Monday, April 6, 2009

Breaking Promises

This posting may just be what they mean by "getting jiggy with it." Well...maybe that's a stretch, but I know what I mean, (nervous laughter...)

I'm gonna take a shot and get real vulnerable with you, getting jiggy and all...I use to sing. I loved to sing. I was no Barbara Streisand, but by golly I'd get up on stage and do my best- what joy there was in those performances. Full of grace and anxiety, I'd sometimes fly. My guitar hero, Rod V- would do the best he could with a gal who kept the rhythm by clicking her teeth, I never did learn to read music, but I could feel it- always.

A few years back, I made a promise to the great big weirdo, aka God, aka Father, aka Love...

After my Beau made his too early exit to the sweet hereafter, I laid my guitar down, silenced myself with so many tears and swore if I didn't hear from somebody soon on his whereabouts, I'd never sing or play music again. I keep my promises. I may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but by golly- about as stubborn as a fool can be, I get my back up and nobody or nothin' is going to turn me around. But, after the great yard fiasco there at grandma's (*see post in March) someBody opened my mouth sing, and there has been no turning back. Did I just make a pun? Anyway, it surprised the hell out of me, what flowed out- loud love.
So miss Jill there at the BluCat took out her guitar last week and I stumbled up to the microphone (zombie mode kind of sort of). There was nobody about and I sang, Up To the Mountain. No, I didn't sing- I waled. Every melody that's been bottled up inside of me came out, as if Aretha grabbed me by the bib straps and said, "Shut up girl and sing!"

So you know what this fool of fools is going to be doing this week, earnestly and honestly- with no clear answer to the all consuming question...I am singing again. OH, I tell you I'm scared as hell...but, if I don't get it out or let it out, well...something good and fine and ever so humble might just die in an invisible way. Those rare and beautiful moments that never live because fear holds it back...well, being a true wonder and all, I cannot contain that song of mine anymore.

Here's a few excerpts on the lyrical way I felt about non performance and grace dying silence.

Boxes of Tears

Lived with them until today
holding me back in such a way
that I had to touch them
open them
go through them-
boxes of tears

I tried to dwell with them
just like they were
in the way but not out of the way-
I couldn't do that
with your things

It did not kill me
as I thought it might-
only made me bleed, a trickle
from the scar left behind
that never truly heals
but cannot be bandaged

It was time to make the move
opening each box of tears
with trembling hands
what to do with your things now
who would treasure them
as I did

But you are not here to say
who gets what and which is best,
your guitars I'll keep
though they will remain
silent as you
for the rest of my life.

I Forgot the Words (excerpt)

...If I could, I would sing.

The players know their strings by heart
as harmony swirls around this foursome
like a whirlpool, if only I could swim with them
jump right in with both eyes closed, open my mouth
let the music flow like a fountain-
But there is an invisible hand
drawing my cheeks in, covering my mouth
holding my breath, my song-
The only beat I feel comes from my heart
pumping too much blood to my brain,
(don't try you'll cry
don't sing it will only bring trouble
keep the fear behind the grin)-

Banjo picker wondering when I'll come in-
again and again, the intro is played
and all I can offer is....

"I forgot the words."

And the music goes on and on
without me.

(copyright 2004 T.L. Starks)

See, I am as about afraid as anybody I suppose. This was a hard thing to reveal, to you, to me...and yet this sometimes silly blog is like a net. It catches all the things, the real stuff- sometimes without me even realizing; what deep inside has not been laid bare, or needs to be let go.... For that, for this- I am ever so thankful. The guitar thing is still out though, perhaps some day- I'll pick one up again...but, I don't think so. Makes me cry too hard, too long- that is one bridge I am not ready to cross yet.
Thanks, take care-


Li'l Em said...

*cheering* You SANG. You are SINGING.

Anonymous said...

I can't wait to hear you sing since you kept it a well hidden secret for so long!!! The guitar will come later, if you want it to. Or if you don't, they'll always be memories for you. Now I have George Harrison in my head, While My Guitar Gently Weeps seems fitting right now, and it's one of my all time favorites.

Love, Rhi

Jayne said...

Oh, I do wish I could hear you. I can't read a lick of music, but boy, I am in the choir and if they'll just be patient and let me HEAR what it's supposed to sound like, I will sing my little heart out. It feeds my soul in a way I can't explain, so I do "get it." Oh, I so do. And I am so happy to hear your soul is yet again, being fed. Sing on girlfriend, sing on.

truewonder said...

Thank you, Guitar Gently Weeps is right on Rhi...never put the two together before. Wish me well, tonight is the night, with a bit of fortified wining first..liquid courage. Oh and a trip to the woods after work, that always blows away the tension. Take care-

Jane said...

Kudos to you for singing!!!!


troutbirder said...

I understand. After my son, I couldn't even listen to music & I gave my piano to a friend of his. I glad to read you are now able. Music is the voice of our souls.

truewonder said...

Thank you troutbirder...

Hope to hear some day, that you did tickle the ivories again..
much love and gentle strength to you.

Anonymous said...

One thing about promises Terry, Jesus promised to defeat death. Today, of any day since your son died or as you know my brother we should celebrate the promises that are kept by God. One day we will see our loved ones and what joy will that be. You are an inspiration. I enjoy your words. Keep Beau in your heart as a promise and I will keep my brother Matt. God Bless. Dan Ginter

Art-of-Facts said...

. . . oh my . . . words can be so stirring . . . so powerful. And again, another layer - keep peeling back, the layers are so numerous that there will be plenty still to keep that protective layer. When we are gifted in so many ways, it's would be such a terrible waste to NOT loan out your voice, your words, your heart . . . doing so only makes it more pliable. Take care - LB

bam said...

if this isn't a hallelujah resurrection after-easter story, well then i never read one....
i had tears streamin as i imagined you singing that song, all bottled up and all, and finally letting loose. i'd almost imagine we are hearing two angels sing at once. i'll pay to come to your concert anytime. it only makes sense, you the poet putting your poetry to melody. sounds like heaven. and high time. the world needs your song. and i do too.

Anonymous said...

Once again I am deeply touched by what you have shared. I suspect that there was a bit of a duet stretching between heaven and earth as your voice lifted up in song. What a beautiful way to honor what was, what is and what will forever be. Love wins. ~kathryn

truewonder said...

These are the most beautiful replies, thank you. I think we could all start our own card line...seriously.
It was an amazing time. I did it and it felt like someone had finally aired my tires up, after I'd been riding on deflated wheels for awhile...And I floored it when I sang. I don't know if I can ever sing like that again, I don't know if I want to. A memory worth keeping...