Enya makes me sick

I don't mean that in a bad way. Really, I don't. I love Enya. As a matter of fact, Enya is among the select few artists whose work I've actually purchased. However, I've discovered recently that Enya literally makes me sick to my stomach.

I don't remember what thought process brought me to Enya, but I decided to have a listen as it's been a while. I labored through my CD collection, and began listening by memory to Enya's music (never found the album, though).

Anyway, I got to feeling a bit sick. It isn't the music mind you, but what the music has come to carry with it. Empathy is a great tool, but it has unforeseen expenses. I attach meaning to ideas, art, music, etc; everything really. That's just how I see the world. I won't suppose the exact same for everyone else, but I gather it's something similar.

I say again that I really enjoy Enya. She captures perfectly the essences of calm and storm in Tempus Vernum. The music draws me in like a well told story. It's like a fantasy play that the listener co-authors offering life experience against the setting of the music. I hung my hat on that music during a painful time in my life, though, and I'd rather not take it on again. Rather, I'm a bit masochistic in that I do want to listen to it, but common sense directs me otherwise.

Most of this past week has included somehow a nostalgia of the bygone. Dreams and daydreams, very vivid, of the mundane or profound details of the life that has led me here, were a prominant feature this week past. Silly things with no meaning replayed in my mind with such clarity- bus rides with the middle school orchestra, building things with friends, catching bugs at recess- why do I miss that so much?

Maybe I forgot to say 'goodbye' when I grew up. Or, maybe I said it too soon.

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Pilgrim
by
Eithne Ní Bhraonáin (Enya)

Pilgrim, how you journey
on the road you chose
to find out why the winds die
and where the stories go.
All days come from one day
that much you must know,
you cannot change what's over
but only where you go.

One way leads to diamonds,
one way leads to gold,
another leads you only
to everything you're told.
In your heart you wonder
which of these is true;
the road that leads to nowhere,
the road that leads to you.

Will you find the answer
in all you say and do?
Will you find the answer
in you?

Each heart is a pilgrim,
each one wants to know
the reason why the winds die
and where the stories go.
Pilgrim, in your journey
you may travel far,
for pilgrim it's a long way
to find out who you are...

Pilgrim, it's a long way
to find out who you are...

Pilgrim, it's a long way
to find out who you are...