I am crashing 

I’m stuck in a pattern. Has this ever happened to you? You realize the same thing happens once and again. What am I suppose to learn universe? Please tell me and I’ll read up. I’m lost. I must confess I’m lazy. I don’t believe in doing anything for money. I refuse to sell my soul. I thought energy was the most important currency; it is. But money’s power cripples in and leaves me speechless. 

I’m falling down without a sign of a parachute. It’s not that bad. I enjoy the wind and the words that pop into my head while I fall. There are things that keep me from crashing into the ground. 

I am crashing and falling down but I’m wishing and hoping to create the tools to make a hole in the ground that will take me to Wonderland through the rabbit hole. I don’t want to crawl up the building that leads to the boring office, I wanna find my way to Wonderland. Please show me the way universe; please shed the yellow light. I need it. 

I am crashing down but maybe it’s just what’s suppose to happen; at least that’s what I need to believe. Go on gravity, bring it. I won’t fight you, I’ll come crashing and it’ll be epic.

Written in the stars

It was a wondrous day. She woke up and something happened.

It was a normal day. She woke up and nothing happened.

What fills our days with wonder? We do.

I have a wondrous mother. She wakes up and smiles. She’s been through thick and thin and still decides to look at the good. She’s a good witch.

I’m a combination between a good and bad witch. I have a bundle of emotions inside of me battling on a daily basis. My biggest enemy is inaction. I know I’m meant to be doing something great and I’m still a bit stuck. It’s OK. This is my magic. My magic is expressing myself; even if only one person reads, that’s my magic. I also sing. I also paint. I have colors and shapes trying to make their way out of my being. I apologize to those things for not having more time and discipline to let them out. I’m sorry I haven’t had more people listen. I swear I will keep trying if it kills me.

I am an artist. Saying that is hard. Who decided what you are? I guess it’s just what you want to do even if they don’t pay you. No one pays me to do this and here I am.

I have potions that make me be understanding and I am. I feel what the person next to me feels. I always have a sense that I’m in the wrong song but I sorta keep calm and carry on. There’s no room for everyone to be someone in this world but there is room for me because, once again, I am here. We are human beings; not human doings. When did we forget that? I always forget and if I’m not doing anything I feel guilty. Enjoying and living and pushing through is sometimes enough.

It’s either written in the stars or it’s not. You either do something or do nothing. You write your story on a daily basis and you decide what you do with it. I certainly want to do much more with it and all I truly want deep inside is to make my mom proud.

Follow your star and if you haven’t found it yet, write it.

Daydreams

I woke up and decided that today I’ll skydive. I get there and there are some skydiver friends. I decide to be brave and just do it. The guys are really nice and supportive. I do some cool stuff up in the air and everyone, including myself, is impressed.

The next day I’m at Burning Man and I’m super fit and have the perfect weird clothes I’m suppose to parade around. Fashion is life. I walk around and I’m friends with all. There is peace and joy in my heart. 

The next day I decide I want to sing. I gather a group of people and I sing. A local radio station owner hears me and asks if I’d like to be on one of his shows; I gladly accept. 

I’m a painter and I start to put my work out there. My paintings get sold fairly easily and I am over the moon and cannot believe this is happening to me!

In my free time I enjoy taking photos. I go out with my semi professional camera and take mesmerizing pictures. Some of them make it into cool websites and people really love them; I do too. 

The next day I decide it’s time. I’m going to publish my book and it’s gonna help so many people that the word gets out and Ellen Degeneres finds out about it and invites me to her show. I’m psyched but mostly extremely happy to be making a difference through my art. 

I daydream these stories daily. I wish and I hope and reality still does not compare. I do paint, I do have a book, I do take photos with my semi professional camera and I do sing. But why can’t I put myself out there? I don’t know. 

Daydreams keep me alive and I long for the day when my daydreams and real life become one. I swear my heart is in the right place and I will continue to improve my energy so that I attract opportunities to shine and do what I was put here to do: art.

Maybe the happy ending

It’s a little bit messy and imperfect. It’s a little bit beautiful and confusing. We all want the happy ending, but where is it? It is here and I just missed it? Or is it not here and it’s what motivates us to get out of bed in the morning? I’m not sure and that’s O.K.

Martin says it should all be pretty and fun. Him saying that helps. Me actually believing that is a whole other story. I love characters and I love stories; maybe that’s why I always expect that haunting happy ending. I like the part of the story where there’s struggle because it makes it interesting and intense. It’s been a bit more boring than usual and the fight feels long. Being real can feel like a full time job. Being real has never been hard but it is hard when someone refuses to see authenticity. Some do. Some don’t. That’s that.

Trees are always beside me and they speak to me. Their strength and their roots remind me that some things do last even throughout windy and dark times. We must keep calm and carry on. Will I keep getting older and have my dreams waiting for me anxiously to make them a reality?  I hope not for long; I hope not forever. I hope I can get a head start and finish soon enough to get some sort of prize. I hope the audience won’t be gone by the time the curtain goes up. I know talking about this isn’t as transcendent as actually doing something about it. But hey, I’m used to being a tortured artist; I can’t help myself.

Maybe the happy ending is now. Maybe we create it and accepting its imperfections is what matters most. Maybe.

Broken dreams 

It decided to be born by accident. It wasn’t planned. It started with a desire and died as an idea. Once upon another time the voice lived. It still lives in a dream and doesn’t know how to become real. Its creator is struggling with the living. And so it patiently waits to be brought forth. 
The closest it got to becoming was in a small town full of broken souls. Everyone was lost enough so that the dream hostess did not care enough about the judgment and just sang.
Life got in the way, as it usually did, and the almost dream got lost once more. It’s been silent for yet another year. In the shelf it remains. 
It’s a broken dream, it’s many broken dreams. Where do they go? The desire to make them happen isn’t always enough and they become passive. They remain in a world created by wandering souls. 
It’s a day when the dream remains lost but not forgotten. It will be waiting to come forth until the desire dies or burns brighter. I wait for the day where the voice can scream and be heard. I’ve been silent all these years and silence is an interesting teacher. I’m trying to learn and hold the desire in my heart. 
And to those dreamers that feel like giving up, don’t. Even if you want to and think you should, don’t. I have nothing else to say except: don’t. 

Meant to be

It’s a struggle until you unlearn what was taught to you by the passing voices in the halls of the school or the college you never went to. By the authority figures that think they’re doing you good by making you fit into the box. Boxes aren’t for everyone.
The leaves fall year after year and our expectations are left hanging on the wall as an art project because no one told you it’s never going to be the way you thought it would be.

 
We create beliefs and hope that most of them are positive instead of negative. You know what you don’t want, and so you venture out thinking that you’ll find what is perfect. But more than finding perfection you find life. You’re left between the cracks and you think that’s a bad thing but then you realize that that’s what makes you; that’s what makes art.

 
Those who can see beyond what is happening and have the understanding of a wallflower are the ones that are screaming on the inside. They’re the ones with opinions and all they want is to be heard.
Once in a blue moon you find one of the others and smile knowing you’re not alone. Sometimes one of the others turns away because the light is too bright for the darkness.

 
And then one day you’re woken up to a beautiful mess and all you know for sure is that it’s yours. The pieces, the colors, the memories, the moments aren’t there to be judged but observed and acknowledged. The books read will forever be stored in your hard drive. The opportunities missed will forever live in a parallel world.
The events waiting to happen and the stories untold are waiting for you to step in and bring them to life.
The love is felt by a beating heart and the pain has evaporated the tears but not without leaving a tiny scar on the left side of your brain.
It’s overwhelming and it’s all a part of it. It’s completely undone and touched poetically by the talkative sky. It’s here and it’s yours and it doesn’t have an ending; very much like this story.
It goes on and on until it’s easy to transition into what is meant to be.

You, him, her

I want to be you. I like your hair and the way you move through the room. I want to be a mermaid. They swim around unworried about life. They’re always pretty and can go as deep as they please. I want to be you. You have beautiful, long blonde hair and everybody wants to touch it. I want your voice. You sing like an angel and can create melodies that make special souls stop and listen.

I want to be him. He always knows what he wants to do with his life and has more than enough extra cash in his pocket. I can’t seem to find those 25 bucks I keep losing somehow. I love the way he falls in love, uninterrupted. I like how his eyes stare when it’s inevitable to do so.

I want to be her. She’s one of those girls that always knew how to be fabulous and unapologetic. She’s poised and possesses a youthful wisdom that is as rare as a white butterfly flying through the sky and saying hello at random but perfect times. She keeps her skin sun kissed and soft. She smiles because she’s happy and I become her. She is inspiration.

I’m you, I’m him, I’m her. And most importantly I’m me. I don’t know when we got lost along the way and forgot that we get to be anybody. They cage us telling us that we’re only one person; that we can only do one thing. Nothing could be further from the truth. We’re too complex to simply be one single thing. If you can see more than one color, become the rainbow. Don’t allow anyone to cage you…not even those that love you. You get to be whoever you are; whatever your eyes get to see. You become what your endless imagination allows you to become. The people in your life are a part of that, but they are not it. You are it and only you. Society tries to cage us but we are the ones that say yes or no to that very limiting belief.

I’ve flown away from the cage and I can honestly say you can have the best of all worlds. You can enjoy earthly pleasures and still be a free bird. Your definition of freedom might change along the way and that’s a part of that liberty. Simply become whomever you want to be. And if you can’t own it, pretend. And if you can’t be it, fake it. Then, suddenly, almost out of nowhere you’ll wake up to find you are exactly who you want to be. It won’t be perfect but it’ll be the most glorious experience. And when that day comes, you’ll smile and all that will be left is sheer joy and an endless amount of gratitude. The only two emotions you want to feel when freedom has knocked on your door.

Be anyone, be anything, be.

Find Never Land

Time is an illusion and Never Land is a place far away that some people have traveled to and many strive to go to. You would think that it’s packed with people cruising around the illusion and the dream but unfortunately only true purple people get to go. There are no short cuts to get there. It takes time, speaking up when you’re suppose to, not caring about the aliens that try to invade your privacy, etc. You also have to go through a lot of questioning. Questioning what you learn, what they tell you to do and almost everything to become purple. You basically have to realize that everything is upside down.

Another important part to find this place is taking the time to observe people’s true color. It becomes easier with practice and then you find purple people such as yourself that are also looking for this place but then you realize that the fact that you find other purple people makes this place look like Never Land. The reason why it’s called Never Land is because you may never know exactly what it looks like but then you also realize that you never needed to know. Once you make the decision, all the wonder starts and you get to see what heaven on earth looks like. There are many tunnels or instant passageways that take you to Never Land. It is different for every person. Some people are born knowing how to get there and they know what it takes and what they have to sacrifice. They know it’s not an option to give up on the journey since they raised their hand for the assignment. They know that it’s worth it. But then for some of us it takes a bit of time to realize we’re purple. And for many others it may even take a lifetime and even then, it’s not too late.

I’d like to encourage people to become purple or whatever color works for them, so they get to go to this marvelous place. Go through whatever you have to go through, even if it sometimes hurts. Whether it’s being different, experiencing a loss of a sort, dreaming big or being in the wrong song. This is what makes you and the more you make peace with your past, the easier the present moment becomes. And when you start to enjoy the moment, you’re in.

When I found Never Land, or more like created it, I don’t know how I did without it. It’s so peaceful, unique and windy that it makes me never want to leave. It has crystal clear water, I get to choose the weather and music plays without it having to stop. It is very colorful and time doesn’t matter. I get to compose, read, write and fall in love all the time in this wonderful place. Beauty is beyond words and people’s souls shine through like a ray of light. I sing and everyone can listen; I am constantly inspired and full of ideas when I travel to this place. Instead of sand you find gold dust and the sky is enchanted with clouds that have been painted personally for me. The trees grow as fast as sound and you never have to worry about anything ever again. This is how I feel when I go there. And sometimes I get to play with Red and she whispers beautiful stories into my subconscious.

Find your Never Land and you’ll never want to leave. I know I won’t.

Why perfection?

It’s an abandoned place. There’s a little girl that feels lonely. She doesn’t know what to do except pretend that everything’s perfect and express herself. There isn’t much to eat and she’s lost a few pounds. She’s pale and has short hair. She has forgotten what real life looks like. All she owns is one skin colored dress. Her feet are dirty from walking around.

She grows up through struggle. She doesn’t know what she deserves. Against all odds, she survives. She doesn’t know what to do so she decides to create. She dances and she sings. She starts to write these imperfect stories. Because of these imperfect stories, she’s curious about others that have also led imperfect lives. Perfection seems like an impossible dream. She still fights for it.

She’s on her way there and gets trapped in the middle. In between the old broken life she had and the perfect one she strives to achieve. Will she get there? It’s up to her.

On a cloudy afternoon she looks up and sees what she’s created. She’s made songs, she’s made a mess but she’s made something. The little girl is now a woman and she likes to forget. But when she remembers, she documents. She sees pain and feels it. She also sees a strange kind of beauty in others. She opens her eyes and realizes that the ugliness made her. The graffiti wasn’t a mistake after all, it was art. The stories she tells reminds others of where she’s been and how there’s nothing wrong with it, even when it shouldn’t have happened.

The hungry little girl still lives inside of her. Why strive for perfection? She doesn’t know but she doesn’t want what wasn’t meant to be had. Maybe perfection lives wherever we are now and what we get to create with what we have.

Seeing others have these seemingly perfect lives makes her wonder why it doesn’t feel like that for her. It doesn’t matter. What matters most is that she express herself. Even if all else fails, she must create. What saved her as a little girl will be what saves her as an adult.

Alle is beautiful. She doesn’t remember it often and others don’t tell her enough, but she is perfect. She might not feel it but her abilities are beyond belief. She’s flawed and isn’t afraid to show it and that’s as close to perfection as anyone could ever get.

Party girls

Party girls don’t get hurt, Sia’s right. Why does the numbness make big girls cry in the darkness then? Where do these suppressed emotions go? Do we bury them deeper or do we become so good at pretending that they actually disappear.

 1,2,3…1,2,3

 Party girls drink, this is true. Why do some have it together so easily and these girls don’t? How did we become these party girls? We like the attention, we like the emotions. We’re fabulous and nobody can deny it. Behind the scenes isn’t as glamorous but equally beautiful.

 1,2,3…1,2,3

 We just want to fly through the night and have our tears finally dry out. Will they ever disappear? Will age help? I don’t know. Until morning light, we’ll keep the glasses full. Until the moon vanishes, we’ll hold on as tightly as we can. The shame will show up but soon enough, the night will come again.

 1,2,3…1,2,3

 Losing count might be the only thing that makes us not lose it completely. Swinging from a chandelier seems perfectly understandable when this living situation makes no sense whatsoever. We don’t know where we are or where we’re suppose to be. It rang true to my heart.

 1,2,3…1,2,3

 I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to escape. Have I succeeded? Well, can anyone escape themselves? Until I know, I’ll hold on for dear life.