The Importance of Music

My most favorite song is “Through Your Hands” by John Hiatt as performed by Joan Baez. I was introduced to this song by a college roommate in 1994 and it has been a major comfort since; as well as an adopted theme song of my life.

Through Your Hands (by John Hiatt)

You were dreaming on a park bench

about a broad highway somewhere

When the music from the carillon

seemed to hurl your heart out there

Past the scientific darkness, past the

fireflies that float

To an angel bending down to wrap you

in her warmest cloak

And you ask "What am I not doing?"

She says, "Your voice cannot command,

In time you will move mountains

And it will come through your hands."

Still you argue for an option, still you angle for your case

Like you wouldn't know a burning bush if it blew up in your face

Yeah, we scheme about the future and we dream about the past

When just a simple reaching out could build a bridge that lasts

And you ask "What am I not doing?"

She says, "Your voice cannot command,

In time you will move mountains

And it will come through your hands."

So whatever your hands find to do you must do with all your heart

There are thoughts enough to blow men's minds and tear great worlds apart

There's a healing touch to find you on that broad highway somewhere

To lift you as high as music running through an angel's hair

Don't ask what you are not doing

'Cause your voice cannot command

And in time we will move mountains

And it will come through your hands

Poetry Corner: Three Poems and a Turning Point

As I mentioned in earlier blogs, before, during and after I was diagnosed, I emotionally shut off for a time. I seemed to get easily overwhelmed, panicky, and then I would be totally unfeeling. 

For over seven months I couldn’t even write poetry. Then one month, during a particularly dry unfeeling state, the following three poems found their way out of me and onto paper. 

This was the first time that I’d felt like I was truly able to express myself in a long time. Also, as I read over them in the order they were written, I feel that you can see a healing process beginning to stir in the early stages.

They Say I Look Fine...

Something’s wrong, I can feel it.

My flesh is wasting and I am wide-awake.

Wide awake as I forget

Wide awake as my body sleeps

Wide awake as my vision fades

God help me! Where are my hands!

“Excuse me, please, where is my voice?”

Something’s wrong, I can feel it.

I feel spiders chasing butterflies inside my veins

I feel cold and hot at the same time

I feel my bladder screaming every five minutes

I feel that I am unfeeling

I am scared!

“Excuse me, where is my inner strength?”

Something’s wrong, I can feel it.

Doctors say there is no cure

Others say I look fine

Doctors say medication and “Can you walk from here to there?”

Others say this and that and you’ll be cured

But I can’t shake this one off!

“Where is my faith?”

Something’s wrong, I can feel it.

I shake all over, but no one sees it, yet.

I shake, I crumble, I cry, I ache

I shake wondering what it means

I shake yet methodically move

Somebody hold me!

My peace is lost

…

Something’s wrong,

can feel it.

Everything is shaking

Nothing is certain.

By Diana M. Bateman
2004 ©

~

Yesterday, Today, and Whenever

Day 1: The Storm Inside

A sudden chill

burns through my flesh

creeping allover and

butterflying me –

simultaneously heat radiates the chill and burns on.

Shrinking my sinews…

gray matter becomes grayer

as my bones clatter,

chattering unheeded demands.

Merging synaptic conversations into white noise –

it’s too loud,

so loud I feel it

taking away my “I think I can”,

as I putter backwards into me.

Exposed,

I am surrounded by life’s storm;

I am stuck inside a war of the elements; beyond repair.

Holding on to anything,

as long as it’s not moving, I wait.

Watching

waiting

hoping little damage is done –

praying for aide,

knowing there is none.

Day 16: Cessation

A sudden chill burns

B s

A d

C r

K a

W w

k A

c R

a D

b S

radiating departure. I am left

with an odd redress

and its heat leaves its chill on me…

Awakening my sinews from a

painful hibernation,

they rejoin the quick –

though the subliminal white noise

never leaves.

By Diana M. Bateman
2004 ©

~

Just Smile, Carry On

none of us are exactly the same

some hobble

some stand tall

others are obvious in capability

then there are those that you cannot tell,

but that you watch in curiosity

then, for some reason,

we compare ourselves;

letting the supposed reality frighten us

or render hope on apron strings

regardless

these comparisons become false expectations

causing needless anticipation

of the worst

or best

in the end it is all just another excuse

interrupting success…

graded on self perception of ability

the point is often missed.

By Diana M. Bateman
2005 ©

Poetry Corner: Hide n' Seek

When I was finally emotionally able to snap-out of my “woe is me” mode, I decided that I needed to force myself to do something I know that in the past I have loved.

Writing poetry has been a part of my life since my hand found pen and paper. I recognized that I hadn’t written a poem in about a year. 

To understand the significance you need to know that I carry a writing book and pen at all times. On average, I was writing about ten poems a month and here I had gone for a year with a single poetic thought!

Poetry Playhouse

I don’t recall exactly how it was done, but during a conversation with a co-worker who also writes, somehow within a few weeks we had formed a poetry writing group of five people; we called the group Poetry Playhouse. 

Our numbers and faces have changed over the past three years, but we are still meeting twice a month. Our only rule is that Poetry Playhouse has no rules; it is what you make of it. 

We critique, we share, we grow, and we inspire each other. This experience has made all the difference in the world to me.

One time, Poetry Playhouse had an assignment that we should all write a poem about “why we write” and that the poet who won the competition (i.e., poem that was most liked) had to do a presentation about his/herself in the following meeting. My poem won. 

I mention this because I think the message of the poem not only reflects why I write, but what this outlet has meant to me. 

It reveals how crucial it is that I have an outlet that provides so much emotional freedom; where I can express myself freely, with no holds barred. So here is the poem:

Hide n' Seek

language has a promise
that somewhere,
someone will understand -
in hopes that I don't feel,
… so alone

so, to the heir
I repeatedly toss

a variety of
my deepest secrets,
greatest loves,
most terrifying moments,
and only known comforts –

there to hide,

in slippery verse

as I continually seek
for the reason
language lies

By Diana M. Bateman
2004 ©