Some people require psychiatric and anti-depression medications. When rightfully prescribed, medication can mean that a person is literally and mercifully given back a life to live. That’s serious business. In these cases, modern psychiatric medicine is wondrous and necessary.
For all other people, setting aside the matter of a healthy economy, (and especially in the absence of one), what could be more wondrous and necessary than the medicine of music? That’s my drug, and it could be yours, too. That means you, yes you, en route to a pharmacy to fill a questionable prescription.
Might we finally acknowledge that times are tough and that sadness, loss, and anger are basic, human responses to real life? This is neither a glib subject nor anything having to do with Scientology. The social permission to naturally feel and learn to deal demands more time, space, and consideration, and is a subject that endlessly interests me.
For now, if we agree that such a thing as zeitgeist depression exists for a large number of Americans—that is, that actual political events and social changes have deep, unconscious and disturbing emotional impact—we then have the clarity to observe human social behaviors from a more compassionate perspective.
We also have the opportunity to find non-pharmaceutical, intuitive solutions to address naturally negative feeling states. And if we’re busy seeking personal happiness solutions, we—well—may actually feel better.
This is not meant as a simplistic antidote or pop-psych prescriptive “wipe-out” of complexity and despair.
But it wouldn’t hurt to ask ourselves what experience or activity in life brings up a good feeling. To put it another way, what are the natural life highs we can use?
Music has always been my drug of choice, and science backs me up. When you Google the “healing power of music”, a world of explanation is offered about how music is no stranger to the healing of mind, body, and soul.
In terms of songs to ingest like medicine, examples are everywhere waiting for us, sweeter than chocolate, more thrilling than any martini. Here’s a powerful one.
Turn on that old medicine man, Frank Sinatra, singing his January 12, 1956 recording of Cole Porter’s, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”. Flip the volume up and breathe in that mid-song horn instrumental.
Side effects may include the startling reminder of human warmth and the singing voice; involuntary singing, dancing, snapping of fingers, and a lingering case of the smilees.