Liquid Sunshine
by James Kilbourne
I am alone in my house this morning. That is, I do not have any human companions. My dog, Sabrina, is stretched out to twice her normal length as I awake, her body tightly pressed against my back with her little nose at the base of my neck. She stretches still further, and puts her paws on the back of my head, then yawns and rolls over on her back so I can rub her stomach. I get up to feed her breakfast and make my coffee, and settle in to watch the Sunday morning political shows. But this morning my attention keeps wandering away with thoughts of…I don’t know…not with thoughts, really; with pleasant, unidentified longings….
The phone rings. It is my lover, Sergio. He knows I have a cold and he wants to know how I am feeling. He will be here to serve me the chipotle chicken soup he made for us yesterday, and to be sure I am drinking lots of liquids. He will be gentle, but firm, and I will do everything he tells me to do to get better. This is no time to be thinking on my own; not when I have someone who really cares about how I feel and will do the thinking for me.
Yesterday, Sergio visited me with a young friend who is also participating in his addiction recovery program. We have gotten to know him over the last few months and he has struck a chord in me that I hadn’t yet been able to name. Selvin is 20 years younger than Sergio, who is almost 14 years younger than me. Certainly he is our friend, but we both also have a fatherly urge to tuck him under our wing.
I turn off the TV and head for my music. I have something to discover today; something to say, but I don’t know what it is…
I don’t know what role music plays in your life, but it is at the center of my emotional world. Every important thought I have, every friendship I make, is not complete until I know its melody. I don’t know how you listen to music, but I fall in love with it. It possesses me; then tells me its secrets.
This morning I head right towards Sicilian Love Songs, sung by Giuseppe di Stefano. Di Stefano’s open-hearted, clear tenor voice has been my companion since I was 14 years old. He has brought me by the hand through the tragic depths of grand opera and into the rapidly changing and passionate landscape of Neapolitan songs, but of late I have been in love with a collection of Sicilian songs he recorded in the 1950s. This music lies somewhere between the simplicity of Naples and the dramatic depths of Verdi, and its emotion is almost unbearably direct and powerful. As I listen this morning, I cry, as I often do when I hear emotions expressed so deeply, beautifully, and with such honesty. Giuseppe di Stefano’ s voice is liquid sunshine. It is both light and warmth, penetrating to my core, and I bask in its sound like flowers flourishing in a greenhouse. What a blessing this music is.
I now know what I want to say this morning. I want to talk to Selvin.
“Selvin, you have not had an easy life, but your heart is still open and your mind is still searching. You care very much about people and ideas.
"You are right. Life is meant to be important; it is meant to be joyful.
"Selvin, there is liquid sunshine running through your veins. Sergio and I see you very clearly. You radiate joy when you play with Sabrina; you glow like the sunrise when ideas cross your mind. You know what is important in life. You know it naturally. We can both see what matters to you, and what matters to you are the things that SHOULD matter to you.
"Selvin, I gave you that watch the other day so that every time you looked at it, you would remember that Sergio and I are your friends. I didn’t have the right words to say when I gave it to you, but I do now. I hope you NEVER forget what I am about to tell you. Make it your mantra. It will save your life.
"May these words cross into your consciousness each time you look at your watch:
"I am a good man. My life is a treasure.
I will find my love. I will find my music.
I DESERVE them, and I will find them."
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