DISCLAIMER: It took me a few days to write another musing as the last one entitled "The Unbroken Thread" was such a spiritual writing. I truly feel if you want to really know much of me, who I am, my story, it is present in that blog. I honestly even toyed with not writing a blog again as I thought it was a beautiful button to the past few years and the journey my life has undergone.
But I want to continue chronicling and sharing and I am thinking of some new approaches to the blog. I will still write the emotional analysis for that is my air, but I want to add some other items that are different. More on that later...
END OF DISCLAIMER
On Monday, we buried my Grandfather. It was obviously an emotional event, but since I have endured that particular circumstance when my Father died, it was not as traumatic as it could have been.
I sang "The Old Rugged Cross" for the funeral. It is never easy sharing music at a funeral with the spectrum of emotions taking place. As a highly intuitive person, I latch onto someone's tears and sobs and want to take them away.
But, the seriousness of the day was given levity due to a minor mishap.
I walked to the place I was to sing and looked down and saw the sheet music was not there. I looked at Ian (a dear friend and someone that deserves a HUGE hug for attending and playing a funeral, the oddest of performance locales in my opinion) and asked, "Where is the music?". I got an "I don't know."
We had practiced earlier several rooms over from our current location. So what to do? Run like a cougar on acid.
There were a few workers in front of me and I said "Motherfucker" rather loudly. Ha.
(I apologized afterwards and was told that they knew I was under distress. You bet your arse I was under distress.)
I then ran back, in record time I might add, and started the song. The first few lines were shaky as I should have taken a moment to breathe and I got overwhelmed and cracked/something like that, but then I just sang it for Grandpa. That is the miracle of singing at a funeral. Often times, there are directors and other forces that demand this or need that... this was for Grandpa and Grandpa alone... not me, not my ego, not for others, not for show.
That is a beautiful thing and I feel blessed that I am able to have such a gift that can be so readily and easily accessed in a time like this.
I cannot believe that I have now sung for my Dad's funeral and my Grandpa's. Come to think of it - I sang at a reception for my Grandma's (Mammi, my Dad's Mom) funeral too.
Such an odd thing to do and and environment in which to communicate. I try to be an open vessel when singing and that is a dangerous thing at a funeral.
I am glad to say I think Grandpa would have liked it and I am proud I was able to add to his day.
So much change has affected my family in the past few years. It is difficult for all and it takes me a while to understand and process.
I did get to reconnect with some family members I have not seen in quite some time and am going to make a concerted effort to keep the lines of communication open.
I write about this often, but it is such a blessing of mine that I am liked and that almost everywhere I go, someone wants to know my opinion or hug me or say they love me.
I reported on here on my 30th birthday that I wanted to be a bearer of joy. Well, I feel as though I have been successful with that for the most part. I am working on making that a consistent factor in MY life, meaning that I am joyous when no one is around... often times I try to entertain or inspire others and I think that this coming year I will do some more inspiring of MYSELF.
But...
I feel so deeply. I am trying new things as I have been this year: this truly was the year of jumping in and bathing around in a new life bathtub... sometimes it was glorious, other times the water became tepid and out of the blue I was ninja chopped by a rubber ducky.
On Monday, I sang,
I honoured,
I laughed,
I bonded,
I cried...
and when the tears give rise to new terrain, I sing "Hallelujah".
For with this constant newness I realize I am ALIVE, I am reaching to be the best person I know. And sometimes the tears weaken me, sometimes they make my vision blurry, but at least I have the tears to know that I have been living.
I have made so many DIFFERENT choices this year, traveled down roads that I never though possible. Some I have made a mess... truly, some I danced along like we were old chums, but all have made me a better man.
I used to think that I had to wait for something to show me that my real life had started. I don't know where I learned that concept: that I would be a real artist when some magical record industry gave me a record deal, that I would be attractive when a beautiful man told me I was handsome, that I would be a songwriter when someone told me I could do it, where novels were written by other people, where I was not ready or deserving of a real date, where I could not create traditions in a place where I might really live forever, where I had to know everything all at the same time...
I am a singer. And I am an artist because it is who God made me.
I am a beautiful man and if I could I would date me and I would treat me "nice". Only I made that decision, no other man... they do not deserve that power nor will I EVER give that to them again: the sole decision maker on how attractive or valuable I am.
I write songs. They are odd, they are something, but they are the hymns and stories of my heart.
I delight in my novel, I hope others do, but I always will.
Bring on the real date, I am ready. Better make it good. Ha.
I can create anytime, any day, and moment whatever I want. We are all powerful creations, the key is believing we are.
I will never know everything, there is no perfect life, there is always something afoot, but if you flip that perception, therein the good stuff lies.
I am thankful for all the tears for without them I would not see this new terrain, a vast expanse ready for the taking and holding and ushering in of the possibilities of tomorrow.
Much love your way,
Dustin
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