The sun poured into my window and I cursed it, wanting to stay in bed and see no one. Wanting to close my eyes and simply cease to exist.
This was not a new desire. It was actually one that I had become quite familiar with in the past couple of years.
It was a Sunday morning. I was expected to go to church, and, as I still lived with my parents, it was either face the challenge of explaining my deep urge to stay in bed or just get up and go.
So I got up and went, somehow pulling my heavy body out of bed and into clothes and out the door. I can’t remember if I spoke to my parents other than “love you, bye.” And when I reversed out of the garage and began my descent down our driveway, the thoughts began to intrude.
I wish I was invisible. Run. Get out. Go away.
I opened the Spotify app, knowing that music could remedy the internal chaos, subdue it with subtle rhythms and meaningful lyrics.
I played Sleeping at Last. Ryan O’Neal’s voice filled my car. “Sight” began to play. Maybe I’d heard it before, I’m not sure, but it penetrated my being and pushed salty tears to the front of my eyes. The rise and fall of the choral voices entered each pore of my body. Small droplets began to fall from the pools that had formed. They wet my cheeks.
I no longer wanted to curse the sun. No, I wanted to embrace it. I felt like I was embodying the music, each lyric and phrase of the song piercing my inner being.
The line, “You see God in ways I wish I could,” found that part of me that enjoys church and loves religion, tucked in a deep crevice of my spirit, and pulled it out, handed it back to me. Suddenly and brilliantly I was filled with joy. As I accelerated down the bypass, I smiled and giggled. Taking one arm, I wrapped it around my torso. A physical touch to match the spiritual touch of the song.
This is one of the many encounters I’ve had with Ryan O’Neal’s music since I was introduced to him last winter.
It was December and the “Stiff Jazz” station was being played on the speakers in Grubb’s Grocery, where I worked. Why Chris, the owner of Grubb’s, likes that music, I will never know. It makes me want to pull my hair out.
I walked discreetly up to Ben, my coworker, and asked him to change the music.
“I can’t take it anymore.”
That was the first time Sleeping at Last filled my ears. I was mesmerized. O’Neal’s version of “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” filled the store delicately and beautifully. I asked Ben who the artist was, and when I finally began listening to the music on my own, I couldn’t stop.
Ben said O’Neal may be the greatest lyricist of today. I’d have to agree. And now his music is one of my closest friends.
In January, I found “Saturn.” Listened to it everyday for that whole month. This was before my discovery of the song “Sight.”
How rare and beautiful it is to even exist. That line reminded me why I get up in the morning.
Then, I found “Atlas: Two.” I can’t remember where I was. I just remember crying. A lot. The song made me feel seen, and to feel seen is, I think, one of the greatest of gifts.
When I found “September 15, 2017: Cassini – The Grand Finale,” I was sitting in Starbucks on North Highland, doing homework maybe, or procrastinating, which is more likely. The song transported me. I began to see the light dancing around the room. I looked up and noticed every individual sitting around me. I began cherishing the moment and even now can picture it so clearly. Instead of being stuck in the quick sand that is my thoughts, I was instead looking out at the beauty around me, beauty in the ordinary.
Music, as a friend once told me, is intimate. When a sound or a lyric touches a hidden, intricate part of you, it is unforgettable, and at times, life-changing.
That is “Sleeping at Last.”
I listened to “Christmas Collection, Vol. 1” while I was writing this. The first time since I first heard it in the store. The first time since Ben’s death. I can still see him so clearly, standing over the sink in the back of the store, washing dishes, listening to me ramble about how great “Sleeping at Last” is and thanking him for sharing it with me.
He always listened to me. Even when I knew he probably didn’t want to.
And maybe too, that’s why “Sleeping at Last” has come to mean much more to me than good music. It’s come to mean images and memories. It’s come to mean a friend, a presence. It is there for me in Starbucks when I daydream instead of working. It is there for me at night, when I’m paralyzed by loneliness. It is there for me when I feel the weight of the world’s cruelty that has taken my friend’s life and the lives of so many others.
Relationships dance together in the most unconventional and magical ways when there is music. Connecting earth and heaven in sounds and melodies that cannot be forgotten. Emotions you didn’t even know you had are revealed when a sound pierces the hard exterior we all work to maintain.
If Ben had not played “Sleeping at Last” that day in the store, I may have found it another time. But thankfully he did. And while I’ve listened to every song multiple times by now, it still inspires me. Still comforts me. Still connects me to his spirit and to the memories in my mind that hold the image of his face.
And when the mornings come when I do not want to exist, I think of him, get out of bed and let the music send me onward.
Dedicated to Ben Davidson. I hope you are making and listening to the most heavenly of sounds.
Featured Image: “Keep No Score” Cover by Sleeping At Last
