Monday, April 07, 2008


A little birdy told me you are sick of reading lyrics on my blog. Same little birdy that bitched about gently mentioned being sick of reading about my dreams. Well, hmmm... that's a problem, isn't it, because I listen to a lot of great music and dream a lot of dreams, and if I don't blog about them, how in the hell am I supposed to actually integrate their wisdom? I'm an extrovert, that's what we do. We integrate our knowledge by sharing it with others. No need to thank me. Your own integration is all the thanks I need.

Well, I'm back on Lucy Kaplansky. She has one song that I'm particularly obsessed with right now, the one that speaks of a still life. A life that is still.

I want more stillness in my life.

I NEED more stillness in my life.

But a still life?

Not. So. Much.

Isn't the trick to find stillness within the ever changing circumstances of life, rather than to get the circumstances to stop and be still?

My dad lived a still life. He moved from bedroom to kitchen table and back to bedroom. That's it. He lived in a 2,500 square foot house, technically, but his life was spent either sleeping off a drunk in one room, or actively building one in another. Nobody called him. Nobody stopped by. He kept a fully packed suitcase in his closet but never went anywhere. His life was still. His body was still. Stillness, though, eluded him to his dying day.

That's no life.

At least not for me.

Still Life

Sadness is a little boy looking
Out the window high above the city,
Counting statues of people on the buildings,
Thinking that the people are forever,

He wants his father to be a statue,
On the rooftop of his fatherless home,
So that he can always see him,
So that he will never leave him,

Late at night in the darkness of his dreaming,
His father's words fall down in a rainstorm,
And the words become hands that will guide him,
Through his life in the world just beginning.

You cannot live in bronze or stone,
Make your life in flesh and bone.

Stranded is a man no longer searching
For the life he had hoped for and imagined
Courting fear instead of a woman,
Holding sorrow as his only companion

Counting days like his money in the markets,
And watching life from the window in his office,
Maybe one day I'll have the courage,
Maybe one day I'll sail across the ocean.

But I feel safe in the light of my computer,
This is how I choose to live,
Fixed in stone a man will wither,
Running waters are the life of the river.

You cannot live in bronze or stone,
Make your life in flesh and bone
Remember me...

Frightened is an old man limping
Through the park on a dark December day,
He stands frozen at the base of a statue,
And he hopes for a warm hand to help him,

Tonight he will dream that he is flying,
Over banks of a river he remembers
His father's voice will echo all around him,
His father's hands will hold him in the sky,

Now I can sail across the ocean,
Now I will sail across the ocean,
Now I am sailing across the ocean.

I cannot live in bronze or stone,
I must live as flesh and bone.
Remember me, remember me, remember me...

*Photo of Renoir's "Still Life With Peaches"


Jess said...

I'll take credit for putting that on a mix for you. You're welcome. :)

I do love that song, have for a long time. Really evocative in so many ways.

And please blog about whatever you want! Nobody is required to read every single song lyric or dream, are they? A lot of people will though, and they will enjoy it. :)

Retiredandcrazy said...

I think that you are amazing and would like you to come on over to my site to collect an award.

Kathryn said...

Carrie, I love hearing about your dreams, and I love that you share lyrics. Don't stop. Why not share what you want when you want -It's your blog by God!

By the way, I forgot to comment the other day, but I have been receiving the Daily Om for awhile now, too. Great site. (Along with Abraham-Hicks quote for the day).

Love that Painting. THANK YOU.

Carrie Wilson Link said...


I just 1-Clicked THE FOUNTAIN HEAD. Thanks for the rec.


La La said...

I love your dreams and your lyrics, so keep on keepin' on.

My mom's stillness is a lot like your dad's -- only she doesn't drink anymore. It's so sad, though. That kind of stillness that isn't really still.

I want the other kind of stillness, the one where I feel centered and whole and in tune with God.

Terry Whitaker said...

me, too La La. Me, too.

Anonymous said...

Your Dad sounds like such a sad, unhappy man, waiting to die. I had one of those too.

Anonymous said...

Some little birdies should never be listened to. I love your blog. I love hearing about your dreams and the lyrics you share. Sometimes they are beautiful, sometimes funny, sometimes amazing and always insightful. They always make me think....about the connections in my own world. Your blog is always the first one I check, and then I check it again, and again, as your stats show.

My mom always said she wanted stillness, but I don't think she did. She thrived on craziness. I think the stillness frightened her, therefore she always had to have a crisis going. The alcohol and the pills were a part of that, I know, but it is so sad to mean. I think she was finally getting it, when she died. I pray she is in peace now.

Finding stillness, among the everday ups and downs of life, is most definately the goal.

lo said...

I like your songs.
I love your dreams.
I adore your wit, your insight, your humour, your silliness!
As always, you ROCK!

Jen McGrath said...

Your blog makes me feel peaceful. Thanks. I never feel peaceful. I have two sons. :-)

Deb said...

I'm humming Leslie Gore - It's My Party and I'll Cry If I
Want To. Only the words are It's My Blog and I'll Write What I Want To.

I love your words and I love you. You're a big part of the growing stillness in my own life.

La La said...

Okay. I have to ask, who's the anon. you are responding to? Am I missing somethin'?

Anonymous said...

When your blog doesn't grab me I just see chickens. Do whatever in the hell you want to do.

shauna said...

It seems so silly to me that anyone would inform another blogger what they SHOULD or SHOULDN'T blog about. My blog is theraputic. Anyone who doesn't like what I post can either create their own stinkin' blog or read someone else's.

Post what you like, Carrie. I'll keep readin'.

Amber said...

Oh, this post touches me...