Music reminds me of a world beyond my own

Listening to Cat Stevens reminds me of driving around Wellington with Hamish that clear Friday night in August, and him making me close my eyes while he led me up Wrights Hill and Mount Vic so I could see the hugeness and wonder of the lights all at once. And standing on a corner of Cuba Street with my world on my back, alone but alive and being aware all at once. I love that. I will definitely backpack around the world someday; I love doing it around New Zealand: one night at each person’s house, in Wellington, and having everything I need on my person. It’s different to when you stay at one persons house for a week, when you feel you are bound to be there and to be home at a certain time even when no one even gave you a curfew. And it’s like when I went to Miramar for the first time: watching the dark streets unfold before my eyes and just trying to.. guess what my bus stop was ‘cause I had never seen it before.. you know? And bounding in to Miramar Baptist: late, and exhausted, and again, my backpack bulging with everything I needed. And walking down Lyall Bay and to Rongotai at midnight, and listening. Just listening. To the city and to William telling me his story. And leaving. Leaving the next morning at 6.15am, running down the huge Houghton Bay hill to greet the sleepy bus driver. Somehow. That’s what it reminds me of. All that. Arithmetic. By Brooke Fraser. That reminds me of those long summer evenings when I would deliver pamphlets. My back would be sore because I would carry so much! Hundreds and hundreds of pamphlets. But I would walk home, slowly, looking at the sky and the sunset and my street and listening to Arithmetic. “I’ve been staring at the sky tonight, marvelling and passing time. Wondering what to do with daylight until I can make you mine. You are the one I want. You are the one I want.” And thinking, why God? Why? Why have you given me writing? Why poetry? Its’ one skill you can’t make enough money to eat from. And God saying, “Sonya, I give you these scenes to write about.” And me still thinking about it when I see homelessness, and the man hunched over picking up chewing gum by the bank in town. And when I see the man outside the dairy with his sign: “Need money to get home to Wellington” and me thinking WHY? WHY? He is next to THREE churches and yet he is begging. And they walk past him! And me crying, and saying God bless you, and trying to give him money, but knowing people don’t approve of giving people money. And God reminding me again: “Sonya, I have given these stories and scenes so you can write about them.” That’s what Arithmetic reminds me of. Heartbeats. By Jose Gonzalez. That reminds me of when his mum was dying and the days were long. “One night to push and scream, and then relief.” And that night I went to his house and his Dad was writing thousands of words in Spanish, and we played Heartbeats on repeat. And at the funeral they played “Deadweight on Velveteen.” And I Grieve by Peter Gabriel. And him and I sitting on the couch outside in the Havelock setting sun and the fire brigade alarm resonating through the village and the last time I saw her, and she said goodbye. And I didn’t know what to say. And when he came to my house so we could go to church and he looked at me and I knew. I knew she had gone. And we went to almost every single fast food outlet in town and sat. and ate. and just were together. And it was good. And after the funeral when the dean took us and the others to the tapas bar in Havelock and just being together. And some had cranberry juice and some sipped beer but there being this enormous sense of peace, and comfort. And there was laughter. That was healthy. “I’ll Take Everything” by James Blunt reminds me of catching buses and opshopping with Phoebe in Petone. “Black-Eyed Susan” and “Sister I’m a Poet,” by Morrissey reminds me of being free from obligation, and freedom again. Like dancing down a main street, with a massive grin on your face. In your own world, but aware of the goodness everywhere. Sue Mun wrote the coolest poem about meeting Morrissey in a train station. I love that poem. “Baby, it’s cold outside” this old jazz song reminds me of hitch hiking with Wilbur, and swimming in the town fountain, and anything reggae and free reminds me of when we hitched home from Napier, and the driver who was a diver, and told us his life story and that was cool. And Wilbur telling me I couldn’t delete any of his music until I listened to it. Cuycocha by WARA reminds me of Luke’s Dad telling me stories of Peru. From the Inside Out by Hillsong United reminds me of standing in a crowd of over 20,000 at Parachute 08 when they played and the most incredible feeling, of being among all those people, all worshipping God. And the JOY within me, and how it felt like I was such a small part of this massive, awesome thing, but it was still IMPORTANT. And it started raining and the stars were so clear and just yelling out with such joy “A thousand times I failed, still your mercy remains.” “Your will above all else, my purpose remains, the art of losing myself in bringing you praise. Everlasting. Your LIGHT will shine when ALL ELSE FADES!” And REMEMBERING HIS GLORY goes beyond ALL FAME. And how the words meant so much. “Lord, my soul cries out..” When it’s all been said and done, there is just one thing that matters. Did I do my best to live for truth? Did I live my life for You? That song, with his soft Irish accent and the words being so meaningful yet so calm, always always assures me of the greater purpose beyond success. - Robin Mark “When It’s All Been Said And Done.”