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.

What is the highlight of your day?

I think my heart will always be on the road… Today,  my traveling heart was touched and the travel bug in me was woken up.

I try to ask myself this question daily… and I challenge to ask yourself the same…What was the highlight of your day? The thing that stood out the most and made the most impression.

It can be any minute detail like the hummingbird stoping to pose for you, or an interaction you had with a stranger, the smell of your favorite blossom, or even the purple avenue of blossoms on your early morning commute to work this Spring. It can be a smile, a laugh, anything– a song you heard, a message you received, anything that makes your heart whole even if it is a second.

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Today, my highlight was speaking Spanish to an Argentinean couple that came in to purchase a cup of coffee. I instantly felt at ease. Travelers. I feel most at ease with travelers. Adventurers. Dreamers…

They could barely say a word in English, and I knowing the Spanish language switched my gears and helped them in Spanish. I noticed their Spanish had a particular dialect, I figured it was from Spain but they quickly corrected me and said they where from Argentina. I pressed my hands to my chest, and said,” Ah, Argentina, he querido ir a Argentina,” or “Oh, Argentina, I’ve been wanting to go to Argentina.” I commented how so many poets, writers, musicians, and artist come from Argentina. And they went on to comment on Latino America, and their strong sense of hospitality and amiable nature. I agreed. I said, I admired it and crave it.

I told them it is my dream to see it one day, and they offered me their home, a place to stay. “Ya cuando quieras, nos vienes a visitar,” or “When you want, come and visit us.”  And we left our exchange at that… a kind of so long, I’ll be seeing you.

Maybe I’ll open up a cafe there one day and live there for a couple years. I dream of days like this, and after today, I feel a sense that it can and might come true. Todo es posible, hasta lo que parece ser imposible… or in other words, all is possible, even all that what seems to be impossible.

 

Cheers!

 

from a traveler at heart,

 

bluebird.

Singing @ Dba 256

Hi, its been a while. I don’t know what is up? -a dry spell, no ambition, no enthusiasm. I could kick myself because I know now is the time to work hard, to just do and I often find myself not doing… it’s a shame.

One thing is for certain, I could be having a shit day, which I have had a few lately, but when I sing on Wednesday nights all is well with the world. Nothing could shake me, shatter me or break me. Singing has become my drug.

The fear is exhilarating. My heart throbs uncontrollably that it feels it might just break out of my chest. No one is there. Not a soul exist but mine and the spirit that swims within me. And when I  sing, there is nothing else but me, and my song, and the emotion in me dying to break free of silence and I release, I levitate, and I am free.

I can sense the eyes, the looks, the approvals, people stop their conversations, peek their heads over, and they just listen for just a few seconds while my song fills the room. And I watch the walls compress and stop breathing and I watch the walls throb to my beating heart and all those who inhibit it. If I ever get close to any sort of magic, it is this feeling. I feel magic flowing out of my soul.

It is not mine, it has never been mine but I am glad to have finally released it, unveil it, let it free. I just wish I can do it everyday. If I can sing everyday, I would, but that is a luxury. So, for now, I am happy to have the opportunity of a regular stage which was an accident in the first place.

It was not until this year, when I finally gathered the guts to sing at an open mic. One night, I went over to my local wine bar, the Dba256 in downtown Pomona, where I knew they were hosting an open mic. I signed up and sang, “Angel Baby” and “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac and ever since then, I was invited to return every other Wednesday’s and Saturdays evenings for the 2nd Saturday Art Walk, and it has since then been my medicine, my drug, my freedom. I want more, so much more…

wish me luck!

Here is to you, to us, and to all of our artistic pleasures!

 

Cheers,

 

bluebird

 

 

 

 

 

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