It’s the gift of hindsight. Because I didn’t remember, but now I do. I didn’t know, but now I do.
At the time, I didn’t know it was happening.
I didn’t know because I didn’t appreciate. I didn’t know to appreciate, and I didn’t know how important it was.
I sat every morning for years and years – to the sound of birdsong.
And I sat in the evening, at dusk, to the sound of birdsong.
And they sound different.
The awakening birdsong has a different tone than the tune of early evening birdsong.
The soundscape nourished me.
I suspect if I lived at the ocean, I might wake up to absorb the beautiful tones, tunes, and hues of the landscape. That landscape might be the best breakfast for me. And I might absorb the landscape before the sun goes down. That might be the healthiest feast.
I used to eat, feed, and hear well.
Until it stopped.
Tone deaf came on slowly.
I moved to the condominium.
I was enthralled with the luxury of all-things-fancy.
I had a private keycard to get in the building (felt very VIP), and I loved taking the elevator up to the fifth floor – it all felt so high class. I even loved having a trash shoot on my floor, like in classic movies. And the condo was luxuriously large.
I easily walked downtown – with the downtown lights, music, and all-things-jazz. It was amazing.
I was living the high life. High on the fifth floor, and I worked on High Street (actual name).
I attempted to keep the windows open – for the beautiful fresh air and all-things-birdsong, but in exchange, I got the sound of cars, neighbors talking outside, and sirens, and sirens, and more sirens. Unbeknownst (until it was known) I was living in the cross path of a fire station and a police station.
There were times I thought it was a cosmic joke. I wondered, “What are you people possibly doing?!$@ to demand all these sirens to your door?”
For the sake of peace, quiet, and sound sleep, the windows remained shut, and the sound of birdsong stopped.
Over time, I started picking up the sound of The New York Times – because that’s what everyone else was doing, and I thought that’s what “smart” people do.
That escalated into hearing more dings, texts, and notification alerts. Oh! I must be important for everyone to notify me! and to ask for my approval by way of a like button.
Then s*** started hitting the fan in America and it seemed important to watch the news. I mean, how dare I come to work the next day and have nothing to talk about.
America 2016 was the only reality show worth talking about, and so we did.
And it’s all I heard for years. The sounds of anger, hate, and self-righteousness; over and over and over it played.
Five or so years, and I woke up in the spoils of my misery.
!? What happened to me ?!
The so-called sounds of success and smartness had left me numb, empty, and all sensory functions for dead.
Pain is what I heard.
My internal sounds telling me I was in pain. And the externals felt depressed, numb/deadness, and anxiety/fear… that this was my new so-called-life.
A life that “sounded good” was now feeling bad.
My joy, my tune, my tone, my life; had been de.pressed – turned off, tuned out.
SoundScape is like landscape.
If you look at (see) a painful, toxic, polluted landscape all day everyday, things get no-so-good.
Noise pollution is toxic.
Painful noise, language, information, tone, and tune, becomes toxic pollution.
Just like one with good common sense would do – with our five senses – amidst any pollution; is to remove it.
Remove the toxin.
Detox so you can hear the tune of your own tone.
Then let birdsong heal you in the morning and in the evening.
Birdsong becomes medicine.
Birdsong becomes medicine to help us come back to our senses.
Bridsong heals our sense of hearing.
Birdsong is a gift.
What are you “tuned” into? Is it painful?
Why stay tuned?
Why feed on what tastes bad? Of what is hard to digest? Of worth spitting out.
Why do you swallow that noise pollution? Can you stomach that? Is there an ache? A stomach ache?
Take in a teaspoon of birdsong.