I’m up before the sunrise. It’s calm and quiet and I can hear the symphony of crickets outside my window. Why don’t I do this more often?
The date is 9.20.19. I have a full day today but I wanted to sneak in some meditation time before the storm. I intend to seize today and somehow squeeze in a workout before work, a 20 minute practice with my guitar, some vocal exercises and singing on my commute to work, a work shift at the Art Museum, and lastly extend my love to my friends which I have not seen in a while and miss, in the evening. Maybe hopefully sing? If the opportunity arises. I’m awaiting my next stage, but I have work to do. I have confidence to learn, and practice to achieve. But easy does it, and patience is key. My stage will come, I can feel it.
Life is a balance between the quiet meditation of your person and inner self, and the gift of sharing my self with those I love. I want to be more loving, more giving, but in turn I need to love myself to be able to give those I love the most of me. So, this to me is an act of self-love. And I have every intention to spill my heart to those deserving of its honey.
Ps. Today my new guitar arrives! Finally, my very own Cordoba guitar.
with love and admiration. Always and truly yours,
Today I saw a red rose on the pavement.
How did it get there? Why was it there? What love was rejected?
I don’t know why I stoped to look at it or why it impacted me. Was it because I thought that such a beautiful thing as a rose belongs in a glass case?
and then I turn to myself, and think of myself as that rose on the pavement. No one sees me, and I too have been abandoned on the pavement.
I should have picked it up, and I should have put it in a glass, pressed it in a book- but I didn’t.
Instead I went on my way to sing, “Como la Flor” on my way to work.
and I didn’t consider it until now, that perhaps we accept the love we think we deserve.
The next rose I see, abandoned on the floor, I’ll make sure to pick it up and give it a proper home. just like my love deserves to be.
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.
stay sweet, lovelies.
Have you forgotten the days when you were ash, when you lay in shadows and glittered in the mist of the moonlit night?
And your walk was humble on the ground, and you saw a miracle in a single rose and magic in the stars?
Love- my dearest.
It has always grasped you and sheltered you even when you were ash burned from the fire of a most passionate love.
You know how low one can go, low enough to think I have died and reincarnated and simply remembering that-
everything seems beautiful… like the bird singing on my windowsill this morning, up on the 11th floor of this loud city of Los Angeles, was beautiful.
Just moments of self-reflection and remembrance of the pain this peasant heart has rooted from.
love, my dearest.
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
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
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.
What happens then to that dream deferred? Was it truly your dream all along? Were you denying yourself of something? Avoiding a realization? Or naming your dream in the wrong category?
Does a dream have a different face? Or do you fail to call it by name? Do you need to dig deeper to find its name? or do you dare just say it? What if your dream is like that of all the rest-of vanity and appearance? Doesn’t it seem too unreal?-too discouraging?
Is that the dream you are chasing? Can some dreams be harmful? If so, dare I go chase it? Is there even a questioning them? Don’t all dreams come from that same stem, of life, truth and beauty? If So, my dream has to be true. Anything sprouting from that stem has to be beautiful-even if the rose has thorns. Dare I- or better off, what makes me think I am anybody not too?
Inspired by Langston Hughes, “Harlem”
Those who speak of importance speak of necessity
we must have air to breathe,
food to eat,
a shelter to sleep
a coat- some warmth- at least!
Speak no more of necessities!
It dissatisfies me
it is but a life with no meaning, no feeling
I need love to breathe, affection to eat!
love feeds the hungry soul
laughter warms it
affection shelters it
I live for I breathe for beyond the cravings of the flesh
I live for I breathe for a spiritual sense!