From Manhattan Beach to Manhattan Island

I know New York I need New York

I know I need unique New York

                                 —The Decemberists

The sky was syrup. It was 6:24 a.m. on a Friday morning, and for the first time, my sleepy, post-red-eye-flight eyes watched New York City unfold before me like the opening of a brand new book. I felt a rumbling in my heart as the city's spine cracked in the harsh, sticky pink light. I was opening the greatest book of all time, the most mysterious, holy, mesmerizing book ever written by humans. And this time I was the one holding the book, I was to be the one to unlock its magic. The sun came up fast and with purpose, because really, it is a New Yorker too. As we cross over the Queensboro Bridge into the city, my eyes devour the first few words in this glorious book, words of skyscrapers and antiquity and emotion. My heart beats faster. I'm falling in love again, but quickly and intentionally, because this is, of course, New York City, and there is no other way to fall in love with it than that.

I found out about a month ago why there are hundreds upon hundreds of stories, books, songs, poems, and art created out of timeless love for New York City. I visited for the first time over Presidents' Day weekend (and only now am getting the chance to blog about it), but I felt my heart being swept away by this unfamiliar, captivating waterfall of dirty city sacredness. Quoting the beautiful words of E.B. White: "The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose meaning will always remain elusive." It's true. New York is a poem, a romance compressed in a small space with music leaking between each building, it's meaning never fully understood but belonging to you all the same.

I had a grand time in NYC. Despite the freezing (literally freezing) weather, I got to see so many wonderful things and had strange adventures on subways and exploring different stores. One of my favorite places was Strand bookstore, a hugeeee bookstore with new and used books that I know I could spend weeks in and never get bored. We also ate some of the best food I've ever had, like authentic pierogies, street vendor Halal food, and...get ready...an Elvis-style peanut butter sandwich with melted PB and bananas droozled with honey from the peanut butter restaurant. I'm still having dreams about it.

 sorry I'm salivating

 We ate at a yummy Ukrainian restaurant called Veselka with no other than Anna Wood, 

our former neighbor and, truly, the coolest person ever. It was fun to see her in her NY hood

Times Square on a frozen night

Being anonymous among vast, unfamiliar streets made me think again about the idea of belonging and home. There's no doubt that the places I've been and lived have made me into who I am. Torrance, Highlands Ranch, Chadron, Granbury, Carlsbad, Lincoln, Amarillo...all of these towns are special to me because of the people who have made them feel like home. With only 74 days left until graduation, I've been thinking a lot about what it means to "belong" somewhere. I don't want to mess up my future. How do I know if I'm making the right college choice? Is that where I belong? I want to "belong" in New York because it feels so endless, but couldn't I belong there as much as I belong in Chadron, Nebraska?

The truth is, I don't. I don't belong here, anywhere, in this world. I'm a pilgrim, journeying and resting in certain towns and cities for a little while, then moving on until I make it home. And home isn't here. Home is somewhere with God, and I don't know exactly what that looks like, but I know that when I reach it, I'll belong. My former youth minister, again, shared with me an inspiring passage by Thomas Merton that's helped me with this uncertainty about belonging and choice: "In planning the course of our lives, we must remember the importance and dignity of our own freedom. A man who fears to settle his future by a good act of his own free will does not understand the love of God. For our freedom is a gift God has given us in order that He may be able to love us more perfectly, and be loved by us more perfectly in return."

It is deeply refreshing to know that I am free to be a vagabond, that nothing is too permanent in this world. I can fall in love with as many towns as I am able without needing to belong there. Maybe I'll make a temporary home out of New York City one day, or maybe there's some other wild adventure for me in this life. I don't know, but it's kind of fun to not know.

Rose in Winter, New York edition

I will never forget how this city, this captivating poem of excitement and blended dreams, made me feel. I'm in love with New York, like I'm in love with all the other towns I've known. I'm thankful that I got to tap into New York's well of inspiration and drink deeply of the words that I felt fizzing in my heart. For you, New York. Until next time.

I'll close with my journal entry from our second night there:
2/13 The twinkling lights of the building windows are white scars made by desperate fingernails. Fingernails desperate for New York, for anonymity, for new beginnings and busy people. The longing of all of us, making electric scars on the buildings from our hunger for them. They grow taller for us. More scratching. And then you're up there, dancing over the crosswalk stripes in Times Square, and your heart is full of icy wonder at the possibilities awaiting you, you and only you. There is a vibrancy that spins in puffy breath and coils into the night lights. Your breath joins the frothy foam in the earl gray sky, and the skyscrapers sip it like tea. The city breathes and crystallizes until you feel like you're gliding through a glowing, beautiful, fragile ice sculpture.

2/16 Today, the wetness watered the city garden of steel and skyscrapers. The urban rivers aren't the ones Mary Oliver writes about, there were no chirping birds and lilies growing beside them. But there was a rose. She was lost and overwhelmed, but she absorbed the city with all her flowery cells. From Manhattan Beach to Manhattan Island, this rose has learned to grow and thrive where she's been planted, and she can't wait to see where she'll take root next.

~~~~~

We went to a beautiful mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral. 

It was surreal, and the organ was gorgeous

 Pretending to be Eloise in the Plaza Hotel

 Frida at the MoMA

Bergdorf Goodman's 

Going to Toy Fair with my mom was entirely too much fun.

I've determined that my toy designer mom is way cooler than me,

and I hope I can be half as awesome as she is one day 

Pikachu was my Valentine this year

UGLYDOLLS!!

 Sorry, more Toy Fair pics

In case you thought I was lying when I said it was cold...

Oh look I have my own pub!

 morning Daddy

The legendary Black and White cookies that my dear friend Kristen told me I had to find.

They tasted like a cookie and donut (even the gluten-free ones) all in one!
New York magic, my friends.

And every city was a gift, 
and every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips
and I was making you a wish.
                                      —Florence and the Machine

Happy Little Things

Isn't it fantastic that you can change your mind and create all these happy little things?

                                                         —Bob Ross

My mom always laughs when she tells me the story about the cake at my kindergarten graduation. I've seen pictures of it, just your basic King Soopers pre-frosted cake with sugary flowers decorating the sides, and on the top, spelled out in fancy cursive that none of the kindies could read, "Congrats Kindies! Class of 2016!" Mama tells me she chuckled when she saw that. 2016? How can that be? That's forever from now! And then there I was, from the picture I remember, smiling up at her with a blue tongue and chocolate cake on my chubby cheeks, giggling and skipping off to the playground.

Forever happened, I guess. I rang in the big 2016, the year I've been waiting for, curled up with my sister on our living room couch. We tiptoed upstairs about five minutes later, and after I burrowed beneath my covers, I laid there in the dark for a few minutes, overjoyed and excited and afraid and nervous all at the same time. This is the first time in my life that I have absolutely no clue where I'll be in a year, and that thought is thrilling and terrifying all at once.

I honestly do look forward to 2016, in all its uncertainty and vagueness. I think it will force me to be truly present in each moment, because like Mary Oliver says, "Things take the time they take." I refuse to let this year swallow me in anxiety, as it could easily do. I will stare into the gnashing teeth of distress and tell those pearly-white blades, "Not today!" It will be hard, but I will learn to accept and embrace change. It's kind of what I have to do. Not really a choice this time. But it will be good for me.

I will also take with me all the things I've learned in my 17th year. I'm 18 now, (an adult!) but I still have miles to go on the road of self-discovery. Anyways, I've compiled a list of what I will take away from this year, and I know I will continue to re-learn these things my whole life.

17 Things I've Learned While Being 17

1. Boys are hard to get over. Allow yourself time for healing, but don't drown in the memories or keep re-living the past. Don't be in love with the idea of love. Appreciate a boy for who he is. And if you must let him go (which is sometimes the best possible thing you could do), realize that you might experience pangs of jealousy or anger, but don't be consumed by them. Time does heal. And never do anything that leads to using another person for their body. That only leads to emptiness, a hollow ending.
2. Friends change. People change. Forgive them for not being God because we all fall short of others' expectations of who we should be. Don't fabricate someone into a person of my liking or imagination--love a person for their raw selves, their identity, who they are and what they believe in, even if I disagree. It's not love if I'm ignoring the parts of them I don't like.
3. I can accomplish tremendous things if I just try. Be open to possibilities and don't pass up opportunities out of fear or uncertainty. Follow through with what you start. Be brave, and trust. I realized this through the completion of my Gold Award, something that seemed so impossible when I started but became a reality because I put all my energy and determination into it.
4. Ask for help. Abandon and shred that papery scrap of pride that keeps you from leaning on others when you need it. The only reason my Gold Award was a success was through the help and generosity of other people. You'd be surprised how willing others are to help if only we would ask for it.
5. Follow your passions. Do what you like. Don't spend all your time on something you don't enjoy just to please other people. Decide what's important to you, and put all of your energy and presence into it. Don't compare the way you spend your time to how other people do, either.
6. Don't be defined by your body. Your body can do great things, but never let it become the center of your every thought.
7. People are forgiving. Mom and Dad are on my side. They do what they do out of love.
8. Social Media is addicting. Stalking people and comparing gets me nowhere. It's a waste of time. I know that I feel way happier when I give up social media for a day (which I really need to do more often.)
9. Listen. Listen to others when they speak. Soak in words like a sponge, and when it's your turn to talk, be genuine and honest in what you say. Don't waste words.
10. Words are powerful. Writing words, poem words, lyric words, speaking words, texting words--they leave scars, wounds, tears--but they also heal, restore, set free. Use them like lace and delicately weave the ones that speak to you into your heart. Collect them and document them, because one day you might forget the ones that mattered so much.
11. Take naps. Go on walks. Non-busy days are just as important as busy ones. Take care of your thoughts when you're alone or not busy. The world wants to make you feel bad for it, but our bodies and minds long for rest every once in a while. I learned this for the first time this year, that not being busy every second of the day is okay.
12. Acknowledge your sins. Recognize your wrongs, and don't run away or cover up or make excuses for what you know is harmful. And then actually set out to be different, and change. 
13. Read everything. Absorb. Learn both sides of an issue. Be transformed and informed. Think for yourself--don't let others do it for you. Develop your own opinions even if they are counter to what's being said around you. Especially with recent events and political issues, I have to remember where I stand or I risk being swayed and persuaded by every new opinion I hear.
14. Appreciate teachers. Respect them and thank them, even if you don't get along with them. The truth is, they are helping to shape you into who you are and will be.
15. Don't make yourself feel better through gossip and tearing others down. It will just make you feel worse about yourself.
16. Never take anything for granted. You are not exempt from accidents or tragedies; everyone suffers them. Be thankful for waking up every single day, and if God wakes you up again tomorrow, praise him for it. I learned this from being in a minor car accident this year. Luckily no one was hurt and damage wasn't too bad, but I realized that it could happen to me. Every breath is a second chance, like Jon Foreman says.
17. My faith is whirlwind, and even though I doubt, question, feel utterly alone and human, I can see that God is not content to leave me alone. No matter how far off the path to heaven I wander, no matter how many times I spit in His face, He continues to speak to me through people, nature, books, events...my life is sprinkled with subtle signs, and as I reflect on my year, I see how intricately woven His presence is in my life.

And with that, my rose heart unfolds into 2016 with passion and humbleness. I step out into this new day, into this vibrant arctic sky, and breathe.

~2015 end of year recap~

Favorite experiences:
~Staying in a convent for Sister Rose's jubilee. This hot July weekend in Wichita is filled with happy memories for me. Our entire family came and surprised my great aunt Sister Rose for her 50th jubilee (50 years of being a nun) and we got to stay on the top floor in the "nunery" (hehe). Each of us had our own separate room with a twin-sized hospital bed in it, and at mass, the Sisters actually made the host and it tasted like the best bran muffin ever. I was hoping when I went up that the priest would give me a giant piece of Jesus, cause dang. It was one of the happiest and goofiest weekends of 2015 for sure.

why hellooooo there

~Journalism convention. If you ever want to see me get excited beyond my own control, take me to a national journalism convention with my best friend. This was such an amazing few days in April (perfectly timed around 4/20) that the national journalism convention was held in downtown at a fancy hotel. It made me realize that yes, this is what I want to do with my life, as our small group of future journos laughed at people practically dyed in the color green on the light rail. It was great. (Read about those few days here)

~Learning to play the harp. It's my dream instrument, and now I can play it (sorta!)

Favorite place to visit:
~CHICAGO!!! My mom and I went to Chicago for the first time this year, and I fell in love. I fell in love with big cities, with bright, prophetic streets that somehow belong to you despite you never having walked on them before. It was an invigorating experience that I will never forget, and if I end up there next year for college, then that's all the more reason for my heart to keep on singing today. Read about the fairytale here.

~Cali (twice). California will always have my heart. I feel at home when I go back, and I miss the rolling waves sometimes more than I realize. We went for Josh's Bar Mitzvah in August, and my mom and I went again for college visits in October. I loved every minute of both trips. (This post touches on my romance with the golden state)

~As always, I loved visiting our own personal Walden cabin in Salida, the quiet Chadron prairie, and our Texas fam. :)

The best meal is:
~Babo's bananas foster cheesecake, on porcelain dishes in a quaint Texas home with locusts blaring outside the window in the sticky July air, wishing they could have a bite, but then you must tell the little guys no, it's too late, as you lick your plate shiny clean and sigh with every syrupy cell in your blissful body. Seriously, it's that good.

My favorite books:
~The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh. This was a beautifully written book about a girl who grows up in foster homes and has trouble with finding who she is--until she gets a job in a flower shop and learns the Victorian "language of flowers." As someone who is obsessed with flowers myself, this was definitely one of my favorites this year.

~Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. Okay, I admit, I read this one for school, but I loved it all the same. It was elegantly grotesque, and I love the way Emily Bronte writes. It's not your typical love story--it was selfish, brutal, and disturbing--but it was utterly intriguing at the same time.

~A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggars. This was my absolute favorite book I read this year. The title pretty much sums it up, as it was definitely quite sad and at times heartbreaking, but the way Eggars writes is engaging and hilarious and poetic. It's a memoir of his life as a young free person trying to raise his kid brother after both of his parents die and trying to balance that with living his own life. Full of anecdotes and utterly raw emotions, it was filled to the brim with quotes and inspiration for the writer-person in me. I loved it.

~Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech. Yes, this is a children's chapter book, but I'd never read it before and now I'm sad about that. One of my new friends at Joshua Station (where I built the library for my project), Alyssa, a sassy 13 year old, recommended it to me, or I guess more like wouldn't let me leave without taking the book and promising to read it. I'm glad I actually did read it instead of doing a Google summary because it was one of the better kids' books I've read, and I was bummed I didn't read it in 5th grade. I probably could've learned a lot from the don't judge a man until you've walked two moons in his moccasins whole deal. It was a quick and good summer night read for sure.

Have a magical 2016 :)

18 years happy

The greatest of gifts

 Papa Elvis crashed our Christmas, thank you very much

Post-midnight mass

I figure, if a girl wants to be a legend, she should go ahead and be one.
                                          —Calamity Jane

The Perfect Glissando

Watch carefully, the magic that occurs, 

when you give a person just enough comfort

to be themselves.

                                  —To Kill a Mockingbird

"What are you playing?!"

"This is a harp! Wanna try it?"

My fingers licked their way up the strings and made an enchanting hiccup of sound. It's called a glissando when you run your fingers up the harp strings, and to me it sounds like what drinking shattered stars would taste like. A fizziness so strong that you can't help but giggle; a champagne to the soul. My new little friend's bright eyes doubled in size as his fingers immediately started dancing all over the strings. I looked over at his mom, and her tired eyes smiled as she whispered a thank you to me. I told my little friend that he had just created the loveliest of noises. He was so excited. His joy glittered in my heart for the rest of that heavenly evening.

I was in absolute paradise. My amazing harp teacher, Lisa, and I were playing Christmas music at Tattered Cover bookstore, my favorite sanctuary of infinite inspiration. The towering shelves of books around me whispered their ages-long lullaby as I plucked away in their palace of words. I was connected with every human who had ever read a book, and I became an outlet of dreamy music surrounded by a billion stories burning furiously on delicate pages.

In that rich moment, I was struck by what beauty I was able to create with a part of me that had always felt so small. My thin fingers kept playing, and I loved that it didn't matter what I looked like. My mind and heart blended deeply into the watercolor of sound that I was painting. I exhaled through the notes and pushed them towards the people listening. The more I played, the more the connection grew between us. At first, they were looking at me. Oh, a harp! they thought. How cool it looks! And then the more I played, the more their brains untangled, and some even closed their eyes. We weren't necessarily looking at each other, but I was seeing them, seeing their restlessness during the hectic time of year, their sparkling eyes about to catch fire. When I played, I was able to give them a gift of momentary peace. A woman who had just gotten off the phone after what sounded like a stressful conversation came and sat near us and just listened. That's the message Lisa and I were trying to send: it's okay to just be. We all need a drink of pure water during the sticky syrup feasts of the season. I know this too, and playing was just as healing for me as it was for them. And they, too, saw me, not as a silly-looking 17 (18 on the 26th)-year-old in an ugly sweater, but as an outlet of soothing music that our raw hearts yearn for. It was connection.

Connection. Lately, that concept has kept popping up. Through the people I talk to and things I've read, I've come to realize that being looked at and being seen are not the same thing.

"There's a difference between being looked at and being seen. When you are looked at, your eyes can be closed. You suck energy, you steal the spotlight. When you are seen, your eyes must be open, and you are seeing and recognizing your witness. You accept energy and you generate energy. You create light. 

One is exhibitionism, the other is connection. 

Not everybody wants to be looked at. 

Everybody wants to be seen." 

-Amanda Palmer, The Art of Asking

I'm tired of looking at others. It's so superficial, so shallow. I'm also tired of others looking at me and judging what they see. I've been asking myself, how do I start seeing people? After lots of scrawling in my journal and reading, I found that it's me that's stopping me. I'm still so consumed with myself, with how I look, with how I'm perceived, with who I'll be. I've battled long and hard with self-image, especially with my body. The first step for me is to recognize myself as Christ's beloved and to work on humility. It is only when we accept ourselves as beloved that we can stop judging ourselves and others. And soon, people will feel safe with us. Truly seeing someone and connecting with them takes no intellectual knowledge, no profound insight. It takes utter vulnerability and simplicity to open up a world of love and real life, to meet a person exactly where they are and reveal God's heart. We are all paperthin hymns of longing and lostness. Heartbreak is universal. Each one of us is just as lost as the other. Once we accept and acknowledge this, we can begin to destroy our own pride that stops us from connecting with those we're afraid of or uncomfortable around. Because truth be told, we are just as, if not more, hungry for real connection than they are. Henri Nouwen says this beautifully in his reflective book Discernment: "I learned that once you can see another concretely, recognizing the similar struggles and unfilled needs, you can step back a bit from your own life and understand that, in true friendship, there is give and take as two people learn to dance." Seeing someone is not looking at them but through them and into their heart.

journaling away

My best friend Kaylee texted me something pretty profound a few weeks ago after I was stupidly complaining about how my body's hormonal changes were making me breakout like crazy:

"Your imperfections don't make you any lesser of a person. You're beautiful inside and out and a little zit will never stop anyone from loving you. And I love you and will forever."  

She probably doesn't even remember saying this, but I stared at my phone for a good 10 minutes as tears swam down my face. Why did I care so much about ME? None of this even matters! Kaylee, in her loving sometimes-so-truthful-it's-annoying-best-friend-like way reminded me that the people who love me, really love me, don't care if I have a breakout. They've seen me with no makeup, ridiculous hair, and when I pig out. They love me when I want to go everywhere on earth, and they love me when I want to stay in bed all day. They love me for the real conversations I have with them. They love my ideas, my dreams. They know me, they see me, they love me. And that's beautiful.

This body isn't mine. This skin and bones is a rental. I need to appreciate my body for all the wonderful things it can do, like write, play the harp, go on early morning jogs, do yoga, hug people, decorate cookies, and sing. Yes, sometimes I feel uncomfortably full or ugly or whatever and feel gross about myself, but in those moments it's essential that I remember the things that matter: the relationships I have, the opportunities brimming each day, the hope for my future. Not a single one of these has to do with my weight or acne. I just need strength to step away from the mirror and start living. Start connecting. Start seeing people and not just looking at them.

I'll end with one of my journal entries from when I was in Nebraska a few weeks ago:

Today at the farm. I brush my numb fingers over the champagne powder like froth on chocolatey grass. With the sky like frail guitar strings, rusty clouds humming over a fretboard of silver. The cold earth seeping through my boots and oozing between my toes, spreading the chill like honey. My rosy cheeks sting. The insides of my nose are an ice cave, crusty and sharp. My breath coils and burns against the drowsy prairie. I feel alive. My heartbeat reminds me that I have the capacity to love like thousand endless prairies. I long to be seen like the prairie sees me, like God sees me. I will see great things when I am willing to be seen. Take me Jesus, all of me. You alone are enough.

Let heaven and nature sing.

 frothy snow

 artsy

 the four C Kleins in our element

 my favorite creepy concert hall

and this time I got a picture of the inside... 

If you look close enough on the stage you can kinda see the piano

 thank you for appreciating my ugly sweater cookie

Lindsey, Hannah and I went to Not So Silent Night on Dec. 5 and yes, this picture is to prove that we were actually that close! It was a prime concert for sure

harpy holidays

A Colorful Clutter

With mournful joy she finally lets out her cry

Death has been swallowed up by life

                                   —Flyleaf

I picked up a plushy Mexican doll from a flawlessly woven basket in a tiny candle shop on Olvera Street. This dainty doll had gaping black eyes, a triangle nose, and sharply upturned red lips that begged for permission to giggle. I was admiring her thready tangerine dress and stringy hair, wondering who's tough hands made such a lovely little thing, when I turned my head and beheld a wall decorated with a clutter of colorful crucifixes. I inched closer and squeezed the dolly's torso with both my hands. Never before had a flock of agonized Jesuses gaze at me with such weight. They were all unique, some realistic and bloody, some blue and Picasso-esque, but they were each suffering, dying on that wall in their own artistic way. Handwritten price tags dangled from their tiny nailed hands. I stood there, loving it and being unsure of it at the same time. On the next wall over, a dozen more Virgins-of-Guadalupes floated above a fabulous catacomb of sugar skulls. 

My saltwater heart was already dripping from being back in Cali, but in that moment, surrounded by crosses and beautiful Marys, I felt ethereal, caught in a fantasy of palm trees and flamenco dresses. I returned my dolly to her friends in the basket, snagged a pair of Frida Kahlo socks (the queen herself, on my feet! how could I resist?), paid, took one last glance at the crosses, and rushed out with my mom. (we had places to be.)

Back home two weeks later, when I decided to wear my Frida socks to school, I thought about those Jesuses again. Every single day they garnish that wall, watching people waltz through the shop, and then leaving, just like I did. They see all kinds of people, broken and bloody and blue just like them. I stared at Frida and brought my knees to my chest. Jesus, I miss you. I miss the real you. On my carpeted floor at 7 a.m., I felt a fierce longing for change. Something was missing in me. My heart felt like decay, like an empty drawer of dust fairies. I needed it to be swallowed up by life. 

These past few months have burned a hole in my heart. I've been living for the world and trying to fill myself with passing pleasures and whims that slowly pull me further and further from the peace of Christ. I've fallen and tumbled, and only now do I see my bruises. Crosses have kept showing up recently, and I don't think it's a coincidence. 

It's obvious that I've been running from it, trying to escape it with every flutter of my gypsy heart. The cross. My cross. I can't put it any better than Thomas Kempis did: "No matter how you plan things and arrange them to your liking, you still will find something to suffer, either willingly or unwillingly, and so you will always find the cross." No matter how well we think we are avoiding our raw and utter selves to escape pain, the cross is still there. Everything I suffer--insecurities, anxieties, sorrows, loneliness--these are heavy crosses to carry. I can try to abandon them on the dirty ground and run away, but they always trip me as I flee, becoming heavier each time. 

Tonight, I choose to take up my cross: my longing to be loved, to be perfect. I will carry it on my back, realizing that though it should be weighing me down, my acceptance of it and willingness to carry it has made it lighter. I won't escape this torment, this aching. I want to die right here for Christ. Raise me up to live again. I'm tired of floating through life, ignoring pain, but at the same time ignoring joy, because you can't have one without the other. It hurts to be trapped in a life of existence, once you realize you are there, to rip your delicate skin from the vicious metal chains to see real life again. I'm slowly getting there. Slowly bringing myself back to real life, starting to listen to the voice of truth. I don't need to bask in memories anymore. I'm starting over. And it's a breathless feeling. I can't wait to start living again.

That night after our quick adventure on Olvera Street, as my mom and I drove wildly through the savage streets of LA, the sky suddenly became a blazing, bloody, beautiful bruise. It was as if the army of skeletal palm trees had bitten and pinched the baby blue haze. We came to a stoplight and I held my arm out the window, asking the California sky to bleed on me, so I could feel the syrupy wetness of vivid pink life. As quick as it had come, the sky bandaged itself in stars and city lights, leaving no trace of the battle it had just fought.

No matter how many times we are stung and gnawed on by our circumstances (or vicious palm trees), we will win only because have a savior who already won. Like the sky we will be swathed with a radiance so divine that the world can't rob us of it. We are loved, and we are real.

 late night blogging with Frida

olé

love love love

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.