Open
Your Eyes
“Well,
the sun is surely sinking down, but the moon is slowly rising. So, this old
world must still be turning round, and I still love you. So, close your eyes,
you can close your eyes, it’s all right. I don’t know no love songs and I can’t
sing the blues anymore. But I can sing this song, and you can sing this song
when I’m gone.”
James
Taylor (“Close Your Eyes” 1971)
I heard
this song on YouTube yesterday—James was singing it with one of his sons,
Henry. It took me back to the 1970's, when he first recorded it. I was living in Raleigh
and working as director of a center for children with severe disabilities.
James lived for several years in Chapel Hill where his father was dean of the
Medical School. Some of his siblings were still there, and he came home for
holidays. My former husband, who grew up there and went to medical school at
UNC, went Christmas caroling with James and his friend, Joni Mitchell. What
struck me about watching the video of James and his son singing this song
together, besides how much Henry looks like young-James, was the fact that the
song has traversed generations, decades and is still poignant when sung by
father and son.
For
many years, James had a heroin habit, and was in and out of hospitals,
sometimes on the verge of death. He wrote this song at that time, and then he managed
to recover, to kick the habit, and lived to become one of the most successful
singer songwriters of his era. He was inducted into the Music Hall of Fame in
2008 and is still performing on stage. At 73, he is still a productive member
of the society. That is one reason why, I believe, we should never give up on
people who are caught up in the hell of addiction. It’s so hard to watch them
struggle and suffer in a society that both supports consumption of alcohol and drugs,
and then condemns those who fall through the rabbit-hole of addiction.
When we
think about it, all of us have an addiction of some kind. Mine is busyness. These
weeks of forced sedentation, while my knee is recovering from surgery, have
been frustrating to the max. It is against every grain I possess be sedentary.
Anytime we are forced to confront our addiction, we don’t like it. We may go
through the stages of withdrawal just as if we had a substance abuse problem. The
physical symptoms include sweating, shaking, muscle cramps, accelerated heart
rate, and the emotional symptoms can include restlessness, irritability,
frustration, agitation, anxiety. I think I went through every single one of
those in the first two weeks of being “benched.” What it provides is an
opportunity to look at oneself and ask questions like: What is my addiction
(whatever it is) numbing for me? What am I afraid of that I don’t want to look
at? What would happen if I faced my addiction head on? What would my life look
like if I were to give it up?
Addictions
come in all colors and sizes—from excess retail shopping, to hording, from
primping to total alteration of one’s body, from obsessing about household and
family, to compulsively cleaning and hovering. We all have them, and they drain
our energy and eventually, they are all we have to show for our lives. So—coming
full circle—I’m glad James kicked his heroin habit and was able to resume life
as a whole and gifted person. I’m hopeful that I will be able to get a handle
on my need to be constantly busy. And I wish you God’s grace in handling whatever
your “habit of choice” may be. No one is above it, and no one is beneath it—we’re
all right here together.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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