Synaesthesia

Written: October 2012

One of the constants of my life, for many years, has been the hectic schedule, the frenetic pace. This past week was exception, even though it was my week without my children.  Week One back at school after the brief holiday, and I’m right back to wondering what the hell made me think I could do this. All I want to do is teach English, but I spend most of my time reprimanding kids for their unruly behaviour. It seems like nothing I say gets through to some of them, as they flagrantly push boundaries - burping, farting, getting up and walking around, talking and laughing loudly and vulgarly while I’m teaching, sometimes even leaving the room without permission.  

I stand in front of these classes, and every now and then I seriously consider packing my bags, leaving the room and just going home. One thing I know for sure is that MY choice for MY life is peace and harmony. What I don’t want to do for a living is shout at teenagers and feel the frustration that I currently do when I’m trying to teach. We’re not allowed to send kids out of the room, so they come, they behave abominably, they prevent me from teaching and their classmates from learning, and no matter how much I threaten, there’s nothing I can do. 

I need a happy solution to my employment situation, so that when this contract expires, I have something new and wonderful to look forward to. I sincerely believe it’s possible.

I create karma by the choices I make.

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I recently read a newspaper article (“When music colours your world”, by Sisi Lwandle; Weekend Argus, 6 October 2012) that made me realise that something I’d been experiencing for a few years has a name: synaesthesia. In the article, it is described in this way: “Synaesthesia is a complicated neurological condition in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a secondary sensory or cognitive pathway. For example, you hear music (audio) and you see colour (visual).”

I first became aware of this about 7 or 8 years ago, at a time that I was gigging regularly, practically every weekend. The very first time I experienced colour while singing was during a performance in the trio, “Jazz, etc.” with Keith Tabisher (guitar) and Donald Gain (bassist); I close my eyes when I sing, and it was while my eyes were closed that I started feeling like I was inside a colour, or that the colour was inside me. I need to find a way to articulate this sensation. It’s an extremely strong awareness of a colour. And it’s a very pleasurable sensation. You don’t choose the colour, it just appears. I suppose it chooses you.

Today (Sat 13 Oct), I went to a women’s breakfast event, organised by Inez Woods, founder of the WAG (Women Against the Grain) Network. One of the guest speakers did a meditation exercise with us. She talked us into a state of relaxation, just as we were, sitting in our seats. As I allowed myself to relax as fully as I could in that physical space, I started to experience beautiful, almost-translucent shades of blue and green, like colours of the ocean, mingling with each other. It was such a place of peace and light, I wished it would never end. But it did, as I came out of the meditative space.  I asked if anyone else in the room had experienced a colour during the meditation, and only two out of the +- 30 women said they had.  

Last Sunday, after reading the newspaper article, I wrote a song in which I included a few lines alluding to the phenomenon. Singing it for the first time tomorrow. I’m doing a set of originals with Keith Tabisher at Baran’s Theatre Restaurant, in a concert also featuring Jahm, a four-piece band, and Mish Hendricks, a dancer.

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I’ve started asking musicians I know if they experience colour while they’re making music, and so far not one of the people I’ve asked has answered in the affirmative. Although one of them did say that he probably would, if he smoked something special. J

One evening last year, I was talking to Errol Dyers at Don Pedro’s, and he actually mentioned, in passing, that he had this colour awareness when he played. In fact, he was quite self-effacing, prefacing it with, “I know this might sound strange to you”. Our conversation was interrupted, so it was only the next time I saw him, that I was able to tell him that, not only did I not find it strange, but that I did, too.

[So far I’ve asked 8 musicians – all No’s.]

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