Jiddu Krishnamurti
Tomorrow is the autumnal equinox of 2010.
To most, I would imagine it would mean little to nothing; but to me it means everything. It's another indicator that another season in my life has faded into obscurity and passed. Now, like the phoenix I must begin anew; collect my ever-present fears, and ride along with the sun in it's transition until another year has passed into obsolescence, then the inevitable of quietus and fading of from the mind.
These past five years have been the biggest, emotionally-straining roller coaster of my thus-known life. A string of deaths, turbulent romances, and a coming-to-terms with personal issues have inhabited the core of my world. Sure, everyone has problems. I am not the one to make a spectacle of my life story on the internet for all to see the intricate and gruesome details of the players and situations involved.
So why am I writing this?
It all began in the late spring of 2005.
It was one of those excruciatingly bright and hot mornings as far as I can remember. The doorbell rang downstairs, and I ran down to find my Uncle who had paid a surprise visit at the time, bestowing me with his treasured violin. He told me that he wanted me to learn it, since he now could not find time for it.
Over the next few months he and I developed a closer friendship, and he became more of a brother than an uncle. He taught me how to rock climb, how to mountaineer, and we became climbing partners of sorts. We would often go to Stoney Point and boulder around; all the while discussing the most random of topics ranging from eastern philosophy, to how many fist-fights we've accumulated in our lives thus far.
In the late Autumn of 2005 he left to go to Alaska.
The Violin remained in it's case.
This is when the problems in both of our lives began to come to fruition; upon returning in spring of 2006, he had been diagnosed with terminal brain and bone cancer. The doctor told him he would not live three months.
I began to drive him to his appointments that June. The man I had so looked up to for teaching me to scale vertical walls of rock in a matter of seconds I had to help up the stairs to his apartment.
But still he persevered, determined as ever to fight on, and he lived. We were all grateful beyond belief that he had survived and triumphed over his ordeal.
The violin remained untouched, say, except for the occasional plucking out of boredom here and there.
The next sequential wave of years swept many people away from my grasp; leaving so many things unsaid for myself. Whether it be a multitude of apologies, curses, thank-you's, or just moments lost.
It struck again last fall.
I took him to an appointment one day last winter, and he asked me in the waiting room, "So, when are you going to learn that Violin?"
Winter came to an end, and he didn't make it through.
Tomorrow, I am buying rosin.
I have contacted a teacher, and next week I begin my lessons.
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