The Guitarist

I started to play the guitar when I was 19. A number of years later, I can honestly say that I am still learning play, although over the years, I've heard, felt, and seen enough progress in my playing that I'm comfortable (at least in some circles) in referring to myself as a musician. A guitarist.

I've finally gotten to the point in my playing where I let my hands, my fingers, my body, dare I say my heart -- make the music. Somewhere along the way, my head (my mind -- whatever -- the part of me I so readily think of as myself) elected to slide into the background and get out of the way. In return, I honor, acknowledge and appreciate it for what it contributes to my music.

When I've needed to apply reason in selecting a good instrument within my price range, or organizing my music files, or scheduling dates to play that won't conflict with the rest of my life, or following or creating a map to find my way to a gig, my mind serves the music making and other parts of me -- fairly well. I've come to realize that I am not my mind, and my mind seems finally to be going along with me on that, at least for the greater part.

And I do love to play, alone or with others, with or without an audience. (A confession: there is something special for me about playing with others for an audience.) I do a lot of improvising these days, much of the time moving freely up and down the fingerboard, floating in and out with the sounds that -- quite miraculously -- emerge.

When I first became aware that I had reached a new musical plateau, one where a form of mindlessness overtakes me, my mind's initial reaction was to be afraid. There'd be worry about going blind and not being able to see the fingerboard. But that's no longer a fear. I can play with my eyes closed these days. Did the fear leave because my mind reasoned its way out of it? Or am I so caught up looking for and enjoying the good in my playing these days, that there's little, if any, space-time to devote to worrying. I can story that one either way. I like the latter story.

There are fears these day that, on occasion, tap this guitarist. I occasionally see my hands curling up and stiffening like my grandfather's arthritic hands did when he was considerably younger than I. And when that fear comes, I look for signs, signs of the good. I'm hearing those signs, and feeling them, and seeing them. And I keep on playing. As my playing emerges and appreciates, my fears recede and diminish.

Speaking of keeping on playing, check out the guy on this video. I stumbled on him on the web one day and watched it several times over. I was wowed by the way he plays and I wondered me what experiences he must have created for himself as he navigated the learning curve on his way to becoming a guitarist. (Video: 2min 48sec)