The Mindful Migraine

Much to the amusement (or perhaps bemusement) of the last mechanic who serviced my vehicle, my car has a CD player in it.  On the good days (when noise doesn’t annoy me), I usually listen to music apps via my phone, but I also enjoy the continuity that comes from listening to an album from beginning to end as its creator intended.  So, on a recent trip that was going to put me on the road for a little over an hour, I randomly pulled a CD out of archive.

The album was from 1999 and was called “Stepping Stones – The Best of Wendy Matthews” (an Australian singer).  As I was listening, old memories came back.  One song in particular, about a ghost that haunts a house, I recalled that I used to play on repeat, over and over, holding back tears (what those tears were about back then evades me, but I found myself tearing up all over again – such is the power of music!).  Other songs were less familiar, and felt like I was hearing them for the first time.  As the song picked up pace, however, some of the lyrics would come back to me – decades old and as fresh as yesterday!  It’s astounding really how much our brains can hold onto!

Song number 3 on the album, was called “Token Angels” and felt familiar enough that it must have been a firm favorite, possibly even the reason I purchased the album, all those years ago.  [My daughters find it hard to believe that we had to buy a dozen songs in order to get the one we wanted – but there it is!]

Anyway – the song lyrics (this time around) got under my skin:

In a dream we were at sea
On a boat that was sinking fast
You sailed out over the ocean
And I was tied to the mast
And my eyes are colored in white
And your hands are colder than ice…

I wondered, how was the boat sinking and sailing at the same time? Song lyrics are like dreams, they have their own internal logic that defies over-analysis.  The bottom line was clear enough though – the relationship was doomed, and she was powerless to alter the outcome. It felt quite tragic, and the tune added to the melancholy. 

While I was experiencing my trip down musical-memory-lane, I also remembered the poetry of John Donne, a metaphysical poet, whom I had studied in High School.  In his poem “A valediction forbidding mourning”, Donne uses the metaphor of a compass to describe the way that couples in 16th century England operated: she was the point that gets pushed into the paper – firm, static, permanently at home – whilst he was the end of the compass that goes roving, spinning in circles around and about… potentially further and further afield. Here’s the final two lines of the poem: “Thy firmness makes my circle just, / And makes me end where I begun.”

One sails out over the ocean.

One gets tied to the mast.

My domino-thinking-connection-see(k)ing-brain then added another step… another loop…

In the ancient Greek story of Homer’s Odyssey, (c. 8th century BCE), the main character, Ulysses, accidentally goes roving after the battle of Troy ends.  He goes willy-nilly-this-way-that as wild winds and sexy sirens push and pull him perpetually off-course and away from home.  Perhaps ironically, for a short moment in this incredibly long, epic tale, Ulysess ties himself to the mast so that he won’t be seduced by the siren’s-singing…

[Google image source: John William Waterhouse’s “Ulysses and the Sirens” (1891) – the main painting and some very cool details]

And all the while that Ulysses is gone, his faithful wife, Penelope, sits at her loom and weaves a never-ending tapestry.  Never-ending, because as soon as it is complete she must marry one of a dozen clambering suitors in her husband’s absence.  Long story short, after Ulysses eventually sneaks home wearing a disguise, Penelope recognizes him as her true husband when he alone is able to tell her that their marital bed is carved into, or made out of, a living olive tree – the ultimate commitment to the family tree.  The ultimate symbol of a life lived rooted-in-place.

And whilst many a brain might stop there, accepting mixed metaphors galore, my domino-brain revealed one last thing to me (the rover in this story, this time), as I pulled up at my destination. 

In a relationship where one person has a chronic illness, and one does not, there is chance that a similar ‘fixed-and-roving’ dynamic occurs.  I know that for me personally, my chronic migraine diagnosis sent me to bed almost all day, every day, for over a year.  I was definitely tied to the mast, pinned down, rooted-in-place, sinking-sad.  My husband, on the other hand, was free to roam, horizon-bound each morning, (thankfully) homeward-bound each evening.

It wasn’t easy… on either of us.

But, at the risk of sounding self-centered… it was especially difficult for me.

In my past, I was an adventurer, a wily-nilly-wanderer.  By nature, I’m no Penelope, no Donne’s lover, no tied-to-the-mast woman waiting patiently for my other half to come home and recount his travel tales… until I was.

Now, as my daily practice of mindfulness reduces the frequency, severity, and duration of my migraines – I’m slowly getting my mojo back.  I’m slowly getting out of the house more and more, moving further and further afield.

With luck, it won’t be long, and I will be well enough to w(a|o)nder beyond the horizon.

Take care, wherever you might be in this moment,

Lyrically, Linda x

PS – Here’s a link to the Wendy Matthews song if you’re curious [the lyrics are about 1.40 minutes in – but the whole song is worth a listen] – it is a bit odd though; the Frida Kahola-ish vibe is so beautiful to look at but quite different to the song: