I was trying to come up with an idea for a post tonight – clearing the cobwebs in my brain that had been woven during my work day. I like to write about things that have meaning for me, that strike a chord deep within me and light the passion that only words can fuel until it becomes a mellifluous production.
The image of my family crept into my thoughts and the music of their presence in my life began like a slow starting symphony. The opus of this particular operatic was my divorce, my escape from a life that was not mine to live. Single notes, soft but relevant, could be heard over the din in my head and the notes began to permeate my thoughts. The movement of their music was intoxicating and I began to sway with the rhythm.
Each section of the orchestra sounded the cries of their instrument, but the blend of those voices, the song that was created, was harmonious, and like all symphonies, it had a story to tell. The beginning of the sounds were light, easing me into the fable with their hypnotic sound. Somehow the music spoke to me and I knew there was beauty far beyond what I was living. I could feel it in the music that penetrated my skin, the octaves that dove into the reaches of my mind and brought me back to a reality where I was happy. The notes blended to create a comforting strain, the dulcet tones began to rise in volume and the crescendo was an emotional outpouring of support. The fat lady had sung, the show was over and so was my marriage.
There is always a deep, emotional story behind any operatic performance. There is pleasure, there is pain and there is death. I experienced some of the pleasure, my fair share of emotional pain and the death of a relationship. But as any opera heroine does at the end of the performance, I lifted my head, nodded to the orchestra, and prepared for the next show.