I AM the birthday fairy...

Live your life from your heart.
Share from your heart.
And your story will touch and heal people's souls.
--Melody Beattie

I AM the birthday fairy…

The rectangular strip of white paper/black ink read
“You do not have to worry about your future.”
At the time I opened that fortune cookie sentiment, I remember I turned and spun; whirling-dervish-style…and immediately thought about Beth Hart lyrics…

She got a poet's spirit 

she burns among the clouds 

she never stops believing 

she only dreams out loud 


…Knocking shoulders, heavy, muscled, delts, with a co-worker.
He giggled, glottaly, turning his sparkly lake-blue eyes to me, asking playfully ‘what’s up?’
In a moment like that you wonder. What is UP?

Really.
How to answer?
Are there words?

The slip-slap levity of an epiphanous mental-inhalation feels like the corpuscles change, right there on the spot, blood-deep.
That with the new knowledge, we are forever new and that on this, that…on any given day—or moment, naturally, the riotous volley of life’s ball from paddle to table to paddle and back is willed-forward. Is positive, good, of the stuff which dreams are made.

That’s my purpose.
The excavation of my own and others dream stuff [YO!]
It’s what I do. It’s my innate specialty.

It too; my arch-nemesis; as I traverse the differences between those who hear this language which I speak, and the others which dismiss, misunderstand, dis-turb…I am a portal/vessel/medium by which others might see the way to truly live a ‘Practice Random Kindness & Other Senseless Acts of Beauty” life.

The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt. --Frederick Buechner
And here I am. A run on sentence with hyphens, m-dashes, ellipses. A mixed bag of tricks and traits; tendencies and beauties. My idiosyncratic, spirally self, which bounces and plunges and leaps and dives is here and alive and at the precipice of the most important sort of work there is to be done.

No wonder, my favorite of all artisans, melds the most diverse of media into its mixed-collage.
Sugar & spice & everything nice. Juxtaposed with the sands of gritty truth. The hasty choices made. The decision(s) to, as I’ve only learned JUST TODAY, INSTEAD ‘let love decide’.

Living imperfectly with my humanity doesn’t have to be painful or a stand-up-&-preach-from-the-proverbial-pulpit-example of what not to say or do.
But if a door once closed, now open spills forth with the grace of the unabashed qualities that exist, so let the waters flow.
Let the free willy, Roseanne-na-danna-danna, third-grade-giggle, newspaper riddle, happy-go-lucky, smile in a puff of cloud, raindrop splash in puddle, kiddified energy live forever.