Does this happen to you? I often awake with a persistent song in my head that seems to have come from nowhere. I’ve tried singing Shake it Off or Shivers to interrupt the loop. I’ve tried listening to something in a different genre to replace the notes. But it took extreme circumstances to discover there is often a message in these mysterious melodies.
I spent my first pregnancy in awe of my good fortune. I had had a somewhat variable sense of worth since the age of 10 which made it hard to believe I was being given so easily something I wanted so much. Perhaps incredulity isn’t everyone’s response to discovering you’re going to be a parent, but it was mine.
But about the time I was wheeled into the delivery room, I had privately decided to quit the whole baby-making business. I was closing in on 24 hours of labor, I’d been pushing a very large baby for over two hours, and I hadn’t slept in a very long time.
Finally, the baby made her appearance in spite of me, but in distress. She had been so active in the womb that the umbilical cord had wrapped around her neck, not once, not twice, but 3 times. I watched the obstetrician free her from coil after strangling coil, until the nurse in attendance burst out, “Jesus!” and I realized how close we must have come to losing her. The doctor waved a bit of oxygen near her face for a few seconds then the nurse bundled her up and put a seriously attentive baby in my arms. We studied each other. She looked hungry. Again, I felt gifted beyond my own worth.
Later in the hushed quiet of my hospital room, a song began in my head. I ignored it like the background babble of voices in a restaurant, distracted by the wonder of my new daughter. But the song was insistent. The repetitive melody followed me everywhere, followed me home.
It continued in varying degrees for days. Finally, I had to admit it was driving me nuts—was it hormones, lack of sleep, was I hallucinating? Research shows that repetition is related to stress, and anything repeated has some tension-reducing characteristics. But it was like someone holding a telegram kept tapping me on the shoulder. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Sign here.
On our third day of a shared life, I surrendered, accepted delivery. Alone for the afternoon, I cradled the baby in her white crocheted blanket, closed my eyes and tuned in.
The melody, I finally realized, was a snippet of song from The Sound of Music—a love song written by Richard Rogers. I looked up the words. Nothing in this world comes from nothing, the lyrics theorized. It’s not possible that anything could.
A gift this great could only be yours, the song promised, if in the past you’d done something good.
It was as if a smiling universe had sent me a note: Let go of your incredulity. We know you have a baby and yes, you get to keep her. You are safe in your joy.
That was decades ago, but I’ve recently been through another period of music appearing in my head. Every morning, I awake with a song in mind even though I’m listening to a book as I fall asleep. The music, somewhere in the night, comes and finds me. I’ve been keeping a file of each song, the lyrics and date, and it’s remarkable. Each song either offers on-point support or actual guidance for whatever concerns me most at the moment.
Maybe the songs are expressions of my own intuition, a brain wiring loop, a subliminal message from me to me. The source doesn’t matter, nor does it matter what I label the phenomenon, but it feels like more evidence that the world is in constant conversation with us. That help is available at all times, if instead of tuning out, we tuned in. I’ve thought about this. How would I go about communicating with someone who didn’t know I was present and didn’t speak the same language?
So, one day it occurred to me to just ask– to go to bed with the question in mind– Who sends the music? Do angels sing to us in our sleep?
If they do, they must have had fun choosing this selection. I awoke to a new melody I didn’t recognize, and even I was laughing as I figured it out.
The band was Pilot. The song? It’s Magic. The refrain?
Never believe it’s not so.
Laura J. Oliver is an award-winning developmental book editor and writing coach, who has taught writing at the University of Maryland and St. John’s College. She is the author of The Story Within (Penguin Random House). Co-creator of The Writing Intensive at St. John’s College, she is the recipient of a Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Award in Fiction, an Anne Arundel County Arts Council Literary Arts Award winner, a two-time Glimmer Train Short Fiction finalist, and her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her website can be found here.
dg wynn says
It happens to me quite frequently, lately it was Lionel Richie’s “Truly,” always glad when things quiet down. I love most kinds of music, but my this whatever it is can truly be annoying.
Laura J Oliver says
Agreed! But did you look up the lyrics? Read them as if they were a letter someone had sent you? That’s what makes it interesting–which is the payoff for how irritating it can be. Thanks for writing!