Journal Entry

Rarely do I share my journal entries… but today is another day and well, why not?

I wrote this this morning, while on my first cup of coffee.

I was feeling mostly moved by the man who picked recyclables out of trash cans and was saddened by the fact that we turn away from these sights. If we see a homeless man hungry on the street, or a less fortunate man, we turn away. We pretend they are not there. We have become numb… myself included. So, in honor of that man, the least I can do is share what I wrote about him today and even then it is not enough…

Here is to that man without a name.

 

people are painting a picture and I am not part of it.

The old clock tower rings in the distance

The old ladies walk with their fine dress and big hats

some carry shopping bags and

others converse about how to cook purple potatoes

Mothers walk with their strollers

and children are crying for milk

The sun is shining, the skies are blue, everything is so polished

The man in a business suit hold his dry cleaning off of one shoulder

and checks to see the time on his gold wrist watch

All of them paint a perfect picture

and I am no where in there

nor is the man with a black trash bag collecting recyclables off of every trash can

To everyone else he is invisible

To me, he is the only living being, true, and real in this picture.

 

It might be that I am too damn sensitive. I could cry over an injured bird or a butterfly with a broken wing. But, I was made this way. So, if I could shine any light to it, I will. If I can do anything, I will. My voice is my instrument. So the least I can do is write about it.

 

Cheers, salute, salud, y sante

 

your very own,

 

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

 

 

 

 

Wish me luck!

I will be singing tonight at my local wine bar and I am feeling rather nervous. It is so humbling to be on stage. But you know, It’s not very often I am on stage so I am going to enjoy it as much as I can and remember why I sing, for who I sing for….

The songs I cover are so close to my heart and many peoples hearts because they heal the soul somehow. They provoke emotion of some kind and even go as far as touch the heartstrings of your soul. At least that is what it does to me. I want to be able to transcend such emotion. If I have done this than I used the stage and microphone for a good purpose and I did not take my time on stage for granted.

 

Wish me luck please! I sure do need it.  I am facing fear head to head and I think I’ve got a chance!

be courageous and face your fears, good things always come after it.

 

Always, always,

 

your very own,

 

Bluebird

Grandfather’s Clock Tower

Hello Ladies and gents,

I thought it fine time to do some revision on a very old poem. Any comments or thoughts are appreciated. Here goes nothing…

 

Grandfather’s clock,

from births hour,

sings tick-tock.

 

Tick-tock,

Tick-tock,

her heart beats

for Neverland,

strikes the first hour.

 

Tick-Tock,

Tick-Tock, and

she dreams of flight,

and of life’s magical delights

strikes the third hour.

 

Tick-Tock,

Tick-Tock,

there is peter pan’s

crocodile, and

she swallows an alarm clock,

and pauses time,

on lovers rhymes-

strikes the sixth hour.

 

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

Big-Ben’s Clock Tower

her rhythm, grows fonder

but Peter Pan’s pixie dust,

collects on grandfather’s

old tower clock-

strikes the 9th hour.

 

And on the 12th hour

Neverland, never comes

her heart beat stops

and the grandfather’s clock

gears, rust.

 

Much love, always.

 

your very own,

bluebird