Venting

I’ve silenced my voices. The very curious one. the confident one- the stern one and the one that knows who she is and what exactly it is that she wants. Why have I silenced these voices? Why do I hold her back ? The free child within me, she is begging me to let her free. She has been begging as far as I can remember but lately all that there has been is silence. Is she still there?

Who am I? I do not have the slightest clue. I used to be so sure, so full of confidence in the spirit that roams within me but lately I cannot feel her. I have not even picked up my guitar and I can barely bring myself to write tonight.

A part of me is trying not to convince myself that I am ill, I fear I am.  Why do I hide? Why am I so ashamed? Whenever I feel this way I want to escape again, leave and start again, fool myself into thinking that my answers are elsewhere. And truthfully everyone and my own sanity included, keep on telling me that I should stop running away that I need to grow up and I need to learn responsibility but why do I object to it so harshly and why am I waking up every morning and force myself into wearing that coat and those black pumps… why do I force myself to be part of that corporate world? Why did I succumb to this mold that I do not fit a part of ? I’ve once said I would never be a part of and here I am succumbing for comfort for security-foolish! foolish!  I’d rather live for a penny. I could care for less for this body. Let it burn, I am tired of it keeping me down. I am sick. That is the truth, this body is ill and I could roar and scream to it and I want to beat it. Pardon me- I am only venting.

Life is hard so very hard sometimes and I feel so very much alone, I do not have my  comrade nearby, a confidant, not a true friend- perhaps I am being a bit dramatic but I do push them all away.  I push all those I love away.

And so here I lie alone, in bed in my own company filled with the traffic sounds of the restless and sleepless city of Los Angeles where the light reflects off of windows and the sirens moan in the distance. I never imagined myself being so lonely. Am I unloveable?  I wonder what it is I am doing wrong? I do not expect you to have any answers. I do not expect you to be even reading this- but well, what of it now. I may as well not post this. I just need to I don’t know- vent.

Where is she? The girl so full of love and hope. So full of adventure and mystery. Where she saw every rose like a miracle? and where she too felt like a miracle ? I suppose I am tired. I am tired of waiting. I am tired of longing. I am tired of watching all those films in front of me and people passing by with all that I desire. “They are so happy,”  I think to myself. What is that I am missing?

Can I just time travel to those old records of time where all was well and skies were blue and the roses grew? Take me there tonight. Please take me there tonight, in my sleep.

Let me dream tonight. Let me forget tonight and let me feel free.

I am tired.

good night, to this restless heart.

 

yours truly,

 

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…

image

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 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

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.

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

 

 

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.

IMG_2543

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.