Tuesday, February 25, 2014
The thud of the drum unlocks the machine
As it swiftly syncs up with my beating heart.
The whirling begins slowly, deliberately,
But it will quickly build momentum
Small smiles start growing for miles
Both onstage and off
Both inside and out.
Colors brighten, angles sharpen,
Yet all lines blur & disappear as the moment melts together.
I'll become a cog while you are the gear
Using our voices, rhythms, and vibrations for power
And as we steadily pick up speed and space,
I become certain this machine can fly.
Never sure if the music made the machine, or the machine the music
We must just play on!
Brace & steady now---
This whirling is coming back 'round to punch you right in the heart!
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
During the last 33 years, I've learned that I can transform situations & circumstances completely based on where I focus. Truly, all I'm doing is noticing the inherent good that's constantly staring right back at me and keeping it at the front of my attention. Like when we went to New Orleans during Thanksgiving 2012 and were stuck in traffic on the bridge into the city: right behind us, this endless flock of black birds started swooping up from under the enormous bridge, swirling around the massive towers in perfect formation, and then landed way up on the heavy cables above.
I remember Dane was pretty irritated at the time-mainly because I steered us the wrong way when finding the bridge, and we ended up by the ferry. But if we hadn't crossed the bridge when we did, if we hadn't been delayed with such perfect timing, we would have missed the bird show! And this spectacle was definitely worth it. Once I noticed it had begun, the birds just kept coming: from under the bridge, to whoosh around and around, and finally rest high above our craning necks. Bird after bird emerged from under the bridge like magic, as if the fish were leaping out of the Mississippi River just ready to soar!
I watched the birds as long as I could see them as we inched across the bridge with all the other evening commuters, and I never saw the end of the bird show; in fact, I like to think that's it's still going. At moments, it seemed like no one but Dane and I even noticed the natural feat, but I bet they did, and I bet it changed the entire quality of that moment. Magic is waiting beneath the thinnest membrane of mundane. It's waiting to offer us all hope and renewed curiosity and gratitude. This magical, 'found' beauty is waiting to transform everything, so make sure to pay attention!
Live quietly in the moment and see the beauty of all before you. The future will take care of itself.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
What makes a house a home? When does it transform from a place where things are kept, food is cooked, sleep is had, and showers are taken into a personal sanctuary? When I look around our little house, it's the collected personal artifacts we have displayed that make it our home: the beach wedding corner in the bedroom, lil Sabastian on the TV, the leg lamp Dave gave us last year, and a hodgepodge of framed pictures from my dad. All of these things and so many more have memories attached, which serve as emotional residue that coats and covers this house in love, thus turning it into our home.
Whether we have 2000 square feet to fill or only 100, the place Dane and I call home will have distinctive features: musical instruments, lots of color, playfulness in all forms, and a feeling of welcome and comfort. I fantasize equally about having a farmhouse full of band-mates & goats as well as paring down to nothing but what we can fit in an airstream. Both lives are appealing, and both places would definitely feel like home.
My dream home has a space to workout, dance, or stretch & meditate, a garden, a work room or shed for messy projects, a deep claw foot bathtub, a kitchen big enough for cooking together, and music & games played in every room. Cleaning our little house today, I'm grateful for all the space and comforts we have. I have faith that the abundance of the universe combined with a smiling passion for hard work will always provide exactly what we need. That certainty ensures that the peace of home is always with me, no matter where I be.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
The ever-changing Music of the Spheres marries the metaphysical to the mathematical.
Each relationship between these two realms express distinct tones of energy manifesting as:
Numbers, visual angles, shapes & sounds-all connected within a perfect pattern of proportion.
Pythagoras knew the pitch of the musical note is proportionate to the length of the string plucked.
Within the Music of the Spheres, the sun, moon & planets each emit a unique orbital hum.
According to Plato, music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul.
The quality of life on Earth reflects the tenor of this celestial music.
But sadly, it's often imperceptible to the human ear.
Astronomy & Music are twin studies of sensual recognition-coupled with numerical proportions.
The heavenly Music of the Spheres CAN be heard in the Region of Concrete Thought;
Tho considered the lower region of the mental plane, it's nonetheless an ocean of harmony.
Learn to hear the Music of the Spheres, and watch the silence bloom!
Image Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Let's play with mistakes! No one overly enjoys feeling foolish or getting set back by a blunder, but mistakes aren't all bad. They always include valuable information that can help in the future, no matter how I feel about the current, temporary outcome. I'm quickly realizing that personal perspective & perfectionism are the ones demonizing mistakes!
What constitutes a mistake? I'm beginning to think it's when something surprising happens instead of the usual, expected outcome. With expectations being entirely personal, it seems that even the IDEA of a mistake is all in my head. If I'm hoping for an unexpected response, would it still be called a mistake?
So it seems that the whole idea of making mistakes hinges on a fear of feeling foolish and thwarted expectations, but if I get too caught up mourning what never was, I'm missing the gift that's right there: the new information. No matter what the mistake, I have gained new insight that can change the way I proceed for the better. All new information is valuable, even when draped in embarrassment, so I must let go of control and keep my mind and eyes wide open.
Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.
Image by: ejfox
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Who is Rosy Blu? While it's true she was born to a roving pirate and a lovely albeit distracted carnival gypsy, she was truly raised by the colorful, cruel, curious world around her. She discovered early that connection matters way more than bloodline, so her family is more massive by the day-mostly because she clearly sees the inherent sameness in all people. Often growing up, she loved living at the carnival and the privilege of being constantly exposed to new places, people, and ideas. Each town-full of undiscovered buildings, parks, streets and strangers-was just waiting to be explored.
She is a voracious learner and has always aggressively sought out her haphazard education. She found many sources of knowledge hanging on the limbs of her beloved carnival family tree, and were there any gaps, she could usually fill them at the luminous local libraries, where she adored spending hour after hour. She loves everything romantic or tragic or larger than life-mainly because that's the way she sees her world-as a complicated, kaleidoscopic, contagious calliope!
Her singing heart didn't have much of a place in the carnival. Once she was old enough to earn her keep, she learned various skills, but none of them roused her soul the way music does. She would find herself amused with fire breathing or chain saw juggling or trapeze swinging momentarily, but only until she mastered the skill and got bored with it. She's never wanted to be just another cootch dancer or magician's assistant or contortionist for a crowd of marks; she wants to truly reach and affect and unite people using the magic of music. Now that she's found her Sidecar Symposium family, she can finally begin.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Autumn fire light seems to engulf everything it touches in burning beauty. How the quality of light can change with the season, I'll never know, but it remains a warm certainty in my soul. The temperature drops to accommodate all the little ones scurrying about preparing for their winter's rest-such vigorous activity appreciates cooler temperatures. The combination of brisk air and flaming light and misty mornings is by far my favorite seasonal cocktail.
Masses of patient fog roll over the open fields and traffic-clogged bridges alike, obstructing visibility but imparting a sense of mystery to the morning that makes up for a more cautious drive. Like specter armies on the march, they capture acre after acre, block after block, seemingly undefeatable. Then, the sneaky sun starts peaking over the mountain ridges and peaks, haphazardly throwing sparking beams here and there, making was once a heavy, foggy quilt across the land become more translucent by the moment.
From the slumbering comfort of my own bed, wrapped up tight like a cozy cinnamon roll, I'm not even aware of the battle raging outside between light and the fog. Those lazy, lumbering, low clouds are no match for the fire light of a smiling autumn sun. As she gains strength and higher ground, the blazing beams penetrate and transform the fluffy lead blanket to ghost mist to nothing but a cotton memory-causing many early commuters to question its eerie existence at all...til tomorrow morn!