This post is about “Lilith’s Song”–one of the most dramatic and turbulent songs that I have ever written.  It came to me, magically, one day, mirroring the turbulence that others around me were experiencing (and that I had felt, so many times), and bringing the promise of reconciliation and restoration.

You can hear me play the song here, and you can read more about the story and lyrics of the song below.

I hadn’t written a song in years.

I was lamenting about this fact with a bandmate of mine (who wrote pretty regularly), and he encouraged me to get back into it.

It’s not that I hadn’t been doing any writing–I’d been doing quite a bit, in fact–but most of it came in the form of poetry, or deeply cathartic psycho-spiritual musings, or channeled writing.

I was ready to plug that inspiration back into my music, to begin songwriting again.

It was not long after that (maybe a week later?) that I lingered after-hours at the music studio (where I teach lessons twice a week).  A music motif had appeared in my head–with a dramatic descending bassline and punctuating arpeggios in treble–and I proceeded to pick it out on the piano.  “What is this song about?” I wondered.  It wasn’t wistful. . . It wasn’t a breakup song. . . It definitely wasn’t a traditionally romantic song.

There was anger there.  It was the anger of not being seen, of needing to reveal.  Needing to reconcile a swirling range of emotions.  Needing to be held and accepted in the face of ugliness and chaos.

The words started coming:
“I thought I heard you say you’re sorry.
I thought I heard you say that it wouldn’t happen again.
Maybe you meant to say you’re lonely.
You carry on that way, and hope that I’ll understand.
Well, maybe I understand,
But don’t let it happen again. . .”

The lyrics continued to wind there way out, snake-like and tortured, yet eventually (magically) finding resolution:
“I thought I heard you say you’re sorry.
You never meant to say the words that caused me harm.
Well, maybe I can say I trust you.
So make a space to lay beside me on this ground.
And here we’ll lay until our peace is found.
Here we’ll lay together on the ground.
And we won’t stand until our peace is found.”

And thus was born “Lilith’s Song”.  I marveled at how the words and the music had just poured out of me (so unlike my previously labored songwriting efforts, years before).  I wondered what the inspiration was.  Though I understood this feminine rage, paired with a need to reconcile, it wasn’t my on story or emotions that had driven me.  It felt more unicersal, somehow, like a story that wanted to be told.

That night, I got two calls–both from people who were dear to me, who had gotten caught in a bind.  My Mom had been allowing a homeless gentleman (and friend of hers) to sleep in her van–and her neighbor had just called the cops.  And my close friend Greg had just gotten in an argument with his in-laws.  I advised both of them through their sticky situations as best I could.  After hanging up the phone (for the 2nd time), it suddenly hit me–I had been feeling their emotions.  I had been writing their song.  This song was bigger than me.

In the months that followed, I would frequently play “Lilith’s Song” and feel a powerful cathartic cleansing of emotion, leaving me in a profoundly peaceful place (also gently rocking, with a kundalini sway).  Several times after playing the song, a channeled writing came through, which I immediately transcribed.

This song was to become one of many channeled, or emotionally cleansing, songs.   When my husband asked me to split up with him, merely four months later, music became my healer.  More songs poured out of me, teaching me reconciliation and release.  I would hear songs in the bookstore, or the drugstore, and know that they had something to teach me.  So, I would download them, listen to them, move to them, cry to them, let them work their magic.

I have no doubt about the healing of words.  But music goes even deeper.  It strikes straight to the core.  Thank you, Lilith, for teaching me to bare my heart, and to find peace in the midst of pain.  I am grateful.