My tinnitus came on gradually as a result of a long music career standing next to a guitar amp and in front of a drum kit.
(I don't blame you, Andy, really I don't.)
The first few times my right ear made a shrill scream, I was not alarmed. I thought it might be my angel daughter communicating from heaven.
No worries, just a Hallelujah.
When it came on full force and full time, with both ears emitting many wavy, high-pitched siren sounds in tandem, I was sure a spaceship had taken up residence in my head.
It was so loud that nothing in the world was louder than my ears. Not a rock concert, not an airplane, not fireworks.
My ears could always be heard over the sounds of the world.
Until, that is, I moved out to the country and witnessed the Frog Choir coming from the small pond outside the back door.
I do not exaggerate when I tell you it is deafening.
After a rain, it only takes one frog to start singing, then a friend joins in, and within minutes, the place goes haywire.
They fill the night with non-stop, ear-splitting, mighty joy. Yep.
I use the same technique to manage the Frog Choir in my yard as I use to manage the spaceship in my head.
I pretend it’s a Hallelujah.
Instead of folding under the anxiety of my loud ears, I imagine it’s a choir of angels singing of love to me and to the divine.
The thought of it makes me laugh.
Instead of waking up at night rustling for ear plugs with a sleepy complaint, I imagine a mighty Hallelujah rising from the pond.
And roll over with a smile and give thanks that the frogs can out-sing my angels.
In The World:
In The Heart:
And even though it all went wrong, I’ll stand before the Lord of Song, with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah. —Leonard Cohen
Half of the frog pond and some very happy herbs.