To see a world in a grain of sand. and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour. -William Blake

The pillow could not have been more fluffy and cloud-like. A large glass of cold water sat to the right, condensating on my night stand. The temperature was sufficiently comfortable. The big brown down-alternative blanket was tucked snugly underneath my tired body. The bulldog was snoring in perfect tempo, almost in sync with the breathing patterns of the sleeping man on the other side of the bed.

The only thing keeping me awake was the loud screaming of my thoughts. The stress had reared its ugly head in my sleeping patterns, once again. All the unanswered questions. The making of tentative, impossible plans. Dreading all of the work ahead of me. Thinking about money problems and friends I had no time to see.

After several restless hours go by, I bring in the heavy artillery. I leave my cushioned burrow to return with my big bamboo head phones and a portable device. Once I settle in, I tap the screen with my fingertips and begin the only cure I have.   

The simple sounds made from the strumming of brass strings, on the wooden body an instrument, is nothing short of miraculous. As the notes get strung together to form a melody I soon forget my problems. Even though hearing is not the strongest sense tied to memory, certain songs remind me of when I was in deeper despair; and of how good I have it now.

As the harmony and quiet singing is filtered through my ears, when it reaches my brain the music takes over. The swirling chaotic thoughts stop their movement and suddenly disappear. Music is my therapy.