you beating yourself up?  Notice that...and practice being kind to yourself. 

The funny thing is, those shadowy aspects of ourselves may be exactly the thing we hope not to show from the stage.

But even if (maybe especially if) our songs are all about peace and love, we've got to wrestle in the dark with the shadow (anxiety, intolerance).     

Only by opening up to every part of our experience--both the light and the dark--will we truly grow.  

Is Your Song Stable?

If your song were a person, would you consider it stable?

Or is it unbalanced...a little off-kilter...troubled somehow?

One characteristic of a strong song is its sense of balance and stability.  It's self-supporting.  For example, the ideas in the verses tend to support the main idea of the chorus...and every verse supports every other one.

The mood and feel of the song will likely be congruent with the song's message.  The melody will likely "match" the words.  Perhaps most important, the message of the song will be congruent with your own unique personhood: your true values and dreams.

Of course, no song or person is "stable" all the time.  We often feel out-of-whack for one reason or another and our songs often reflect that.  In fact, a song is a very appropriate place to express feelings of confusion and anxiety.

At the same time, simply in the act of writing a song, we draw ourselves a roadmap for emotional stability.

It takes effort to consciously choose the right word to complete a rhyme (for example), just as it takes effort to make conscious choices that support our physical, emotional and spiritual health.

But it's worth it!

When the process is complete, we have a strong, stable, true song.  A mirror of our best selves.

Question and Answer (Songwriting as Magic 8 Ball)

When I was growing up, a friend had a Magic 8 Ball that offered answers to the perplexing questions of adolescence. It was fun to consult the mysterious oracle and see what it said.  (I just looked it up on Wikipedia, and was reminded of some of the answers: "It is decidedly so" and "reply hazy, try again". I think I got that "hazy" one a lot.)  

I think that our songs act as oracles sometimes.

When we pick up our instrument during a time of questioning, interesting answers will come out.  

They may not be the ones we're expecting. They may not give us step-by-step instructions on how to proceed. But they can help us understand what our intuitive wisdom is trying to tell us. 

We need our "left-brain", logical sides to make decisions...but we also need our dreamy, "right-brain" sides.  Artistic activity kick-starts both sides at once.  This is great news for complicated lives like ours!  

I just realized that over the last few days, I've been using my songwriting as a kind of oracle.  Two different songs emerged in answer to the same question.

The interesting thing is, one song is "better" than the other.  It's much easier to remember and sing.  It's catchier...more likely to stick.  

Ask your songs to answer your questions.  Then listen to what they say.  

Why bother?

A talented songwriting friend, who has been having trouble writing, asked me why he should bother writing another song.  "Who cares?" he asked.

I knew what he meant.  Any song we write today will become part of an infinitely large collection of songs (poems, paintings...) that human beings have created since the beginning of time.  In a way, any song (no matter how "good") is insignificant.

What isn't insignificant, though, are the insights that arise when we write a meaningful song...and the way we grow when we engage in the creative process. 

When we make meaningful connections in music and words...when we share a song that moves another person...we affirm the recreating Whole that is sacred and holy. 

Sure, it takes effort. (My friend said, "But it's so hard!") But the rewards are immense.

Tonight a no-longer-blocked songwriter called me, ecstatic over the new recording she had just made, and the new possibilities that are emerging--all because she began to write from her soul.

That's why we do this.

Our best and our worst

Songwriting (and activities related to it, such as performance) can bring out our best and our worst qualities.  It's worthwhile to take a closer look at them, to understand how they affect our relationships and our lives. 

Here are some of the great qualities that songwriters often have. (Cue the applause!)

- Emotional sensitivity.
- Insight into human behavior (which leads to empathy and compassion).
- Orientation toward beauty, balance and harmony.
- Observation and awareness of the world.  Consciousness.

On the other hand, you might have noticed these qualities. (Hiss, boo!)

- Self-centeredness.  Over-attentiveness to ourselves and our feelings.
- Demand for approval and attention.
- Judgment of others' work; competitiveness.
- Cynicism and disappointment.

These shadow aspects of our creative lives hold very real risks for us. 

It's not that we "shouldn't" have these feelings (I believe they're something of an occupational hazard) but we do need to be conscious of them and choose how to work with them. 

Sometimes those feelings can become the material for songs. Anger and resentment, for example, offer fantastic energy that can fuel the creative process. The song you write is likely to offer healing harmony just when you need it.  

At other times, it's important to simply notice what's going on and find a way to regain equilibrium...perhaps by being in nature, reading an inspirational book or talking with a supportive friend.

We don't want to give up our sensitivity and "shut down"...but we perhaps can learn to "tune" our sensitivity.   

As T.S. Eliot once wrote, "Teach me to care, and not to care.  Teach me to sit still." 

Blessing Songs

John O'Donohue (1956-2008) wrote that "a blessing is a circle of light drawn around a person to protect, heal and strengthen."

O'Donohue was a poet, philosopher, theologian and Catholic priest.  In his last book, "To Bless the Space Between Us" (a beautiful, kind and inspiring work) he wrote that everyone is capable of blessing others, and that "when you bless another, you...reach below your surface mind and personality, down to the deeper source within you, namely, the soul".

It seems to me that when we write songs that come from our soul, we bless the world they came from.  That is, the Sacred Wholeness that is bigger than ourselves. Perhaps we also bless the people or things or events that inspired the song.

I also wonder...could we bless our songs (or the music we make...or our instrument...) for healing, in the same way that a priest blesses water or bread? 

Could we draw a "circle of light" around a musical phrase, an affirmation of love, a rhyme or a chord?  In doing so, could we strengthen our songs and guide them toward the fulfillment of their purpose?

When we approach our songs this way, perhaps we treat them with the care and reverence they deserve. 

Perhaps we honour them and seek their highest calling, for the blessing of the world.

Our Best Songs

Frederick Buechner once wrote that one's true vocation is found in "the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

I believe that our best songs are found there, too. 

Our best songs are the ones that delight us fully while also nourishing others. 

If a song entertains only us, it may not represent our highest calling. But likewise, if it is only written to please others (or to gain recognition or fame), it misses the mark too.

Our songs must speak to our own deepest values first.  Then they can move, in their own way and in their own time, beyond our personal sphere...to that place of divine connection with others.

We seldom know exactly how that will be accomplished, or when, but that's okay.

It's enough to start with the deep gladness, and the deep hunger we all know, and begin to sing. 
 

Old Song Stuff (or "'Auld Lang Song")

This Christmas, my son gave me a wonderful homemade gift: a bottle of "Stuff Be Gone".

He put a hand-drawn label on a spray bottle, filled it with green-tinted water  and warned me not to spray anything I genuinely love.

He knows me really well.  He knows that "stuff" has always been a challenge for me. (I've written several songs about it, too.)  Sometimes I'm afraid to let go of what I don't love--even if it causes actual problems for me. Gradually I am getting better at making choices, letting go, appreciating more and accumulating less. 

As songwriters, sometimes we notice an accumulation of "song stuff": lyric fragments, half-finished songs, musical motifs and titles. Meanwhile, we might wonder why we haven't been able to finish many songs. We might feel simultaneously overwhelmed and empty...and troubled by feelings of guilt because we haven't "done anything" with our song stuff.

If this rings true for you, this is a great time to start anew. 

Rip an ancient notebook into tiny shreds. Throw away CDs or cassette tapes (yes, some of us still have those lying around!) with unfinished musical work on them.  Better yet, have an old fashioned bonfire fueled by unfinished songs.

After you've burned those old almost-lyrics, sit in front of a blank white sheet of paper for several minutes.  Don't write anything.

Just appreciate the peace--and the promise--of that blank page.

Happy New Year!