Lifestyle Change - It's not the huge leap you think

It's the small reflective pauses that bring you home.

Big life changes happen one little reflective moment at a time.

11 years ago. On the solstice, I left the world I knew, the world I worked so hard to create. A world of accomplishment in the eyes of society, but underneath was so much sadness, grief and anger. Eyes that had seen too much from inside the belly of the beast—corporate Los Angeles with the largest most powerful companies of the world, across too many corrupt industries.

On paper, my life all looked so shiny and sparkly, but it didn’t take much to scratch past the veneer and see the rot hiding in the shadows underneath the fragile surface.

I had a many small moments in the years that led up to the bigger jump, that gave me a pause from the grind, to feel a flicker of aliveness again. I had the opportunity to go travel for TV shoot in New Orleans and work remotely. It was just enough space and adventure to plant a seed. It was a strange dark time for me, and a strange dark place, but was painted in bright costume and color and made me feel introspective and observant for the first time in a long time.

This poem was written in early 2012 as I was starting to consider leaving the life I’d built in Los Angeles. I certainly had no idea I’d end up here in the jungles of Peru. I had been ashamed of the poem and even the thoughts I was having, but still inspired to pause, to sit, to write for me for the first time.

--

ON FREEDOM AND MARDI GRAS

Sadness felt underlying
the ocean of emotions . . .
a turbulence rumbling
in the moment of stillness.

Separated from my body.
For too long. Even as a dancer.
Two parts disconnected
trying to hold them in harmony

I think I might float into the heavens
if I weren't tethered down by pragmatism
from my almost amish upbringing…

I float in my dreams . . .
float and spin in motion.
I travel within the mist and
massive explosion of energy in my brain.

Visiting friends of past with tears
and literal gnashing of teeth.
I awake sweaty with remorse
for the things I’ve said and done.
Fondled the trigger of their pain
and then wonder why they leave.

I long to be free. To move in the madness.

To be part of this magical city
that ebbs in motion
with every wondrous,
pained and multi-shaded character
who walks through my life for an instance.

The arrival of man in the top hat . . .
I’ve seen him many times.
A wise, wretched thing. A worn santa.
In a grand circus jacket with military buttons.
he's been wearing it since 1942.
Long before Michele Jackson

He is a part of this town… Wandering the streets.

I stare at him unabashedly. No one cares.
His magical way. He directs the play…
The characters never end and they all know each other.
They love without abandon.

Like the street dog
who gave me kisses without shame.
Doggy fur.. slobbery mouthed beast
grins from ear to ear… ready to explore
and hunt this city and all of its secret lurkings.

I want to hug you, puppy that popped in to my life.

Wondrous texture
from the dreads to the tweeds.
The lace to the fur. Covered in wild dyed hair.
The tattoos. The flesh. The leather.
Spanish tile. Accordion bellows
and the smooth keys of ivory.

A maroon pashmina wrapping a dirty man.
Filthy shoes. Garish polka dot ties.
Sparkly beards of every size.
Magenta surrender.

Feel my senses overflowing

Bands flow past. rhythm makers pop by
The pulsing music of the street that passes
through one being into another.
Bobbing heads and bouncing beats.
sexy notes of the sax hover
over our heads like clouds and
a mist of fog…. intoxicating jazz.

The walls of this savage place. . .
wondrous uncovered bricks.
Strong and crumbling at the same time.
Patched and re patched with history.

.

Deep filling of breath. My nose alive.

The smells of the city fill my lungs.
Smoke, sweat, earth, coffee, vomit. exhaust.

Some scoff at the heavens and the wild.
No engagement in philosophical conversation.
Holding no importance with matters of the spirit.

Yet, in its place, deep pain in their souls.
Crushed at an early ages. Replaced with ideas.
Status, wealth, the things one should have.

Most don’t get my dreams.

My mystical presence on this earth.
My moments in the spiritual realm.

I want to linger on the edge . . .
To dance with the abyss.
To tease the stars.

My silly head in the clouds . . .

For too long, my words have been made to sell.
Clever one off-iticisms . . .

My words,
my thoughts are my own
and now

I can write them as I want.
I used to filter the nonsense . . .
the pain of my youth
in case I’d be found out..
but I’d like to let it fly now.

Into the universe spiraling into nothingness
and part of everything . . .

Asian chatter, mixed with pain and shame
of the work I do. The hustle the grind.
The stillness of sitting in a desk.
Seeing through the lies

I want to let my hair and my crazy fly.

To be a dream instead.

Floating in sparkles and feathers.
Letting my fishy swim. To be free.
In the ocean of the unknown
I long for the real sensations
of my piscean mind.

My brain, my body, my neck aches with
the heaviness of the world.
The material things that I keep.
Or maybe they keep me.

I work for freedom. For purpose … For love?

I think I shall frolic to the parade now . . .
I shall reach for the trinkets.
I shall put off my job another day.