The Real Me

The Real Me

As I continue exploring Magic, I return to my Creed:

1. I believe in Evolution, the process of upleveling.

2. Humor and Belly laughs unite us.

3. Yoga, meditation, and a healthy lifestyle are my jams.

4. If it’s not a “Hell Yes!” I’m not doing it.

5. I cry when I sing.

6. I believe empathy is the secret sauce for healing and change.

7. Curiosity and Beginner’s Mind are the most frequented tools in my toolbox.

8. I Have Time is my new religion.

9. My father’s death reminds me how fleeting this life is.

10. Love is Love is Love is Love is Love.

Liza Fernandez

sucks the air thin

sucks the air thin

There’s a silence that’s almost deafening.
The kind where, at a party, the music stops and everyone looks up and says to no one, “Hey, what happened?”
The kind that the body shutters from its piercing.
A Void.

I was turning 16. I wanted a big party; bodyguards, a live band, DJ, pay at the door, the whole shebang. I worked hard; I got my artistic sister to create the flyer, gave them out at my and my brother’s schools. A week before, everyone was talking about it, the word spread quick. The band was known enough to build a crowd, I was in love with the drummer who should’ve been the lead singer he was that eccentric.

I rented a trophy room off a big sports facility, facing a big oval where my brother’s school played footy. The party drew a huge crowd, a long line waited around the bend even until 11pm, an hour before close. I was shocked. I barely knew anyone, and when I did, they were intoxicated and in the throes of what it took to be a teenager at a party in the 90s.

Flash forward to afterward. Mum, bro and sis, and my best friends, with black trash bags and rubber gloves, helped me clean up the evidence. Well, enough to get our safety deposit back.

I must’ve sat down somewhere, took it all in. I hope I did. I’m hoping I popped a squat facing the oval of lush greenery and tsunamic eucalyptus trees. Muscles spent and feet regaining circulation from improper use of heels. A mix of pride and exhaustion. A mix of elation and isolation.

And then silence.
The Void.

How it sucks the air thin.

cool like that

cool like that

A BAR. NIGHT.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

He leans in throwing caution to the wind this time.

She tilts her head back and guffaws.

He repeats his line, thinking it’ll be funny the second time.

It isn’t, but she stares into his eyes just the same.

Complex everything, this woman. Like a cat.

He looks away with a smirk – she’s into me.

He takes a swig of his scotch, cool like that, and asks for the check, “It’s on me,” he tells her.

Her red, half full.

“You heading out,” she asks.

“I thought we could, uh…” he smirks.

She stares at him. That cat again.

He smiles at her.

“I’m going to finish my wine.”

“Sure. I’ll, uh,” he sits back down.

[beat]

“Cheers,” she says as she sips her red.

FADE OUT.

Day by Day

The Years

Every day has its dawn,
Its soft and silent eve,
Its noontide hours of bliss and bale; —
Why should we grieve?

Why do we heap huge mounds of years
Before us and behind,
And scorn the little days that pass
Like angels on the wind?

Each, turning round a small, sweet face
As beautiful as near,
Because it is so small a face
We will not see it clear.

We will not clasp it as it flies,
And kiss its lips and brow:
We will not bathe our wearied souls
In its delicious Now.

And so it turns from us, and goes
Away in sad disdain;
Though we could give our lives for it,
It never comes again.

Yet, every day has its dawn,
It’s noontide and its eve:
Live while we live, giving God thanks—
He will not let us grieve.

 

anchor into me

Beverly-Hills-CA-Virtual-Tour-Photographer-Architectural-Photography-Company-Beverly-Hills-Real-Estate-Photography-Services-Aerial-Drone-Photography-Beverly-Hills-Los-Angeles-CA.jpg

Thursday morning
Writing from the car
Sun is shining the weather is sweet (queue music)
I am parked among the wealthy, the exuberant, the luxurious.
New
Flashy
Shiny
Other.

Why does this always feel so foreign to me?
Oh, that’s a bigger question for another cocktail.
I have a few minutes, and the only thing I want to do is – touch
Hand to heart
Close my eyes, and
Remember me.

Anchor into me.

Can materialistic overwhelm disconnect you from you?
They say it’s true.
I say that it does.
I find myself unchained and segregated, searching for my anchor.

New
Flashy
Shiny
Other.
Physical proof of value and entitlement
The statues, the sprawling greenery, the dream of…

The world loves this shit and I am torn and yet curious by it
Why isn’t it easy?
I look at my basic car
My simple keyboard that connects to my, yes, luxurious phone
I look at my leather bag, authentic jewelry, Nike shoes, American citizenship, and on.

When you look at me, my life is not far off from that.
The abundance I take for granted
I forget
I toss to the side as I look for the next
New
Flashy
Shiny
Other.

singing bowl of rage

singing bowl of rage  roman games

I’m furious
I feel like I can run 10 miles
And then eat a cake, straight out of the singing bowl of Rage
Blood pulsing
Mind spouting obscenities

How did it come to this?
Why am I shooting off the mouth like a loose canon
spiraling through the atmosphere?
Where’s grace, goddamnit?

It’s about not being listened to
It’s about not being taken into account
It’s about blame
Doing it wrong
You’re bad,
Back off.

Get off –
No
No
No.

Continue reading “singing bowl of rage”

The Real Me

The Real Me

1. I believe in Evolution, the process of upleveling.

2. I love to laugh and see, by first account, how humor unites us.

3. Yoga / meditation / a healthy lifestyle are my jams.

4. If it’s not a “Hell Yes!” I’m not doing it.

5. I want to cry when I start to sing.

6. I believe empathy is the secret sauce to healing and change.

7. Curiosity and Beginner’s Mind are the most frequented tools in my tool box.

8. “I Have Time” is my new religion.

9. My father’s death taught me how fleeting this life is.

10. Love is Love is Love is Love is Love.

Liza Fernandez