9.20.19

Self-Potrait, Practicing

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,

 

bluebird

I write but I never publish…

I write but I never publish I am not sure why. I write just to write, and I do not realize that sharing it would be a great deal of help to others. Some post I decide to share but most of them I do not.  Most, I never publish and isn’t that merely the opposite of what my intent here is for. I need to learn vulnerability.

I am scared of being vulnerable. Most days I feel like a pathetic human.  I don’t know anything about my life, and where it will lead me- there is no certainty in anything. I have no answers. I am just as lost and confused. But I’m trying. I’m at it. I’ll continue at it. And I will either fail again and again, or finally succeed.

And if it is out of fear, then I say the hell with it! I am not scared anymore.  Not one of our trails is the same so we have to follow our own path and no one to tell you which way to go. I’m pretty far in the journey, and I’ve made it this far I might as well keep going. Even though, I am constantly lost on this trek too and I cannot tell you what to do, but at least I can share my experience and well I can shed light to a bit of this path.  The same path we are all following with our own direction and compass.

My compass faces North. I want to go up. So, I will only look up. That, I know. If you want to look up with me, dream with me, risk it all with me. Then by all means, come with me. You are not alone. We are not alone.

I write and today, I will publish.

 

yours truly,

 

Leah

 

 

Currently Hibernating…

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I am currently hibernating in the most loudest cities there is, city of Los Angeles, but it can be done.  I just ignore the sirens, the lights and the late party life. I am taking this time to reflect, and get better- lick my wounds. I’ll be back soon my loves.

what luxury to be here!

 

my best,

 

bonnie bluebird

 

 

 

“What happens to a dream deferred?”

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”

What I love…

 

What I love… I love reading, writing, I love my coffee in the morning. I love books, film, photography. I love flowers in the Spring, eucalyptus, lavender, dried flowers pressed in my books, flowers as gifts, flowers picked from the fields, flowers from past lovers. I love nostalgia. I love candles, chocolate, and wine. I love being wild and irresponsible. I love grapes. I love eating and singing and dancing. I love nature and camping. I love travel, backpacking, hiking, I love adventure. I love Edgar Allen Poe, Mark Twain, Walt Whitman, and John Steinbeck. I love the ocean and the sea and the cliffs and the forest and the trees. I love hand-written letters and postcards, I love little notes and all my journals. I love music, and family, and food, and sharing meals. I love people, people laughing, people smiling, people crying. I love hugs, I love fires, fires that burn, fires that ember, fires that smoke. I love the rain and the moon. I love the shapes the clouds form, the colors of the sunset, and the constellation of the stars. I love magic and rooftops. I love warm Summer nights and cozy Winter blankets, I love the leaves of the Fall. I love to sleep,  to sleep with my lovers, watch films with my lovers, snuggling with my lovers, being silent with my lovers. I love talking, caressing, I love nurturing. I love my dog and my plants. I love this pen. I love this paper. I love, I love… I love the wind, the breeze, the fresh linen scent, a clean house, home cooked meals, I love brotherhood and camaraderie. I love, I love… so much but I don’t know a damn thing about how to love.

 

From yours truly,

bluebird

Singing @ the L.A. Art Walk

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Photo Taken by Avelardo Ortega @mad_se7en

There are times when I feel so bottled up that no matter my reserved nature, of being shy, quiet, and distant,  I somehow break free from my own chains and allow myself the freedom to be me. With the guitar in my arms or the pen gripped within my fingertips, I embody the soul that swims within me- the courageous one, the fearless one, the God-fearing one.

Most days, I am imperfect, lost, short-tempered, and directionless, but last Thursday, I felt that the gold sitting heavy in my heart was aching to melt out of my mouth like fluid honey. And despite not having a stage to sing, nothing could stop this eruption within me that even the demons in my head were silenced by this necessary pull to sing.

I sang, I sang and did not feel the hours pass me by, and sang until my voice gave out. I do not need a stage, nor do I need an audience, and much like when I write here, I do not need a publisher and a book to be voicing. I do it for my own peace of mind and sanity and I will continue this way even if I don’t see a dime or a penny to my name.

All labors of love should be this way and this is all but a labor of love, for love, in the name of love.

yours truly,

bluebird