What “More” Means to Me
My last entry was brief and it mentioned that my performance piece “Who Am I, Again?” is being adapted as a film. Following up on that information, with video projects, my mind tends to go straight to the music – what music will set the appropriate mood using tone and lyrics. With this topic hot on my mind, I happened to listen to the song “More” – music and lyrics written by Trey Anastasio and performed by the band Phish, and suddenly this song spoke to me in the context of brain injury.
Just a few days later, I spoke with Nathan – the director and real spearhead behind this film project – played him the song, and he listened attentively, but then asked, “Why does this song speak to you?”
And for a moment I was flubbered – my thoughts said, “You just heard it – can it be any more obvious?” But then I gave a critical consideration of the lyrics, and I realized the clear association with brain injury might not be as apparent to some…or many…or most people. So, with that in mind, I’m going to break down the lyrics of this song and share the message that speaks to me in this song. To be clear, this is an entirely subjective interpretation, and I have no thoughts that Trey – or anyone involved with the band – had brain injury on their mind when they wrote this piece.
But here’s a breakdown of what it means to me – I take it one stanza at time:
Life in slow motion,
Feet are in the clay.
I’m going nowhere,
Been standing here all day.
The feeling being stuck hits you hard when you are recovering from brain injury – especially once you leave the immediate care of a hospital. You’re out now, but you still can’t do anything. You’re trying to improve life but plans and goals need to change – the problem is that you can’t figure out how to make these changes. You are stuck.
I had a notion,
There was something more to do.
You had plans before – you thought there was “something more to do,” but turns out that was only a notion.
As I watched the water
From the banks of the river is swell and grew.
You see the world moving around you. The people you know are growing and moving on with their life while you feel stuck.
And I tilt to left, lean to the right,
Tilt to the left, lean to the right.
Walked on coal and slept on glass,
Amid swords of sound and daggers of light.
The juxtaposition of the simplicity of action in the first two lines with the painful trials of the third and fourth line. As a survivor you’re trying to do simple tasks – “Tilt to the left, lean to the right” – but these basic actions cause painful discomfort as you figure out new ways to complete what must be done, if feels like you “Walked on coal and slept on glass…”
And my heart is screamin’
‘Cause half of what I say is lies,
And it takes so much to keep up this disguise.
As a survivor, you’re out of the hospital and you feel you need to put on an image of health and a successful healing process. It’s what so many people expect, but this requires that you hide the struggles that hamper your daily existence. You’re lying to the world and yourself as you try to disguise your the difficulties.
I see a doorway in the haze
And I’m trying to get to it.
The stars are peepholes in a wall
And we can walk through it.
You can see what you want in the future – some peace and feeling of completion with your healing – and you’re trying to get there, but it seems hazy and just out of reach – sometimes you’re not even sure that it’s real.
And the memory’s still so real
The memory’s still so real,
I guess it’s never really over
Even when It’s over.
This healing is supposed to be over – you’re out of the hospital. That’s supposed to mean that you’ve healed. But it never ends. Recovery from brain injury is “never really over, even when it’s over.”
Side comment, that is the lyric from the song that hits me– “The memory’s still so real. It’s never really over, even when it’s over.” Something about that lyric makes me tear up almost anytime I think about it, I suppose the fact that recovery never ends is something I’m still figuring out how to deal with.
But I’m vibrating with love and life,
I’m pulsating with love and life,
In a world gone mad, a world gone mad,
There must be something more than this.
I’m vibrating with love and life,
Pulsating with love and life,
In a world gone mad, a world gone mad,
There must be something more than this.
This chorus again juxtaposes two emotional images – “vibrating with love and life” against “a world gone mad”. This contrast of emotions is something that stands out in my experience of recovery – I was attempting to appreciate and celebrate the joy of living after my injury, and I pushed myself to feel the exuberance of love and life, but the world had gone mad, and there was this scream for the something more that I prayed for and was promised would come out of recovery.
The trumpet call is sounding,
The trees are bending low,
There’s a great fire in the distance,
There must be something more than this.
This is the desire to move on – the fact that there were all these great activities just beyond the horizon – something more that was just out of reach.
And the shadows will all be dancing
The red dust on our clothes
And we’ll leave by tornado
Elbows in the clouds and feet in the sky.
The pent-up aggravation of recovery, chaos moving around, seeking any way to get out of our static existence – throwing ourselves at the world as it dance by.
And we’re vibrating with love and life,
Pulsating with love and life
In a world gone mad, a world gone mad,
There must be something more than this.
Notice the slight change in lyrics for this chorus – from “I’m vibrating…” to “We’re vibrating…” This is how survivors can work through the mayhem of recovery – by working and vibrating together. In my own recovery, while I had an amazing group of supporting caregivers (family, friends, and professionals), my interaction with other survivors was minimal. I also found that my interpersonal healing seemed to plateau and for a while I thought, “Well this is it.” Until I began work with The Crumley House Brain Injury Rehabilitation and Living Center and became involved with the community of survivors. I found this interaction sparked a new phase of healing. I’m still working through some of the results from my brain injury and I always will be, but it is only by sharing and listening to stories that I am able to vibrate in continued healing. We are able to heal together.
(Song continues with beautifully joyful music, but the lyrics repeat)
So that’s why the lyrics to this song mean something to me. I’ll be honest, before I started to think of the song in the context of brain injury, the song never spoke to me – I mean I liked it as a sing-a-long stadium anthem, but it didn’t move me in a lasting way. Now, looking at the words with a new light has embedded the lyrics in my heart and soul.
I’m not saying these words will be or should be powerful for you. Or maybe you’ll find your own meaning– whatever the case, Mister Film Director Nathan, this is my answer to your question. Thank you for asking the question and for giving me the time to clarify my reasons.
As a quick PS – this piece has moved other fans as well, and there is a beautiful video on YouTube (link below) that shows what this song meant to a different film director while in the midst of the tumult that raged through the United States in 2016. If you can, please take an extra five minutes to watch this video – very powerful, especially as we continue through this time of terrifying political and social nonsense.
This is the link to the YouTube:
