Incandescent Chest
Life is rhythmic murmurs
Lub -dub, lub-dub
The
s k i p p i n g
of a beat
here and there
w
a
v
e
s
of uncertainty
Lub --dub, lub -- dub
Measures of complexity
of new ways
to cope with bubbling
a n x i e t y
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub,lub-dub.
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub,lub-dub.
Media sways the way
in which we
feel
Lub — dub, lub — dub, lub — dub.
Or if
we
feel at all.
Lub --- dub, lub ---- — — — -dub.
The stats of
today, tonight
or
tomorrow.
Weighty sorrow.
Lub, dub, lub- dub, lub dub.
Fighting is
breathing
between
Lub — dub
Lub — dub
Lub — dub
Holding hope
in our
incandescent
chest
Lub dub, lub dub.
Balancing
the year
twenty-twenty
like the
flickering flame
It is
Lub, dub, lub dub.
On occasion
placing index
fingers
to wrists
Lub — -Dub, lub — — dub.
To check
we still
have a
pulse.
Slippery slope
Catch me if you can
Old mirror
Let me play one more game.
Author's Note
The distinctive sound of the heartbeat-lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub, comes from the closure of two pairs of heart valves. Lately, I have begun to observe my heartbeat and how it differs based on my state of mind. Having practiced mindfulness meditation lately (as a means to cope with both the break up of my relationship and this current COVID lockdown) I have begun to explore the journey into myself. The actions of the heart and how it meshes with our current feel enticed me to create this poem, aiming to capture the ever-changing pulse through poetry. A chance encounter of a very different kind.
Written by Wild Flower
Vantasy Hill
When I started college, my taste in music was mostly a continuation of what I listened to in high school. I didn’t realize it right away, but I was basically the product of mainstream radio. During my freshman year, I developed more of an interest in electronic and trance music. I enjoyed the challenge of finding and compiling it. Most people attribute that music to clubs and raves, but some of it is truly powerful in nature. Due to the stigma of the genre, the best of it often goes unappreciated.
As sophomore year kicked off, my interests shifted even more. Deep lyrical trance became a common thought space for me, and spurred an interest in philosophy. Nietzsche and Plato were some early favorites. Much like with my music discoveries, I spent time sampling and compiling philosophy for inspiration. It just felt more productive than actually studying for exams.
My thought patterns were changing, and I was enthralled by a new sense of wonder. While I had entered this ‘prematurely intellectual’ phase, most of my friends were nowhere close to that headspace. They were much happier exploiting the limited pressures of general education. Late night drinking was all they cared about.
One night, my roommates went out to a party and I stayed home to work on a short story for a writing class. I decided to slow down my music for a moment and try out some Van Morrison I had just downloaded. I always liked his classics, but it was the song, Dweller on the Threshold that pushed me to explore more. From the title and lyrics, to the music and the feel, it gave me lots to think about. So that night, I started diving into some of his lesser known albums.
The more I listened, the more it became clear that this guy was on a whole other level. Could it be that Van was not really a man, but actually a spiritual entity made out of music? His voice had a quality like no other I’d ever heard, and I was starting to finally understand his lyrics. It’s not easy to catch all the words with his thick, mumbly Irish accent. But it was clear he had his own language. Some kind of intimate musical sorcerer’s dialect.
That night, I discovered the phenomenon of writing narrative while letting the mood of the music guide me. The album I had found was slow but spellbinding. It all clicked when I started flowing down River of Time. By the time I started dozing off, I was listening to a calm instrumental piece called Inarticulate Speech of the Heart. It was the album title too, and it had a faded lullaby quality to it. I thought about it briefly, and without much more to it, I fell asleep.
I had a vivid dream visual that night about a man fighting harsh winds, walking up on a lone hill. I couldn’t tell who the man was, but there was something pulling me in, telling me I was meant to be there too, searching for life’s greater meaning.
When I woke up the next morning, my computer was still buzzing with music, and I listened to Van’s voice, repeating the words “Inarticulate speech, inarticulate speech of the heart”. I looked at the title of the song on my player, and saw it was called Inarticulate Speech of the Heart, No. 2. Peering closer at the album track list, I realized this wasn’t the same song I fell asleep to. I had actually drifted off to the sound of Inarticulate Speech of the Heart, No 1. There were sister tracks on this album. Wow. The album had been on repeat all night, and Van had wielded a dual layered heart spell on me.
I wondered if one song was the conscious side of my mind, and the other was the subconscious side. That day, new ideas came flowing in. I like to think that was the moment I finally decided to put aside the mainstream, and replace it with a slipstream. During the course of that year, all types of cool stuff happened. On top of that, a number of images kept reminding me of that dream on the hill. I never made the connection but I noted them:
The first was from The Seventh Seal by Ingmar Bergman
The second was from Dreams by Akira Kurosawa
The third was the cover of The Common One by Van Morrison
I’ve had many writing adventures through Van’s music since then, but this one always mystified me. I had forgotten all about it for years, until I read Incandescent Chest by Wild Flower (see top of post).
All of a sudden, my thoughts about the unknown came rushing back. In her poem, Jess (Wild Flower) explains the experience of noticing two heart valves. Perhaps Van was trying to express the same two part idea with Inarticulate Speech of the Heart all those years ago.
Could it be that Jess is on her own hillside now, and the journey has made its way to her? It’s my belief that we’re all our own wanderer, climbing internal hills to understand ourselves. I wonder if the hill is a physical divide between the natural and the supernatural.
Inarticulate as this coincidence may be, it could be playing itself out as I write this. I can’t articulate why, but I feel the mystery is more important than the reason. It all just comes together somehow, “when heart is open...”
Written by LB