Windows—Angel Olsen

#365Songs: November 21st

won’t you open a window sometime
what’s so wrong with the light
what’s so wrong with the light
wind in your hair, sun in your eyes
light
light

My sleep was rattled by a magnitude 9.0 earthquake dream, a first. Most nights I dream in metaphors and half revealed thoughts, a figurative landscape built on my collective blurry days.
Most mornings I awake a literary scholar, breaking down themes and deciphering meaning from the ashes of complex messages. This one was different, a dream so literal I sat up, heart pounding, gathering my breath.

In the dream, an endless quake. The drywall cracked and splayed, the ceiling crumbling down around a faceless us, as I yelled to move to the other side of the room, not that way this way, no no no, towards the door. And then the windows shattered, art fell off the walls, the foundation fell. An endless roar of white noise so loud it woke me up.

America, a metaphor. An epitaph. A eulogy.

why can’t you see
why can’t you see
why can’t you see
are you blind
are you blind
are you blind
are you dead
already
are you alive
are you alive

One time, a few years ago, I rushed to the refrigerator after a long intense run in search of a sugar hit. Grabbed the first chocolate bar I could find and ate it in seconds. An hour later, watching television, it hit me. All 50 mg of THC all at once, an unintentional high so intense I could barely process my own fear. Oops.

That’s what the dream felt like, in that room, frozen in place, unable to control anything or protect anyone. No sense of time, or when it would end.

A literal, and figurative, nightmare for which there was no escape.

we throw our shadows down
we must throw our shadows down
we live and throw our shadows down
it’s how we get around
in the sun
in the sun

On January 31st, 1986, a very rare 5.0 earthquake struck Cleveland in the middle of a school day when I was 10 years old. An event so rare, in fact, that local schools didn’t even consider practicing drills. We lived in tornado alley, though, so all we knew when disaster hit was to bury our little bodies under our desks, which we did, which was exactly the very opposite of what we should’ve done. Perhaps there was some minor structural damage, somewhere, but this was the aftershock that jolted away our collective innocence — the second traumatic event in three days.

On January 28th, 1986, our class had gathered around the television to watch Christa McAuliffe become the first teacher to go to space. Instead, we witnessed the Challenger Shuttle explode on live television.

That’s all it took to learn that anything can happen at any time.

why can’t you see
why can’t you see
why can’t you see
are you blind
are you blind
are you blind
are you dead
already
are you alive
are you alive

Me on a Monday holiday, getting dressed after a post-run shower. The kid was two years old and buried under the covers with a fever. A scream from the living room. Help! And there he was in his mother’s arms, seizing uncontrollably. I grabbed him, pleaded for her to call 911, and ran out the door into the street as he shook violently against my chest. As I yelled for anyone anywhere to save my son. And just like that, the shaking stopped and he fell limp against me. Eyes closed. Silent.

Two years earlier, my Mom had died. Death was on my mind. Nobody tells a young parent about febrile seizures, how harmless they are, just the body regulating after a rapid temperature increase. Nobody tells a young parent that after a febrile seizure the little body is so exhausted it falls into a deep sleep. Nobody tells a young parent who thinks their son has died that everything will be ok ever again.

won’t you open a window sometime
won’t you open a window sometime
what’s so wrong with the light
what’s so wrong with the light

When things fall apart it can feel like the pieces will never come back together. That the bad news will keep coming, that the streak of hard times will never end. And sometimes, it doesn’t. But more often than not it’s just a series of earthquakes that rattle us awake, force us to assess the damage and rebuild with whatever remains in the rubble.

Objectively speaking, it’s been a long few years, one thing after another. And for fuck’s sake it’s tough to find balance when the ground keeps moving. But what other option is there but to keep moving, keep searching. If nothing else, we’re better prepared for the next aftershock, and there’s still so much beauty and possibility out there — even if it’s buried in the rubble of our modern lives.

Winter is coming, and this will be a particularly dark one. But tough times are nothing new for us. So what do you say we wake ourselves from this perpetual nightmare, shake it off, and start preparing our next move?

wind in your hair, sun in your eyes
what’s so wrong with the light
what’s so wrong with the light
what’s so wrong with the light
what’s so wrong with the light
what’s so wrong with the light
what’s so wrong with the light

~

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