B is for Bunny

...and Beautiful and Brother and (a very funny) Bushwalla.*

I think the essence of a person is the soul's calling card. It's the magical, invisible umbilical cord that nurtures the expansion of a soul from lifetime to lifetime pulsating out a vibe of Who-They-Really-Be.

I like observing and playing a game of Match-Up. We all come from the same place but there are those that have similar essences...at least, that's what I pretend to be true. When I discovered this guy's, I had a melancholy feel for home. He reminded me of my estranged middle brother. Strangely, the more I listened to his music the more I thought of my brother. I thought of how funny he was growing up. I thought about the insane things he would say and do. I thought about the towel he'd wear as a cape becoming Superman and jumping off things he was told not to. I thought about my brother's music and pondered how sad it is that talent gets lost in a sea of everyday survival. I thought so much about him that he manifested back into my life in a real way. In a way that even included his music.

Anyway, I think it's beautiful to B one with your essence.

*The Hip-Hoptimistic (totally cribbed from the guy that was "Next Up")

Senyru

Senyru are like haiku, except they reveal an aspect of human nature juxtaposed with an image of nature. In contrast, haiku are short Japanese poems that invite us into a shared experience of nature. Both haiku and senryu are expressions of what is called the “haiku moment.” They are a moment of clarity that is similar to the meaning of "awe" in English. They are simple poems that can be said in one breath. In the Japanese tradition, seasonal words are associated with haiku. The use of seasonal words may or may not be used in the senyru genre of poetry. ~ By Ruth Eshbaugh, @ eHow


Sometimes sad goodbyes
carry fragrant sweet hellos
from some distant wind.

Whispering my name
winds carry you towards my ears
as my mouth inhales.

Wishing upon stars
blazing fast and free and far
right to where we are.

The still quiet dark
lights by way of fireflies
and thoughts of you.

In the loss of words
which oft accompanies awe
silence equates love.

Under the night sky
aquatic meditations
swim amongst the stars.

In my dream, we swim
lost in the playful currents
washing the pain away.

My sanctuary
let me dwell inside of you
while the storms rage on.

One night spent in dream
distant lands we call our own
waking finds us home.

Toast & Teenagers

I've been eating very few carbohydrates but I like how the word "Brioche" looks on the menu and how it sounds coming from the waiter's mouth so I give it a go on my last day in L.A. a couple of trips ago. It's a standard breakfast at the Standard Hotel.

As I'm waiting for this glorified piece of bread, a Sam Worthington/Jeremy Piven knock-off walks in and takes a seat at the bar. He chats with the waiter. They clearly know one another. From the accent, I can tell he's British. He keeps glancing over at my booth. I'm the only other dining in the lounge. He's giving me a vibe. A very kind one. An 'I'm a great guy' one. Normally, I have a book to hide behind when I'm out in public alone but I've left it in my room. I'm feeling shy and exposed. My brain floods towards him:

Don't talk to me, don't talk to me, don't talk to me!

I'm not attempting to be mean it's just I'm having the huge realization that the last couple of decades have made this type of exchange foreign to me.

My food comes and the waiter makes certain I have everything I need. I say something and Samermy finds it humorous...as does the waiter. I smile and nod towards my plate. I begin eating and immediately realized that I don't care for crusty french toast. The nice guy inquires, "Having the Brioche, eh?"

Looking at the large portion on the plate, to avoid eye-contact, I absently say, "I can't manage this much. There's enough for two." He smiles and swivels to face me. Don't talk to me rapidly recedes into:

Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking!

He says, "I love their Brioche!"

Yikes. Using my fork and my best 'ambivalent-but-could-be-construed-as-an-affirmation', I gesture a Yum and take a bite. I've left myself wide open.

"So, where are you from?" I swallow just a little too quickly, almost choke and then say the most ridiculous thing I possibly could. "Um, not here. Another place."

I excuse myself mumbling that I have to catch a plane. This is the truth, btw, give or take 3 or 4 hours. Anyway, I drop enough cash to cover the meal along with a nice tip and leave rather...abruptly. Okay, maybe 'rather' isn't quite the word. Yeah, we can just drop that word all together. Needless to say, I felt completely out of my element and was just seeking some relief.

*********

Fast forward to a few days ago:

I drove my daughters to see the latest chick-flick at the theater. And with the subject of romance* on their minds, they ask me when or if I ever plan to get back 'out' there. I casually mention my boorish Brioche encounter only to get the "what for" thrown at me! It went a little like this:

Daughter 1:
He LOOKED like Sam and you just walked out?!?

Me:
Yes...but the Piven part...I don't know.

Daughter 2:
Yeah, I heard Piven's a Diva.

Me:
I'm not being fair and don't believe everything you hear.

Daughter 1:
AND he had an English accent?!?

Me:
I believe that's what I heard.

Daughter 2:
O.M.G. Mom! Don't you know that a guy with
an English accent is already 50% hot!

Me:
That is NOT true.

Daughter 1 & 2:
That IS true.

*********




I'm toast...

*...and I think I'll just stick to writing poetry for now.