I couldn’t wait to write all day…

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I couldn’t wait to write all day. All it takes is 15 min to detox or vent. To cleanse the pallete of the mind from utter chaos of mesh to a crystal clear zen.

It is like medicine some say, and for me it has been my survival mechanism. Every time shit gets down, I turn to the pen. But I am not surviving anymore, I am enjoying life and even then I turn to it. Could it be my hand was meant to do some writing? jaja

It’s my dream world, my escape, and sometimes my world is more beautiful than the one I see daily.

really, it is. I wish I could take you there one day. It’s my Neverland, if you may.

One day.

 

stay sweet,  lovelies.

yours truly,

 

bonnie bluebird

Magic is…

 

Magic is when everything is synchronized

the winds and ruffles of paper,

the rustling of trees,

the sudden dance of the leaves-

the graceful wave of a hand

a smile that melts a heart

Magic is…

whimsical and serendipitous

it is love at first sight

and comets at night

it is fast as lightning

so quick and gone

its faster than thought

and you stand there in awe

 

Magic is…

the white feather the floats by

the ticking clock

the shadows that pass us by

the rosebud born in the night

that full incandescent moon

 

magic is everywhere…

It is the desert that finds the spring

the mountain that meets the ocean

the lighting bolt born of darkness

the light at the end of the tunnel

a rainbow in the rain

magic is in the mustard seed that moves mountains

if you believe,

it can move mountains

 

from a believer of magic.

 

 

yours truly,

bluebird

Dream of El Condor

I have to write this now before I forget it all. I had yet another dream today. I kept seeing the rare spirit animal, El Condor, as a messenger in the skies. Both times, it hauled around a classic vintage truck, blue in color, resembling my father’s truck.

It had been a normal day and I went about it as if I saw nothing rare or to boast about. I was at home, in my room dancing and singing like a fool listening to music and getting ready to go out. I had gone out to an all-white garden party with co-workers for some reason, at a recurring white mansion I dream of often. We were all having a good time, getting along. The strange part was this:  sitting next to the table adjacent to us,  was a very enthusiastic woman.

She was greedy with attention, loud, voluptuous, a fiery spirit. She wore red and had large swollen red lips from a case of plastic surgery gone wrong. She was more a symbol, a recurring one at that throughout my dream. Nevertheless,  she was singing in Spanish,  loudly. Was she singing along to Selena? I don’t quite remember but it was getting distracting and I remember looking over and my whole table stopped the conversation and looked over at her too. And her response was, ” I am just enjoying life!”

A part of me admired her, her freedom and enthusiasm. So when I saw her again, on the sidewalk of my home, I thought that she was an angel, a messenger of some sort. However, it gets stranger.

Also on the curb of my sidewalk, parked in front of the Pomona House fruit trees, was a damaged and dented truck claw delivered by El Condor himself. El Condor is a spiritual species, a large bird of prey, nearing extinction, that many indigenous people highly valued and sought after as messengers of the spirit world. Ana, my sister, and my pup were with me at this point and I remember telling my sister, “That is El Condor, a spiritual messenger from the skies.” She saw it too, hauling around a blue truck from its claws. I thought that the red woman being there on my curb was no coincidence, in fact, this whole dream is no coincidence. I felt that she had something to do with El Condor revealing itself to me and I was certain she was about to deliver an answer. The answer I have been waiting for.

I spoke to her and said, ” I remember you, who are you? and what does El Condor want to tell me?”  As she reached into her bag, I thought, “She is going to reveal something to me,” and in that, two giant feathers fell from the sky. They were large, black and white feathers, sharp like an arrow and I knew that El Condor summoned them.

As I went to reach for them and pick them up, I jolted! The wind was knocked out of my lungs to see a black and white snake tossed at me by the voluptuous red woman. I feared for my sister, Ana, and I yelled at my puppy to go away. But when I ran from this vicious snake, it chased me and I knew that it was only interested in hurting me. When in that,  I remembered, I had two large feathers sharp like swords, I must use. As I ran to the side door of the Pomona House, I closed it quickly behind me. I gathered myself and looked down at my weapons as my possessions, two large feathers, sharp like an arrow that I must use. And in that, I woke up.

I woke up scared to move. What does the snake mean? The red woman? My father’s truck? El Condor? What does it all mean? I have great fear in my heart, but I feel great adventure too.

As always,

your very own and respectfully yours,

 

your one and only,

 

bluebird

 

Dreams of the Ocean

I have 30 minutes to try to remember this dream- these dreams. These past two nights I have dreamt of water, the ocean, the shore. One where a group of us flew in by plane, through skyscrapers and city, into the flat horizon of the ocean. Upon landing, there it was, there I was, in my white sleeping gown again, ready to dive into the water. When in that, a wave the size of a large hand cloaked me, moutained over me, comforted me and then just like that, was swiftly gone. My friend, who was with me said, ” It does that from time to time.” And I in awe, turn to look at the vanished ocean turn into a small insignificant pond or puddle of water. But apparently, it does that. I left and turned away but before abandoning the shore, I gave a slight wink of an eye and a hand gesture that spoke without words but said to the puddle of water, “I’ll be back, I’ll be back to play.”

These bodies of water, these shores were playful, joyous and cheery. I couldn’t describe it another way. They were as if there were a child, a free child, wanting to play. Did I forget to mention the pair of black Pheobe birds and flight? The next dream the following day was slightly different.

I was on foot on the shore. It was daytime and all I remember were shark fins in the distance, penetrating the surface of the water and a couple, a distant couple, that I was acquainted with somehow. I sat there and again, the waves were playful. As if they were asking me to join it. The waves, like an outstretched arm ready to greet, stretched toward me asking me to take its hand. And the waves would reach me and envelope me with its playful joy and like that dragged back to its body vanishing before me once more. There I stood upon desolate sand and what was a sea but only its remains, a tiny puddle. But somehow I knew,  that it was pulling a prank, a joke on me and it is bound to return and come back as an ocean.

In neither of these dreams do I allow myself to be overjoyed, to be enveloped by the body of water. I refrain. I hold back, and I don’t know why. Do you?

I fancy the thought that my dreams are my counselors, an inner voice of the subconscious world. They can be teachers if we listen.

Just do it

For some reason or another, I have always wanted to run away. I guess, I felt trapped. Trapped to this life. I don’t know, I wanted so much more out of life. I wanted adventure, travel, freedom, truth, peace, happiness. And yet, when I had  the opportunity, when the butterfly decided to land on my finger, I did not taken hold of it. I feared it and ran away instead.

I have been so blissfully happy in the Honduran mountain top where I picked coffee and played music and sang songs to the skies, the rivers, and waterfalls and I could have stayed, but I didn’t… why did I come back?

I have been in an airport on the brink of staying in Mexico permanently and making a living there, and I did not do it. I returned to the responsibilities of school, and work and commitments our society has imposed on me. Why did I run from this door that opened itself to me?

I have always wanted to travel freely, without an agenda or plan, just with the compass of intuition pointing arrows to my path. I’ve met only a couple of people like this in my life. Among them was Pasqual, “the french traveler.”

He was a traveling musician and carried around a saxophone with him. He made a few dollars here and there as street performer, and made it all the way to California from France. He worked on a boat, on many farms,  hitched rides, and had various living arrangements, but most importantly he wore his heart on his sleeve. His eyes shown a vulnerable humility of a child I can’t begin to describe. I only knew him for an evening, the very evening I ran away to live in San Luis Obispo but I felt as if I knew him my whole life. I know it sounds strange.

I asked him how he is so free, and fearless. I asked him what made him do it… what made him leave his home and family. And his answers were pure, simple, and clear. He was like a version of my own fearless self. He was the person I aspire to be. His dream was to reach Brazil. And last I heard, he did. I only have his memory with me, and his collection of French music he shared with me that evening.

However, that night, we did not touch, nor kiss, but I could say I loved him. It was love. In fact, I distinctly remember him saying he loved me. But how could it be? And how could it be that I also somehow loved him too? As lovers, to love is the easiest thing to do. You would think, I’d of gone traveling with him but when he asked me to join him, I feared and turned away.

To think of it now, I beat myself up. Everything I desired at that point in time with my life, had fallen on my lap. Pasqual was like a shooting star that fell from the heavens and landed on my step and I did not run away with him…. why?

I feared. I feared and to this day Pasqual is only a dream, like a pegasus in the sky.

I’m not sure If another door will open, or another shooting star will fall for me, nor do I know if another butterfly would land on my finger, but If I am granted another chance, by God, I have got to just do it!

This life is precious and only given to us once why not live it as I have always longed to live it. At least, do it for me… if a chance like this ever comes your way… please, please take it. Jump, don’t run, don’t fear.

Just do it.

 

yours truly,

 

bluebird

 

 

Dream of the Horizon

I don’t know why but today I am remembering a dream… a dream I fondly remember. It is a reoccurring dream where at times I am running, walking, chasing. The most recent one I had, I was even riding a bicycle but I swear, it always feels like I am flying.

It kind of reminds me a little of Salvador Dali’s painting of a melting clock in the orange sunset sand, kissed by the deep, warm orange light of the setting sun. All I see is the Southwest terrain, perhaps even cacti on either side of the path. Ahead of me, is a straight and clear path leading me to the horizon and for some reason I feel I can touch it, reach it, and take hold of it.

I feel blissful just staring at it. Happiness is at my reach and I am always so willing to chase it. I don’t have a reason for this chase now but when I am dreaming I know what is at the end of my journey… something gold, fluid like honey, prosperous… these are empty words I am using to try to explain what the promise of the horizon gives me.

I am always alone in this journey but I never feel empty, rather I feel whole. I am completely and utterly contempt living in the present, in awe with the view in front of me. I am in the moment and completely focused in on the view of the Southwest geometric rocks of red and the contrast of the dark outstretched shadows. It almost feels as if I have entered another dimension.

When I am dreaming this, I not only remember the dream as one I have had before, I know what is at the end of my journey. However I always, always wake up before I reach it. Last time, I ended up with a flat tire and searching for a bike repair shop. I wounded up in a cave with a nomad couple who happened to own a bicycle shop and had offered to fix my bike as a form of gratitude for seeking the light, the horizon and chasing the sun. They had given me a sort of blessing to continue my quest, whatever it is…

I’ve had a rough couple of days lately, because as of late this chase of mine, this dream of mine, seems almost unreal, hopeless. I doubt. I fear. But all that aside, like Paulo Choelo puts it…I am a “warrior of the light,” and I’ll die chasing the sun if I have to. Yes, I will doubt. No, I will not surrender. It is  only this I know and I’ll do my best to seek it, to chase it, to find it.

yours truly,

 

Bluebird

 

 

 

 

Dream Journal

 

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I  have had such strange dreams lately. I dreamt that the garage was overflowing with water and the pressure of the water broke the seal of the garage door, and out came colorful fish, like a cracked fish tank about to break and release. I don’t know somehow this made sense.

Then I dreamt that my siblings and I were backing out of the drenched garage and out the driveway; and there they were, about 5 flopping colorful fish, twitching under our orange and lemon trees, trying to breathe. Strange, huh? I can’t help but feel that it means something.

I always have had very lucid dreams. I can fly in dreams and I have recently come to know that if I am terrified in a dream I can somehow escape and fly away. It’s rather cool, to be honest.

I have had very beautiful dreams of flying off of one red balloon. Others where I almost levitate and float, others where I run really fast and jump into the sky, but my favorite has been the one where I fly off on a paper box canoe over pyramids, and clouds, and into the crafty sun and sky, made out of pipe cleaners for rays, felt for sky, cotton balls for clouds, and beads for the sun.That dream was so surreal. I still can picture it.

I know why I dreamt that a long time ago. It was my subconscious telling me that I wanted to explore, learn, experience. Shortly after that dream I moved away to San Luis Obispo.

This dream however was just as impactful. Strange, but impactful. It is something to acknowledge. Especially after seeing a hawk land under the orange and lemon trees where the fish were, in real life, the same day. It flew in, right in front of the orange and lemon trees, staring at me, as big as it was, with  a wing span of a medium-sized dog, and  its prey, a pigeon, dead under its claws. It’s all so strange…

It’s a riddle I can’t solve.

yours truly,

bluebird