To speak of Importance…

 

 

 

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!

why breath

why eat

 why live

without love

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!

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

 

The City of Angels

Today I had the most beautiful encounter with a stranger. I thought that perhaps he was  an Angel.

I was reading in one of my favorite places in Los Angeles, a bookstore called “The Last Bookstore,” and next to me sat a young man. A humbly dressed man with a genuine stride and simple gaze about him. Not noticing much else from this man, I kept on my reading.

When in a moment he stood up from his seat, knelt on one knee and leaned over to speak to me. He introduced himself as a kind of a psychic, “he notices things,” and said he just wanted to know if I would prove him right. I saw no harm in it so I said, “sure, what is your question?” He asked, “are you single?” “Yes,” I said.  And he walked away saying, “I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” I thought. But I let it be and kept on reading my book of short-stories by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, a bit intrigued by the man to be honest. The second time he approached me he said, “I don’t want you to think I am weird but I really just wanted to talk to you and tell you that I am so proud you are single.” He went on saying that I should protect my heart for the right person who will care for it and nurture it.

I have a reputation for trusting the wrong sort of people and I’ll tell you I have been broken like glass one too many times.

Image result for the last bookstore

“Nowadays,” he said, “people don’t protect their love enough and just give their heart to the wrong hands. I commend you and respect you.” I broke in a smile and said, “Thank you. That means a lot to me. Thank you.” I felt beautiful. He made me feel so beautiful.

I summoned myself back to my reading but all the while I wondered how he knew what to say exactly what I needed to hear. And in that thought he approached me the third time and said, “Can I say one last thing?” I had already begun to trust his ambition and intent and said, “yes, of course.”  He said, “If ever you meet someone who truly captivates you, speak up, say something, express your love. Don’t hold back and don’t be afraid to love.” And I smiled in agreement and said, “yes, I will do that. Thank you.”

As of late, I have been learning these lessons of love in my dreams, in Rumi’s poems and have also learned I tend to close off. I’ve forgotten how to love due to protecting myself from being hurt again. I’ve numbed myself to the emotion. But how did a perfect stranger in one of the largest cities in the world know to tell me this?

He said, “I’ll show you. I’ll be an example. It won’t be easy and I am scared but I want to show you” He took a deep breath, held his chest and said, “I think you are beautiful, different, and unique. I don’t meet many people like you and I find you captivating. I just wanted to say that and demonstrate love and openness to you.”

And while it was very flattering it was more inspirational. He was a teacher leading by example. “Thank you,” I said, ” You were very brave and I don’t think you are weird. You are the only human here in a room full of books and lost angels.” I got up and put my book back on the shelf and parted ways saying,” Hopefully we meet again. It’s a big city but a very small world.” And I left him with a smile.

As I walked away, another man had asked to sit next to him to read and he had begun to engage in another real conversation with him.

I truly believe I met an Angel today and I feel so blessed to have been guided by him. Lessons are all around us if we listen.

 

As always, with love 

bluebird

 

 

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