Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
Once upon a time there was a lady who was scared to show her full self to anyone. She hid behind clothes, facades, stories, her job, her relationships. She knew that the day would come where she would have to shed her armour and crank it up a notch – her life.
She knew she had to step up.
She encountered an old man with red socks at a bar one night, and he told her many tales. They spoke for hours and moved the conversation back to his house when the bar closed. It was damp, and full of piled up records and dusty VHS Tapes. There were collections of dolls and figurines still in boxes.
They conversed over a cup of tea and the man began to play guitar. He shared his stories in song and sang, freely. She sat and listened and was encapsulated by the man’s way with words. Every day, she thought, he must write. He must observe. He must capture snapshots of life with a blue pen, as his words weaved worlds.
She saw herself outside of herself for a moment, sitting on his vintage satin and wood couch and she saw her layers melting away, just witnessing him. Seeing him in his element was stripping her own layers away. He was baring his soul.
He was old enough to be her Grandpa.
She saw him for a split second as a skeleton; too old to care what anyone else thought. Too wise to play games. Too far into this journey called life to hide any part of his beautiful heart.
She admired him and his ability to be his true self.
Her daydream was interrupted, as he was calling her name. Coming into her body awareness again, she realised he was saying, “Your turn.” “My turn to what?” She said. “Sing” he said. “Yeh, one day maybe,” the girl replied. “No, now.”
She blushed and thought she couldn’t possibly. What? Allow a stranger to bare witness to her voice? Her true, vulnerable voice?
He helped ease her into it and they began by singing a well-known song together. She warmed, and his voice slowly faded, until she realised she was singing alone.
Tricky, she thought. And humbled.
This old man, a stranger, had helped bring her voice out. He’d given her the time of day no one else ever had. He genuinely cared. She got teary. He read her like a book, and because of that he said, “Here, sing these words” and handed her some lyrics.
“These are my words. You have no connection to these words, so just tell the story.”
She was confused but she agreed. Nervously, she began to sing.
“CUT!” He yelled and stood up telling ‘all the cameras to stop filming’. “Cut! Cut! She doesn’t want to be watched guys; this is for her and her alone.”
This prompted the girl to think about why and how she was singing. The man said, “Sing as you sing, not as you want to be heard.”
The girl cried.
She breathed deeply and began to sing. Until finally she heard her real voice for the first time, ever. At this age; as a twenty something young woman.
Again she witnessed herself from afar and felt as though she was naked, sitting on that couch, baring herself and her soul to this old, skeleton.
His freedom had freed her, and she felt exposed.
She reached for a blanket. The man again read her like a book and said with a wink, “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it”.
They sat there in silence for a bit, just being still. Thanking each other for the other’s presence.
This old man probably hadn’t invited anyone into his home for years. And for a long time, this young lady hadn’t let anyone into her heart.
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** Lovely to meet all of you fabulous humans. My website is JustineMcInerney.com if you want to connect. Music is on www.ikigai.world. Our business is @soulsparkmgmt and our heart’s work is over at www.thepositivityproject.com.au (launching this week). I have two workshops coming up you might like to come to, ‘Blogs for Beginners’ and ‘Creative Sluts; We put out’. The first is a hands on workshop where in one night you will have your own blog up and running and know how to use your platform on going. The latter is a 6 week journey of a mini artist in residency, where every week we meet, dance, move, make weird noises and remove creative blocks. We meditate, we share, we work in the space, and at the end of the 6 week journey you share your production; dance, song, poem, story, painting – whatever your form. I wish you all luck on your writing journey and give a huge thumbs up to everyone telling their story. It’s why we are all here. Stay true to you.**