What Would You Say?
I wanted to be a cowboy.
I knew that would be the answer.
I knew I would fit,
I would belong
On the range.
Even me, who didn’t fit in anywhere.
Around the campfire,
Eating beans
From a can.
Riding my horse,
Saving the damsel
In distress.
(My co-dependence started early.)
Playing my guitar
Around the fire.
Harmony with all.
The howling coyotes
Welcoming me home.
My first guitar we rented
From Mr. Angelo Gulucci.
His small store on Lackawanna Avenue—
Walking in to the small shop,
Guitars on each wall,
I will never forget
Walking down
That
Gauntlet
Of possibility,
Surrounded by guitars.
I was eight years old.
My first guitar
Had an image
Of a cowboy
Riding a
Bucking bronco
Stenciled on it.
OH! To hold her close,
That guitar.
And each of them,
Afterwards,
Throughout the years.
To hold my guitar close
Then and now
To hug myself
Into the vibration
Of sound,
Of safety.
A comfort
Beyond comfort.
I took lessons,
Me and Mr. Gulucci,
In the tiny studio
In the back of the store.
He was so quiet and kind
With my tender heart.
From 8 years old through high school,
I took lessons.
I played.
Fervently.
Privately.
Intimately.
Me with me.
Nobody else
Invited into
That space.
After that?
The regret of my life—
I would play
Passionately for six months.
And stop.
Wait six more years.
Play again.
And stop.
Repeated
Throughout
My life.
Bliss tolerance level?
Too delicious to contain?
Pre-pandemic,
I wept my way
Through amazing classical lessons,
Loving the intimacy rekindled
Me with me,
Me with the music,
Like nothing else.
Oh!
The music.
The sounds.
The hum.
The regret of my life.
But my guitars sit here
Still,
In their spots.
Holding
The
Space
For memory.
Holding
The
Space
For possibility.
~~~
I’m the little one.
Of course.
I have looked at this picture over time.
For decades, blaming others, over time.
Finally, finding myself enough,
Finding truth enough,
I have been able to bless that child.
And yet, from this moment:
What words of wisdom, comfort or prayer, from this adult moment, could I offer to that child that I was?
Here we go:
Dear Precious One.
It’s going to be hard.
It is.
And it will get good,
So good.
And you will be loved,
So loved.
I got you.
You got this.
We got each other.
Keep being you.
I’m right here.
Even if I leave,
I’ll be back.
Love,
The Big Me
~~~
~~~
So, friends, look around. Find a picture of your younger self, whatever the age. Check out that kid. Breathe and look and watch. And…
What words of wisdom, comfort or prayer, from this adult moment, would you offer the child that you were?
Consider writing your response.
Maybe read it aloud to the kid?
What do you notice?
~~~
Here’s an oldie and such a goodie.
Promise me you will listen for the final guitar run.
It’s worth it.
~~~
Dear Friends,
It is only one breath
At a time.
It is really only
One thing at a time.
One step
At a time!
That is all life
Is asking of us.
To be here,
Right here.
Now,
Right now.
May all beings benefit from our time together.
Deep bow,
Aruni
~~~
Bigtime and Fabulous Announcement:
The Blog-a-Log is Launched.
Every one of my weekly blogs, written over the past two decades live, stacked beneath one another, under this week’s current blog. It’s been a staggering thought for me—there they be. Unavailable but alive.
Now, the Blog-a-Log, an index of blogs by topic, exists!
I invite you to go to www.coacharuni.com/blog. On the right of the page, you will see “New! Aruni’s Blogs are Categorized”. Open and scan the list of topics. Choose a topic that interests you and all the logs written in the past two years on that topic will open. You can read away, as you choose.
I’m DELIGHTED. I appreciate that some order has finally come to this wildly out of control, run-amuck content.
Thanks to Nancy K., brilliant and patient editor and organizer extraordinaire. And gratitude to Jason G., the wizard behind the technological curtain.
We may tweak things up ahead and will let you know. I’m so very happy to launch this.
I’m delighted to invite you to peruse, to your heart’s content.
