The Playing Guitar

The lights were bright, the air was stuffy with excitement. There was darkness and light at the same time, anticipation and not wanting to it to start at the same time, in fear that it would end. Bated breathing, joy unparalleled, nervousness it was all there. The stage was set, and it was time. He had to get on it whether he wanted to or not. One more time he would set out to discover himself, by losing himself again that’s what it did for him.

Playing in front of all these people, they thought it was about them and in a way it was, yet his internal journey none could read, none could document, none could comment on. The number of times he felt he would lose it, the amount of times he was confused and then out of nowhere something would arise which would be so strong that it would dissolve everything, and for those brief moments he didn’t exist, neither did the instrument. Those moments there was just the music. The sanctity of it and the way it traveled from one heart to the other, the rare unscripted phenomenon throughout human history. He thought it was him playing but how often he realized it was happening by itself. The guitar was playing itself, even the mistakes. Apparently in real music there was no off key, no off tune. There was just music and the playing of it.

His crumpled t-shirt and roughed up jeans gave the evidence of the measly little body that did play the guitar, and yet when the sound arose each knew from whence it came. He played it cause it’s the only thing he found peace &Love thriving. This was his temple, his go to place, and yet a part of him was always afraid to play. So much came up for him when he played, he saw all sides of himself. The fear, the anxiety, all inside him which seemed to be in opposition to Love and yet not really. What can Love Disown? The darkness seemed to add to the symphony of it all and shrillness gave it a new depth. It wasn’t as if it was only these things. There was Love, ease, a discovery, a joy, all of that.. The inner workings of his heart totally at display and not really.

He put himself out there everyday knowing that the tunes that went on within him nobody would ever know. He knew not why he played, with all that went on inside him. In more honest admission it felt many times it was the guitar that played him. Maybe that’s what all life was?

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