Feeling imprisoned, feeling free

This past Monday was one of those days when I felt as though I was imprisoned and needed to get out of jail fast. It was a work day, and it wasn't as though anything negative in particular happened to get the better of me. It's just that I reached the point of having had 'enough'. Enough of emails, enough of being stuck indoors, enough of sitting in a sterile office. Enough. It was a lovely day outside, the sun was shining, and temperatures were mild, so around 3 pm I decided to walk home. I plugged in my earbuds, found my playlist of favorite songs, and walked briskly home to the music. I love those days when I can do that. Those days when my body is in sync with the music, when walking is a pleasure (no pain anywhere), when I am singing along to the songs, when my mind soars and carries me back to good times years ago when I first listened to those songs. Born to be Wild, White Room, Badge, Dreadlock Holiday, I'm Not in Love, Get Ready, Out in the Country, Easy to be Hard, Steppin' Out, Winds of Change, Fig Tree Bay, In God's Country, Dream On, Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye, and so many others. Those are just some the songs I listened to when I was writing my term paper for my college Spanish class about the poet Antonio Machado, driving along the highway in a white Trans-am with Jean, skating on the Tarrytown Lakes during winter all those years ago, sitting in my bedroom at home in Tappan Landing, playing chess with my friend's brother, getting ready to go dancing at a club in Manhattan, or talking to my sister about her boyfriend. I remember the feelings generated by those songs, and all I know is that they made me feel free, feel complete. Free to feel, free to love, free to be happy or sad, free to be myself. It sounds cliched, but it's not. It's a truly deep feeling of expansion; I think it is the soul's bid for expression in a world that drowns out all attempts at expression.  

Music transports me to those parts of my heart and soul that are often locked or at least inaccessible on a daily basis. They're hard to reach without music. It's as though the memories are always there, truly real, just waiting for the key in the door to open onto them again. It's as though they exist in a parallel time, which brings me back to one of my many reflections about time. Is it really linear? Sometimes it seems so, other times it seems as though it's circular, or curved here and there. Or that it exists in multiple places, or that time itself exists as multiple past and present moments simultaneously and that we are surrounded by that multiplicity. I don't know. No one does. But I do know that we are part of something bigger than ourselves, and music allows us to expand and soar toward that world.