Blonde and Brown Eyed

Moments In Time
Blonde. Big Brown Eyes. Soft-spoken. Waif-y type. She had a quiet, adventurous side. Its been some several years since we last spoke. She was smart, not the type to draw attention to herself. She was a sophomore and I, a junior, at the time. 

We went out a couple times. Nothing serious. She had a guy friend. His name was Tom. (No, it’s not. For this purpose, it shall be) From a distance, they looked together. However, when we spoke in class, his name never came up. There was a vibe.

Could Learn from Mr. Nice Guy

Tom and Blonde and brown-eyed had something. Serious relationship, I was not sure. Or I was not paying attention. At the time, he was more in, than she. I got the Mr. Nice Guy vibe. Reminded me of a Ryan and Patty relationship. Friends with no benefits. (Lisa if you are reading this, just nod knowingly)  Frankly, at the time, didn’t care too much. My wounds were fresh. Recently broke up with my middle school sweetheart (again). It was rough this time. Blonde and Tom, figured, she could always say, “No.”

Long run, what do I know about any relationships? Tom married twice and I still haven’t gone down on one knee. Perhaps, I could learn a thing or two from Mr. Nice Guy.

Six Degrees
Through six degrees of separation and synchronicity, I’ve discovered that a grade school classmate was related to Blonde and brown-eyed last night. Honestly, didn’t know why Tumbleweed would send a friend request to me, we weren’t close. If memory serves correctly, kids were mean and she showed high maturity depthness that did not fit for the Fifth grade time.


Tumbleweed
She was the scapegoat for immature kids. Seriously considered ignoring the request, fearing repercussion. Did not remember if I was in nice in grade school. Don't think I was part of the mob of Fifth grade. . .At any rate, something nudged me to accept. So I did. Thought she showed forgiveness, courage and strength that many wish they had when she sent FB request.

Met Tumbleweed (That’s the name of the grade school. Tumbleweed Elementary) Then met her cousin seven years later in high school. Then decades later, I receive a FB friend request from this grade school acquaintance, Tumbleweed. She was kind enough to open up and share. So I reciprocated some life story. Wasn’t sure on what this pending synchronicity was, but assumed it would be revealed.

In short, this discovery has not come with great joy.

Crashing
In a group email yesterday, this Tumbleweed informed her FB friends that she was coming from middle America back to the AV. It was to announce she will attend a funeral in a few days. Wasn’t sure if this was just coincidence, however, the name looked familiar. Couldn’t find the deceased photo. However, A quick click here on the other FB friends, a couple names looked familiar. I thought well, Palmdale was a small town. Clicked on the departed’s ex and the face looked familiar. It was Mr. Nice Guy. His former wife passed. 

Long story short recently departed was Blonde and brown eyed. 

Won’t go into the details, but her passing was not by natural causes nor was it accidental. You can figure out the rest. Knew her briefly, but this incredibly synchronicity was disappointing to learn.

No Sense, No Matter
Logically, I should not feel as disturbed as I do. We weren’t very close and its been a long time. However, can’t help feel connected and empty inside. Its not that we were best friends or old lovers, it’s just someone I knew in high school, several graduations ago.

Moments Matter
I’ve read what the internet articles wrote. It has more meaning, because she was someone I knew. A connection existed. She had nice, warm smile. Her eyes had wonderment and brightness deep in them from what I remembered. Much has happened in between, My memories of classroom chats are vague and clouded. However, taking a late night drive with her on a rainy night remains vivid and clear.

Wasn’t sure if she was seeing Tom seriously at the time, but what I remember deeply was that she said, “Yes.”

No Words
We had nothing in common. There was nothing we really talked about that stormy night. However, our paths crossed and it was right for that time. Won’t dwell on the events leading to her passing. Won’t focus that we really didn’t know each other afterwards. I will remember, we spent some time when we needed each other. No talking, just a nice drive and looking at the city lights that rainy night. Haven’t thought about her for long time. I think about her tonight.

We never spoke later about that night. We took different paths. She got serious with Tom, eventually marrying him. I met my soul mate, but that is a story already told. We would glance at each other down the hallways when we were with our others. Just a knowing smile and that was enough. A pleasant memory tucked away.

They married for years from what I read. They split; however, they remained friends from what I hear. This is no real surprise. She did not have an angry energy about her. My soul mate met another and she has a handsome son. We still exchange postcards and comment on FB. Yet, I digress.

Never Gone 
This is about her. Perhaps, the nudge to accept FB request was this. Synchronicity. This is something I believe. Events have purpose. We shared this quick, fleeting moment. Yet, I now find myself putting this out into the internet universe. I have some reservation about sharing this since the circumstances are difficult. However, the best way to honor someone is to remember and to respect their memory. No one is really gone if you never forget. 

Whether you believe in heaven and the other place. Whether you subscribe to reincarnation and karma.  I hope you will share my wish that her spirit moves on, letting justice take its course. Her family and friends may have anger and revenge in their heart and they should. However, I pray these strong feelings are quenched soon so their healing can begin. 

Return to Innocence
Heather, I hope that your soul finds peace soon. Although our paths crossed briefly, I am sure we will meet we will meet again. Maybe we can help each other to get to where we need to be again. Your presence helped me discover how deep my Love was. We will connect and be friends again, this I am sure. 

What more can I write, except that her journey is not over. There really is no beginning to the end, just a return to innocence. May it begin happily anew.

SORRY FOR THE MESS

Seventeen years she is. Where did that time go? Good intentions. A plan with forgotten goals and deadlines lay waste. Life happened and here I sit listening to the cars behind me. Wind cause the trees to sway and my goose bumps to raise. Vonda Shepherd has given way to Le Roi Est Mort, Vive Le Rois.

Sun warms my face and I’ve inhaled the prana. My chakras spun and I concentrate on UVs kissing my face on the cool brisk morning. Eyes closed imagining what she is doing today.

I am asking why. . .I am asking why. . .I don’t need an answer. I am just asking why. These are verse of Enigma on the Windows Media Player. I am asking why

A quiet prayer is sent to her. As the haunting chants of Gregorian monks and Rave beats intermingle, I feel very La Femme Nikita-ish. A picture in my mind of a different time. My prayer will be heard. Just don’t know if I will like the answer. It will undoubtedly be what I need.  Hope that Forgiveness follows and that Regret never to return. Still the buzz of the Blackberry wakes me. This annoying buzz disrupts my place of bliss and music-filled meditation in the sunroof opened Civic.

Closing my eyes to the Massari morning. Closing my eyes as the middle aged man completes his third lap around the second soccer field. In my mind I replay the Qijong. The Phoenix rising. The Monk looking over the moon. See it, Be it.

The UV rays warm me as I type blindly hoping this fifth attempt to catch the flow of this stream consciousness. I am a kayaker in the rapids. I’ve transformed into a new swimmer in the drink. With no floatie I struggle to my head above water. Trying to be effortless yet weighted down. Without the vest of air to keep afloat, I struggle drowning , gasping for air and taking in chlorinated pool.

That rising to the sky and the feet planted to the ground is tearing. Its messy. A part wants me to rise to the clouds; another has me landlocked. Anchored to what, I don’t know.

My creativity battles with the physicalness and baseness. Body and mind are in discord. Electric blue in change, yet the schism continues. Both are right so here I sit, Motionless and a Juggernaut. Struggling for Amistad “Free”, yet knowing that I’m Excalibur obligated, “King and Land are One.” Promises were made and at the moment it can’t be. For now that is what I say, For Now..

Dreams must be met with work. It must be more than ideal. Feet needs to the ground. The place where the rubber hits road is where destiny manifests. A part wants to overlook the Devil’s Punch Bowl for the first time (again). A part needs to ride the recumbent  With or without the Ipod. Jpeg trophies are missed.  Many DVDs remains unwatched. Room needs to be cleaned and laundry to be washed.

Choices need to be made, so I will flesh them out in this Fifth attempt to complete this post. No meaning just the exercise. Perhaps that is the meaning? Fumbling away unfocused and motionless. As the winds come early I find the need for a sweater and direction. This stream has me doing a dance of counteracting currents. I am the bag of American Beauty.

This dance is not pretty. Feels Modernish, but with meaning. It is not always pretty nor does it always have life changing meaning.

This dance is a thought cacophony. No direction. This is the place of percolating. Where different color beads are tried. This is where the mix happens. This place meaning remains unknown. . .for now. So I will finish her and let this be the work for the day. 

Gotta go on, Someday.

For now, Someday that is all I have.

Seventeen, I apologize for the mess. Won't promise anything, except, Vous etes  mon monde, mon universe. mon couer.

Strawberry Tigers

A traveler crossed a field and encountered a tiger

Beauty. It does not need to be searched for. It does not need to be seeked. Its just there. 

He fled, the tiger after him
It is that secret smile. The just noticed stare. It is that knowing glare. There, that casual touch. That glow when she walks on by. Beauty is that quiet landscape as the sun wakes the desert sky. It is song of the ocean embracing the missing beach. It is the quiet drive not needing to say a word. It is that song on the radio that we all sing so woefully off-key. It is that sidewalk musician on the Promenade that makes you pause and take notice. It is that old friendship re-newed. It is the picture on Facebook of a place one has been. It is the walk on the bridge knowing intimately her sways. It is the memory of that moonlit kiss recalled. It is dream of the future. It is everywhere around us.

Coming to a cliff, he caught hold of a wild vine and swung himself over the edge

The beauty we need is everywhere around us. It is in the people we meet, it is in the air that we breathe, it is the food that we savor.

The tiger sniffed at him from above
At times, we can crumble and fall. We can let our darkest despair take hold and we can self-destruct in that suicide misstep. That tumbling free fall, chuteless. Racing toward inevitability. We can lie prostrate to the gorgon stare and statued in the decay of self-pity. Self-loathing. Drowning in failed love and crushed under a broken relationship.

Frightened and trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, he spotted another hungry tiger waiting to devour him
Ugliness, everywhere. Ever lurking. It is there. It is. It is where you choose to put it. It consumes, you last. It is a hole. Digging away trying to self-preserve, you discover. It is a hole. You spend trying to uncover this weight. Before too long, you are waist high in fast sand. The more you struggle, the more you take out, the bigger it gets. This abyss grows until you are no more. A hollowed shell. Walking the streets empty and dead.

Only the vine sustained him. Two mice, one white and one black, appeared and started to gnaw at the vine
However, Love and beauty acts differently. The more you give the greater you get. It fills you. It grows exponential. It fills the spaces in between racing to inhabit all. It is Dark Matter. This one suspects it isn’t really dark. It was misnamed. Her energy is malleable. This is what the dreams are made of. It is the place where Gaiman’s Sandman roams. It is Anthony’s Nox. It is creation manifest.

Nearby, the man spotted a strawberry out from the cliff face Yes, imagery may be unfamiliar. That is its beauty. It is not meant to be. It is the discovery. It is the unknown. It is that awkwardness. It is the drive to understand, to be connected. It is the choice to find something we don’t know we are looking for. When we look outside, we discover within. We study the microcosm we discover that there’s a universe in the atom. We learn that eternity lies within every moment.

Grasping a sure hold of the vine with one hand, he reached out and plucked the strawberry with the other 
Danger is all around us. Faced with certainties it is up to you how you face it. The danger of not returning that smile. It is the danger of not getting that casual touch. It is the danger of not hearing that promenade singer. It is the danger of not. It is the danger of not living a life remembered. It is the fear of not reaching for that luscious strawberry. The Tiger above, the tiger below, the mice nibbling at our lifeline—these are just the nature of things.  It’s all perfect.

Ahh, how sweet that strawberry tasted!

We can choose to remain in trapped in the by tigers of self-pity and failed relationships. We can watch mesmerized by the tiny mice gnawing at our lifeline. We can choose to mountainize these anthills. Its always around. However, if the last act has to be something. How would you want to remembered? How would you want to live? Waiting for certainty or finding beauty. Choice has always been yours.

Gueca Solo

How it started, my first post 

Less than a year ago, I came home to vacuum. At the time,  called it an energy suck. Andre, my neighbor’s son had been in a terrible car accident. It was late at night. Cars were parked up and down the street. Thought at the time, it was another party. However, knew something was not right. No music was playing.

Last night, it was different. Music played loudly from my neighbor’s house. Walking passed I could see my neighbor’s dancing. They have a large mirror in their front room and I could see them work on their dance routine. Could feel the smiles from the outside. It brought happiness to my heart knowing that after all this time, they can still dance. Met Andre at the side of a road Post

Energy is not the same as before when their son and brother was there. Yet, they still move. They still dance. From what I hear, the family will be moving soon. No more wild parties. No more dancing in the windows. No more cars parked up and down the street. For this will be sad. No more children playing in pool. No more laughter and smiles from my next door. No more dancing in the windows.

This is what will be missed. Yet, they will move on. The spirit of their lost son will be. . .I don’t know. Here, I guess. His passing was difficult one. However, this family will be alright.

A song kept coming to mind last night. It is an older song, Gueca Solo.  It is beautiful song of sorrow and sadness. It is a song of defiant protest. It is a song of love and memory. It is a song that reminds me of my neighbors. The theme of the song by Sting partially fits my neighbors' plight. 

Why are there women here dancing on their own? Why is there this sadness in their eyes?
Why are the soldiers here Their faces fixed like stone?
I can't see what it is that they despise They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead They dance with the invisible ones
Their anguish is unsaid They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone They dance alone

There move is inevitable. They no longer water their lawn. Dirt and dust remains as their lawn these days. No longer rich and green, the damage unseen. It is the path they chose leaving. The ocean of sadness has caused them to migrate to green pastures.

However, they will be alright. They will survive. The women no longer dance alone. No longer are their faces fixed as stone. They still dance with dance with the missing. They still dance with dead and invisible ones. Anguish has been said. Women no longer dance alone.  They dance with each other, they with the living.

Read in a Facebook post that my cousin’s friend will be saying his last goodbyes to his mother tonight. She is holed up in Cedar-Sinai. Words were simple and matter of fact. This basic of message said much to me. Knowing one’s passing is inevitable and welcome. It made me think of the hardship and tragedies one faces. Betrayal, anger, doubt, hurt, pain. This right here is the stuff that hardens us. Sometimes it breaks us. Sometimes it makes us feels lost and disconnected.

Yet, still. We need these moments.

Seven fat cows. Seven skinny ones--A dream from one of the Bible characters. This meant there would be seven years of feast and seven of famine. People are made of sterner stuff. These moments of joys is our emotional savings account. It is built on family parties and trips to the beach. It is the moments of standing on the podium arms raised up in gymnastic success. It is times being at the Bee and scoring 600 out of 600 on State Math test. It is swimming without a floatie for the first time. These are the moments of the Fat Cow. 

When we face the seven lean years, we can remember to dance.  We can remember that we do not have to dance alone. We can remember that it is okay to leave our homes and move on. It is time to let Mother Earth, Gaea, reclaim our borrowed bodies. At times, we need to let our lawns return back to its original desert state.

Life is a form of protest in the entropy. It is the rebuild, it is the creation. It is the Re-Creation. Life is the tool we use to battle the betrayal, the anger and doubt. Living and moving on are what we need to wash away the hurt and pain. Living is not for the weak. It is for the strong of heart, strong in spirit, and strong in character.

So this I say, Gueca Solo. We will dance alone. Yet, there will be a time when you will not Dance Alone. 

Anahata: Zuma Recharged

Chakras 

Sitting, watching the waves crash. Having the water rush to where I sit. Drinking the colors of the rainbow. Spinning the chakras. Breathing red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. My base, sacral, solar plexus, heart, throat, brow, and crown. Lam, Yam, Ham, Ram, Ohm. Breathing the energy in to let the spinning. Taking the ocean of ions recharging the spiritual batteries. 

Clarity

Never been a great follower of the energy healing, however, why not.  I must admit sitting there, there were moments when the sounds of the ocean waves got clearer. Perhaps my sinuses were clearing. Maybe just sitting there and taking in just made thing more salient.

Upside down happy face by Angelo

My Needs

Breathing better now. Slept like a baby after the day at Pointe Dume. Don’t want to say it was the force, my prana, Big Smiles touch, or whatever divine intervention that brought some clarity. Hanging with family at the beach was. . . therapeutic. Honestly, needed to be there yesterday. Needed to watch the sun race across the sky, shine its light on me.  Needed to taste to the white waves crash. Needed to bathe in the smile of my family’s face.  Needed to hear the laughter of kids on boogie boards catch a good one. Needed to dance with the seaweed mountains as they swayed in and out the wet sands. Needed to feel safe as the lifeguards patrolled this space of heaven, while they twirled their red buoys in BayWatch fashion. 

This lifeguard saved two people today

Diaphragmatic

Taking a deliberate breath. Four seconds in, two seconds hold, and four second out. As I sat there I was reminded that transitory nature of everything. It was watching the kids dig holes on the beach, digging desperately to try keep the ocean out. Smiling on how this was incredibly futile. Their joy, their laughter, their cries, as they held on to what can’t be held. Yet, they dug anyways. I was reminded it was not that the holes was dug, it was not whether succeeded in stemming the tide. It was the act and their responses to endless ocean. Instinctively, I knew they knew. Yet, they smiled and sighed anyways. I forgot this was the fun stuff. Their joys reminded me of this fact.

What Is Really Important

Watching them dig deep for sand crabs. Pulling out little creatures as they tickled their hand trying to bury themselves in the beach, not knowing the crabs are in the hands of babes. It was watching Dorian laugh glee as the sand crabs disappear into the sand. It was the Flow

V

Entertainment was watching the overcast on the beach. Being amazed as the endless oceans crash. Seeing the flying “V” of the  pelicans. Looking at the water beyond the crashing waves, hoping to see a family of dolphins. 

Pelicans

For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge 

Lying on the unicorn blanket listening to college kids using the word, “Fuck” as an adjective, verb, pronoun, adverb, and an interjection. It was hearing their conversation transition from well-reasoned debate on China’s single child policy, to choice between death by polar bear, gobi desert, and mount everest.  It was listening to the gasping incredulity of the group as one of the group admits her inability to swim. It was the realization that I heard their parent’s guilt trip in these cynical kids. It was the listening to the necessity of IPads, desktops, and need for a shower.

Seaweed, Sand, and Sun

Joy was watching the family packed beach with makeshift forts made of umbrellas and boogie boards. It was the tanning femmes. The sight of footballs flying overhead amongst the kites and helicopters overhead. It was watching the bi-plane overhead telling all to Find their Captain and drink some innocuous drink.

ticket attendant. It was worth every penny

Something  about Point Dume. Something about Zuma.

Heliotherapy, Zuma-Style

Sunday at the beach recharged my batteries. It reminds me to take a moment of pause. It reminds me of the noise that one hears from all around. It reminds me that all these moments is the fun stuff is. It is wonderment of sand crab crawling on one’s hand for the first time. It was learning of a lifeguard saving a grandfather and grandson. It is watching a 3 year old sleep under a towel forever because he played  hard on the Dume. It is hearing the noise of college kids daily challenges. It is sitting watching  the summer sun chase after its lover to the west, to some place  special. It is not so much saving the world for me anymore. It is more staying in the right now. It is that one moment in time and being in the past, present, and future at the same time.

Sitting there she said this at least a 10 times. Must heard what I was feeling

"I Love the Beach"

It’s a gift.