i'm back...again

I've been a writer since before I can remember, having kept a journal ever since my pre-school Hello Kitty diary. Not that I had much to say back then. Recently, I read an entry from 3rd grade..."I like Dustin. He's cute." Next entry: "I don't like Dustin anymore. I like the new kid, Shawn." I quickly stopped reading before I got into the juicy (embarassing) pre-teen entries...

Naturally, my writing grew to have a bit more depth over the years. But as I ventured into my late 20s, and now early 30s, life took over. The gaps in my journal entries went from days and weeks, to months and years.

Luckily, I've spent the last 10 years in a marketing career that filled those holes with lots of business writing opportunities. For the past two years as the Content Marketing Manager for a large B2B company, writing has been a huge part of my job. Still, there's quite a different sense of accomplishment from completing a case study for a luxury retail client versus penning poetry, free style prose, or opinions about the going-ons of this crazy beautiful world.

Fortunately, I have the outlet for both. In an effort to not take that opportunity for granted, I humbly venture back into creative writing--and welcome you to join me for the ride! xx

//

For a sneak peek of what's to come, check out some of these posts from the past:
The City of Art, Food, and Brotherly Love
Letting Go
Not Beautiful or Remarkable Things, Just Things
From Where the Sun Will Rise

rise in peace

in the aftermath of friday's tragedy in isla vista, as a ucsb alumni and former resident of the small town, i've been overcome with a lack of words to attach to this tremendously sad happening. as a true believer in signs, however, i knew exactly what i wanted to say when i heard of maya angelou's passing on the radio this morning. the poet and activist was and is my inspiration to write and to commit to peace. in honor of her, of the fallen ucsb students, and of those who fall victim to hate, i share one of maya angelou's most famed poems, and ask that in peace, we all rise.

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

- Maya Angelou
April 4, 1928 - May 28, 2014

my best friend's birthday

dear elena,

i still have the journal you sent with me when i left to college!

in the opening letter you said "i want you to write about all the raging nights, hook ups, bummers, horny thoughts, irritating roommates, and day dreams you have in santa barbara, and always start your entry off as dear elena, so when you come back we can read it together..."

my first entry back to you on the plane to cali in aug 2003:

"this is so hard, man. i always wondered about this day and would day dream about this hot local boy i would leave behind. but i finally get it. i was meant to be a friend in high school. it has taught me how to love and even how not to. i feel so content right now. my best friends were who i was meant to see off. you see, you guys all had boys to give your hearts to. i got to love you girls. i wouldn't change it for anything."

--

you have been one of my very very best friends for over 10 years. my beautiful, crazy, free spirit of a sister. a love like ours doesn't come around in every life time. i hope this day brings you all the luck, love, and light you've given me over the years!

be gooood :)

take me back...

 

waikiki. wailoa. puueo. mauna kea. kona. HILO.

--

the colors, the breeze, the swaying of the trees. the peace, the ease, and the warmth of the water. i know home will always be there. and i know i will always go back.

here i go again...

things are always changing. we know this. though, it often takes a big change to actually get our attention. this time last year i was certain that by now i would be moved back to hawai'i and enrolled in UH manoa's creative writing MA program. it was the only program i applied to, the only place i wanted to be; it was the everything into which i had been pouring all my energy. the application, i thought, was the easy part. it was saying goodbye to santa barbara that would be hard. i spent the next five months saying my mental farewells; enjoying the last birthday i'd celebrate here; appreciating my final spring on the central coast; tying up the decade i had spent here.

then things changed.

i couldn't be sure it wasn't a cruel joke, as my mom read me my rejection letter over the phone. but it was true, i didn't get in. everything i had been planning for years had come to a sudden halt. and the saddest part, so did my writing. as the reality of my rejection sunk in, my desire to write sunk even deeper. no matter how i felt, i just couldn't find the words.

it's been about five months now since i've had enough motivation to step out of my writing rut. maybe i made peace with being in santa barbara longer. maybe my recent trip to hawai'i made me realize home would always be there.

maybe enough time had passed.

whatever the reason, i finally realized, if i let another five months go by without practicing the craft, i could no longer call myself a writer. and that was a change that i wouldn't be able to accept.

so here i go again, as i attempt to give you a glimpse of life through my eyes, with my words. for those of you who stuck by me, thanks for awaiting my return.

i write for you.

xx
lika

the city of art, food, and brotherly love

we arrived at 8 am and hit the streets. there was lots to see. we spent the morning exploring the vibrant colors and rich aromas of the italian market. on the way to south street we gazed at beautiful murals and mosaics, and finally stopped to savor my very first philly cheese steak.

it was a great start to the trip. next stop, LOVE park. and go figure, that's where we get pickpocketed. right in the heart of the city of brotherly love. i wasn't on the west coast anymore.

i never knew how hard i had to be.
all this time i was just trying to learn
to be.
hardness creates a shell
too thick to return to
the core within.
but i cannot forget. however long,
however far.
LOVE.
when you get too hard,
too drowned in concrete,
they just become letters.
backward they are
EVOLving
in the wrong direction.
a city is only as modern
as its forward thinking of love.
whether brotherly, otherly, sisterly,
you to me
and me to you.
my love, without love
i would just be me
and you would be
a cold, windy, just a little too hard
you.

--

as i look back to my week in philadelphia, the ups, the downs, the city, the suburbs, the family, the foes, the parties, the hangovers, and most of all the love--i see the beauty in the realness. it is truth and it is life. i can only be grateful for it all. mahalo to the bobbs for your amazing hospitality. and mahalo to philly--for showing an island girl how to swim in the concrete jungle.

so buddha walks into a bar...

sweet title. and what a great concept, applying Buddhist teachings to modern, everyday life. and what a clever cover! i've been reading this book for over a week now and i only just now noticed Buddha sitting among the top shelf bottles. yup, exactly why i need this practice. really seeing what is in front of me, becoming more mindful, more aware of my present surroundings, that is what i am working towards. it is what we should all be working towards, allowing us to open our hearts and become in tune with our natural goodness. in turn we will be able to lead more full and truly happy lives.

first goal: mediate. 

just 10 minutes a day. 

mind focused completely on the breath. 

air. 

water. 

waves. 

surfing...

no, breath!

when ones mind slips from the present, 

a slope slippery as the moss beneath

a waterfall,

"just say 'thinking'" 

and return 

to the breath. 

acknowledge your thoughts,  

they are neither good nor bad,  

then just return 

to the inhale. 

exhale. 

inhale. 

exhale...breathe.

--

i'll keep you posted. xo

letting go

Last week I met with my mentors, Sojourner and Ann. It was the first time the three of us hung out all together. We sat with tea and talked. The conversation shifted naturally like a branch in an easy wind, from art to current events to common friends. Then as random as the breeze, we began talking about the things we clutter. I learned Sojourner, like myself, held on to many things, namely old letters and books upon books of writings and journals. Things, that in a fire, would be the first thing you would rescue. We spoke about the inability to let these sentimental items go, yet also the necessity in doing just that once they are lost.

The thought provoking topic was followed, just days later, by the loss of my iPhone. This also meant the loss of priceless pictures of my birthday camping trip, a disco dance party, and all the fun and memories in between. Then I realized, this was yet another reminder from the universe that I needed to learn to let go. I was reminded that all things change, shift, and eventually go away; on eternities time table, lasting as long as a snowflake in the sun...

Snowflake in the Sun
Undying love no doubt expires
like food and life itself.
Starry eyes go dim, the heart retires
to forever’s failing health.

Money grows then falls from trees
to an ever increasing cluster
of limp and dying leaves
whose green have lost their luster.

For there is no certainty
in life, we must concede.
Everlasting impermanence is all we can foresee.

--

Remembering and accepting the ultimate impermanence of all things makes it easier to let go. Whether an iPhone or old letters, an old love or insecurities of a new love, once we realize letting go is something we must all learn to do, there is freedom in the release...

Untitled
Can holding on ever be
greater than letting go?
I fear my grip is slipping,
yet I have no fear.
Freedom is found in the release.
Free as the bird in flight,
dusting the space ever so slightly
above the sea,
completely confident in its direction.
How can one be so certain of a route
they cannot see?
Maybe I could fly blindly into forever
if there were no such thing as time.
Who says timing 
is everything?
 
Timing did not create 
the moon rises and sunsets.
WE created time to make sense
of that simple, senseless beauty.
Where is time?
When is it time?
What is time?!
Nothing but a barrier to be broken.
Let go of the tortures of the tic tocs
and feel yourself float towards infinity,
nearing the Heron’s horizon.

Holding on only works
once you let go.  
You will not say goodbye,
you will open the door
to the inevitable unknown.
Not “in time”
time = now.

--

So whatever you may be holding on to, just know that it is ok to let go. 

xo 

women in love

in honor of valentine's day, my girlfriends and i set the eve of the holiday ablaze. we waited for sunset then hit the beach with firewood, wine, and bad love habits in hand. some of us burned photos, others burned broken promises, and we all burned things we vowed to no longer allow within our realm of love. it wasn't done in anger or bitterness or hurt. it was done as women in love. in love with ourselves, in love with each other, in love with love. and we were all in different stages of love. we were single women, recently broken up women, newly in love women, long term love women. yet, we all had one thing in common. so i took a moment to read by the bonfire light, a poem about our complicated fixation with the oh so complicated sex. and maya's truth was heard.

Men
By Maya Angelou

When I was young, I used to

Watch behind the curtains

As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.

Young men sharp as mustard.

See them. Men are always

Going somewhere.

They knew I was there. Fifteen

Years old and starving for them.

Under my window, they would pause,

Their shoulders high like the

Breasts of a young girl,

Jacket tails slapping over

Those behinds,

Men.



One day they hold you in the

Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you

Were the last raw egg in the world. Then

They tighten up. Just a little. The

First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.

Soft into your defenselessness. A little

More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a

Smile that slides around the fear. When the

Air disappears,

Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,

Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.

It is your juice

That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.

When the earth rights itself again,

And taste tries to return to the tongue,

Your body has slammed shut. Forever.

No keys exist.



Then the window draws full upon

Your mind. There, just beyond

The sway of curtains, men walk.

Knowing something.

Going someplace.

But this time, I will simply

Stand and watch.



Maybe.

--

while not so much a love poem, as a life poem, we couldn't help but be awed by its rawness. so whatever your love situation may be, just be sure there is love in your situation. today and everyday.

all my love...xox

a holiday for the poet

The obvious statement that roses are red and violets are blue, never sounds more sweet yet more trite than on Valentine's day. It is a day of love for the professional prose lyricist and the novice alike. A day in which we all become poets. After all, there is nothing more worthy of being called a poem than the raw, honest words that pour from a lovers heart--both starry-eyed and scorned alike.

I don't know about you, but no bouquet of roses or box of chocolates would make my heart beat quite as fast as a few simple words written straight from the heart--love made legible. And if the words don't come so easy to you, below are a few from some of the all time greats. I'm sure they wouldn't mind sharing it with you for your someone special. I can guarantee your someone special won't mind.


I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
By Pablo Neruda

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood


Juke Box Love Song
By Langston Hughes

I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day--
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.


When I Met My Muse
By William Stafford

I glanced at her and took my glasses
off--they were still singing. They buzzed
like a locust on the coffee table and then
ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the
sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
knew that nails up there took a new grip
on whatever they touched. "I am your own
way of looking at things," she said. "When
you allow me to live with you, every
glance at the world around you will be
a sort of salvation." And I took her hand.

--

So this Valentine's Day, immortalize your love, timelessly etch it to the page and into the soul of your other.

xox

art without limits...

...it is almost a redundant statement. The inherent meaning of art holds that there are no limits to creativity. Still, our modern society seems to have forgotten that notion. We have put a higher importance on subjects like math and science which, without pushing the boundaries of the imagination, would never have made the advancements they did. It is a relief then, that there are groups like Art Without Limits that remind us when it comes to art, limitations should not--and do not--exist.

No where was this more evident then at Ayni Gallery in Santa Barbara this past Saturday night, when Art Without Limits hosted its first annual "Coming Out" event for their emerging artists. Musicians, photographers, painters, poets and writers took the stage to share their craft with an ever appreciative audience. I too, swallowed my nerves and read two original poems. I owe this feat in great part to my two amazing mentors: Sojourner Kincaid-Rolle (poet/writer) and Ann Dusenberry (actress). Together they help me both hone my skills as a creative writer, as well as practice the art of sharing my work in front of an audience.

Following are the two poems I wrote and shared, as well as photos from the event (taken by another emerging artist: photographer and dear friend of mine Shannon Jordan). It was truly an inspiring evening. Thank you to everyone who came out in support of art.

xoxo...lika


My Wolf and His Dog
His shaggy hair, bleach white as the Pennsylvania snow; fine as hot beach sand.
it blows everywhere; getting all tied up in sailor’s knots.
It is a strong mane, framing gentle, weathered eyes that have seen too much,
and yet not enough.

Her hair, it goes everywhere. Pure white flecks of Tala’s soul left anywhere she touches.
And anywhere is everywhere my wolf goes.
She follows, as I will.
Loyal beings we are; wolves in a pack.

“Follow me across the sea,” he says.
Tala leaps aboard, as I dive in to swim alongside the giant sea vessel.
Ramblin’ Rose carries my wolf and his dog,
up and down the ebb and flow of the ferocious blue.
Is it safe to climb in?
Where I am, the water feels cool and I float with ease.
Like the sea, I am liquefied.
Do I belong on the boat?
I belong with the travelers, with my wolf and his dog.

I am a traveler and I am his wolf.
I will listen.
I will protect.
I will follow.

“Follow me to the farm,” he says.
I say, live off the land and I will live with you.
Let the dog run the rich acreage, and we wolves will howl at the moon;
we’ll watch the sun come up over the ridge and set among the waves.

Let’s follow the waves!
Tala leaps and rolls in the sand, mimicking our motions in the sea’s curl.
As we paddle in, the moon rises.
She howls at it too.

--

For she is your wolf, and you are mine.
The day you found me I became your loyal moon howler too.

So wherever you go, or whenever I do, wolves wandering as we must—
in hunt of adventure, of knowledge, of self—
We will know to seek the moon.
I will howl,
so will you, my wolf,
and Tala dog too.


The Rhythm of Time
How to wait without waiting?
It is an art as fanciful as dance and music.
I find the tic tocs of the soul’s clock placating.

Sit under a mighty oak that’s shading
time’s melody; among the fallen leaves’ fine ruin
is how some wait without waiting.

The slow pulse of seconds is infuriating.
Still, the rhythmic beat will move you through it:
the tic tocs of the soul’s clock are placating.

The leaves sing a tune, as swaying
branches dance under the sky at its bluest.
How one longs to wait without waiting.

Sunrays fall and quickly time is fading
into shadows whose sound is fluid,
helping the tic tocs of the soul’s clock be placating.

Soon the jingles of the stars are cascading
and the sound of time finds its true fit.
How to wait without waiting?
Let the tic tocs of the souls clock be placating.

unfinished business...

the way you hold my hand,
it makes me wonder,
do you see me?
do you feel the pulse beneath
my callused knuckles?
can you see the blue veins
of my roots flowing
as my great grandmother did
east across the pacific
and as my father did too,
generations later,
and with so much less to lose.
and because of those journeys
here i am.

now your hands glide
smoothly across mine,
through each finger
with such detail.
yet your eyes float east.
filled with a glaze.
maybe you cannot see
where i am from;
how deep my story runs.
so you cannot possibly see
how far i will go.

--

i don't remember when i started that poem, or where it was going...but i just found it and don't want it to get lost to my endless clutter. it definitely is worth revisiting and massaging into something greater. stay tuned to watch as this poem evolves...

some other notes i had from that day lost to my memory:

Rumi - harder place to start
"follow the golden thread"
"art for art's sake vs. the second level/deeper meaning"
William Stafford: "Down in My Heart"(years in prison for peacefully objecting to WWII)
take on a mentor, even though they are dead. she took william stafford on as her mentor, and from beyond the grave, he took her on too.
Most famous "Traveling in the Dark"

--

oh yes! all those notes were from my first talk with sojourner! my mentor telling me about her mentor.

a writer's work really is never done...

xo...lika

with both hands over my heart...

...I solemnly swear to stick to my resolution this year and write on. In an attempt to stay on track with this goal, I WILL post at least one blog a month, fingers crossed for more!

Ok, so this may have been last years unfulfilled resolution...but I shall simply stand back up and try again--with much greater effort this time. I can't think of a more important time for me to do this than now. 2012 proved to be a very significant year for growing my creative writing. I owe this in large part to my work with mentor's found through the non-profit Art Without Limits. A huge MAHALO goes out to these brilliant mentors of mine, Sojourner Kincaid-Rolle and Ann Dusenberry. They continue to shed a phenomenal light on my craft and my life. In keeping with that momentum, 2013 will bring even more growth and changes on that front, so stay tuned...

A big part of my journey with creative writing and poetry has been to start sharing my work in front of an audience. Last year I began reading my poetry on a stage for the first time in my life. What a nerve wracking thrill! I thought though, how much greater the impact of one's art when it is shared with others--the transference of inspiration can continue to flow!

This Saturday I will be participating in an emerging artist showcase in which different aspiring artists from Art Without Limits will share their work. I will read two original poems: The Rhythm of Time and My Wolf and His Dog.

Come support local artists and check out the show! It will be on Saturday, January 26 at Ayni Gallery (216 State St, right next to Union Ale) from 5-8pm. Please RSVP here:
http://www.awolsb.org/upcoming-events/coming-out-party-2013/rsvp-for-coming-party-2013/

Whatever your resolutions are for this new year, I stand alongside you with a renewed sense of motivation. Get inspired, and stay there.

xo...lika

not beautiful or remarkable things...just things

my mentor sent me a writing prompt a few weeks ago: write down 6 things you see each day, then at the end of one week, compose a poem out of two of those things. the lesson being that poets, and artists in general, should strive to be "more attuned to the physical world and to find concrete things that possess a special vibrancy" (Linda Gregg, "The Art of Finding"), then incorporate these things into their craft.

over the course of a couple weeks, here is what i came up with:

july 11:

earrings
freeway signs
glass jar
turquoise
tea
sunflower

july 25: 

tests
stripes
my reflection
bangle
laughing baby
toes

july 26:

man sitting on sidewalk
new haircut
stress
style
leaves
relief

so i only did it on three of the days, but i did manage to use all the words in my newest attempt and literary creativity...

the things i see each day

as i drive along the highway,
i roll the window down to feel
the breeze of time passing.
a wild wind whips through
and my earrings sing a song
of pennies dropping into a glass jar.
freeway signs point to places
i'll never see,
fields of sunflowers
i'll never know.
white clouds paint stripes across a turquoise sky
as i cease to cease.

my reflection in the windshield,
a loose reminder
of what once was--
a laughing baby with squishy toes
turned adolescent with body woes.

and now i fight the tests of my twenties
by speeding faster
in search of relief.
i chase change with a new style,
new haircut, new shoes
a new bangle filled with jewels.
beautiful objects,
permanent as leaves on a growing tree.

when i finally exit
this whirlwind
wind of a road,
in search of a cure to my saturated stress,
i see a man sitting on the sidewalk.
living in his permanent present,
his sign reads:
a quarter for a cup of tea

...

interesting how the little things we see each day, ultimately paint the big picture of our world. what did you see today?

the transfer of inspiration

a good friend and sister of mine shared with me a TED talks video featuring the French street artist JR who won the TED talks prize for a "wish to change the world". watching him speak about his wish, got me thinking about my wish. with so many things i wish i could change about this world, where do i begin?

i sat and thought. as that video was passed to me, the inspiration was too. now i sit here letting the inspiration well up within and flow through me, and i hope as you read this, into you. we all begin to fulfill our wish to change the world through the transfer of inspiration.

this past week i was inspired by my mentor to do my very first open mic reading of some of my poetry. offering me yet another attempt to transfer inspiration. when we continue to pay it forward for whatever cause may be, we create a chain reaction of people thinking about how, they too can change the world.

following is one of the poems i was inspired to write and read for the open mic, and below that the TED talks video on JR. may you greet this day inspired, and one step closer to making this a better world.

for brandon elizares (02.04.96-06.02.12)

i didn't know you.
through scattered stories and collaged memories
now i know,
they knew you even less.
how much did your spirit endure
before it gave out?
the way a wall will fall
from unending thrown stones.
had those hands lifted you up,
would we be laying you down?
if those hands were taught to heal,
to instead use stones to build an empire
filled with warriors
for peace,
we would be walking on a path of love,
and not drowning
in your loss.



a special thank you to a couple of my inspirations: b. alia & sojourner

freedom writer.

in my wildest dreams i would travel the world
one thousand times over.
i would paint the pastures of switzerland and sing
the songs of africa;
write a poem for every brick
of china's great wall.
i would be free
to fly.

but never did i dream that freedom's ride
began on a bus.
for in my dreams we all dance
together to the chime of india's
bollywood beat.
our vibrant colors melt together
and flow
down the mississippi,

where blood once flowed.

the road alongside it
paved by bus riders,
paying the price
so we could be free.

free to ride
free to dream our wildest dreams
and wake
to live them.

some day i will walk
from the sands of egypt,
to the shores of hawai'i
and write in stone along the way:
freedom—
and equality—
for all
is no longer just a dream.

::

last week, while mindlessly surfing our umpteen cable channels, i stumbled upon a PBS broadcast American Experience: Freedom Riders. since then i've tried to make an ongoing conscious effort to refocus my spirit from frivolous worries to gratitude for things we haven't always had: love. equality. freedom.

this february, i remember these things. i celebrate african american history and those who stood up against the face of hatred—in peace. may we honor the freedom riders and those like them. may we seek universal equality. and choose love > hate. always.

roll away your stone

beyond the the daily rubble of beauty and frustration there is a clearing. the impossibility of reaching it may tempt you astray; the rocky roads are easily confused for an eternal anchor. yet, if you have the will to roll away your stone and you find yourself there, the land is vast. a horizon does not exist for there is no end to existence. it is a waking life's sleep at the end of exhaustion. a place where you create the rest.

::

2012, i'm told, will be a great year for treading through the chaos that life creates to find that empty space for yourself to create something of meaning. that is not to say it will be easy. but it will be worth it.

here's to the attempt.

maya, may i

Maya, may I have this dance
to shake my rhythm hips
and speak my lyric lips;
to be everything it is
that I feel,
everything that I am.

Maya, may I grow
from the roots of my toes
to the leaves of my finger tips,
knowledge constantly pulsing.
Maya, may I never forget
always, there is something to learn.

Maya, may I cease to judge,
may I remember 
our individually colored threads
weave one beautiful
tapestry of humanity.

Maya, may I be strong enough
to not only attempt,
but to achieve;
and be brave enough 
to face the falls.
And rise again.

Maya, may I? 

            You may not--you will, as we all will.

And we all will.

I had the privilege and pleasure to go to a speaking by Dr. Maya Angelou earlier this month. Inspiring might only begin to describe the experience. Above I pay homage to just a few of the jewels I took--and continue to take--away from her lecture. Her life and body of work is tangible proof that any human being can achieve excellence. Any human being. And if we allow ourselves. . .we all will.