love from vescent

Heart

Speak your heart. If they don’t understand, the message was never meant for them anyway.
 - Yasmin Mogahed

Quote from Jonathan Carroll

Los Arboles

I'm on the morning dog walk. The Los Angeles sun is shining brightly. The sky is blue. The air is moist, slightly cool. I inhale deeply as Mr Dog sniffs his spots. Down the sidewalk tunnel we walk. When he stops to sniff or pee, I look up at the trees. We have walked these sidewalks for more than 6 years. I have my favorite blocks. My favorite trees.

This morning, I am filled with love for these trees. The pair of tall palms. I stop and turn my face to the sun in the space where my favorite Avocado used to stand - until it was cut down a few months ago. Instead of my sadness at it's loss, I enjoy the sun on my face. Two hummingbirds thunder by chirping through their flight acrobatics to the palms in the next yard. 

I turn the corner to my street - I think it is one of the most beautiful in the neighborhood - and I live on it. As we walk down the sidewalk, I admire the trees, the palms, the small Avocado, the towering Eucalyptus. I think of other favorite trees, in other parts of the world. My favorite Live Oaks overlooking Crystal Springs and the San Andreas fault up north of 280. My "meditation" tree up in the Hollywood Hills. A beautiful Pine that I like to climb and observe the glittering LA grid. 

In Los Angeles I was introduced to the Jacaranda. What a gorgeous tree, wispy green leaves exploding into purple flowers in May/June. Not only do I love the purple explosion, it marks my Los Angeles anniversary. The Jacaranda has extra special meaning. June is the Jacaranda month. Everywhere I drive throughout the city, explosions of purple blooms. It's my favorite time of the year (notwithstanding the Santa Anas).

Out in the Mojave desert, I have an equal love. The long standing, alien, almost human looking Joshua Tree. There's something about these trees. The way they stand through time. The jerky, almost human appearance. And yet, the spiky hairs. Inspiration for Dan Simmon's shrike and probably China Mievelle too. 

Thank you trees, for your diversity, your shade, your sun. For blooms. For fruit. For moments of rest and reflection. For delighting my senses. You make my neighborhood beautiful which comforts and inspires me. Thank you!

Joshua Tree in Fog, November 2013

Intuition

Often subtle, sometimes a quiet whisper at other times the loudest voice in my head, my intuition is something I love.

When I'm in tune with it, and listen, my life flows. Sometimes though, the world and my mind are full of distractions and it's difficult to hear the truth under all the noise. I lose the signal of my intuition.

I love that intuition tells me exactly what I need to know at the right moment. (I don't always listen to it - I really should.) I love the feeling of connection I have to the world when I listen to my intuition. I love the connection I feel to myself when I am in tune with my intuition. I love the nudges of intuition to take action or do something and it turns out to be just in perfect timing. Dear Intuition, thank you for all you give me, the knowledge, the actions, in your calm perfect timing. 

The Vlogs

I am not much of a branding person. I mean, I don't much identify or follow brands. But there are a few exceptions to the rule. My late love of Thinkpads (gone and died with the lack of adoption of their little red mouse button), my beloved Saab Convertible, and then, in a category of it's own: THE FLUEVOG.

Fluevogs are shoes. Very special shoes. Shoes that are amazing - making the trend. Made by a very special man. But it's not just the situation that makes Fluevogs amazing. It's the timing and location of my purchases. Like that time in Toronto, when I was speaking at Sibos, and I went in and you had your very Prepare family style: my grey felt boots that have since traveled with me almost 200k miles. Then there were the many times in Los Angeles with Ruth or Travis and now Maria where we bought too many awesome shoes.

There are the times I have been gifted Fluevogs. These are amazing times. Katy in San Francisco gave me beautiful yellow and purple Mary Jane's. And Epiphany just sent me a pair of ruby slippers. (I am way into the Oz on so many levels. My company is named The Purple Tornado. My tag line is, we are not in Kansas Anymore. And everytime I return to my beloved Los Angeles I state: there's no place like home.)

I have given my fair share of Fluevogs. These are special gifts to amazing people I respect, love and cherish.

Not to mention the many friendships and connections I have around the love of this brand. It's a secret club. Once you're in it, you're grandfathered for awesomeness for life. A friend and lover of Fluevog is a friend to me. Fluevog the brand = totally awesome person I will probably love.

But there is one thing missing here Mr. Fluevog and that is the man in my life. No man in my life has ever had the same empassionated love of the Fluevog. No one has ever bought me a pair of Vlog. (The man that buys me a pair of vlogs has a special place in my heart - and my appreciation can not be expressed on this blog, but let's just say, it's unforgettable.) And more so, what is wrong with me, in not dating or having a special place in my heart for a man who sports a stylish Vlog with mine? 

I suppose a woman can dream. 

In the meantime, I can love my Vlogs. The pleasure I get from their companionship, their awesomeness, unique perfection. They give me pleasure everwhere I walk, drive, ride. They look great. 

Fluevogs, I love you. For mere money (ok, maybe a lot of it) you give me such pleasure and delight and expression. Who says money can't buy love has never owned a pair of Fluevogs.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxxxxx

-Heather

Santa Ana & Mojave

"Here come those Santa Ana winds again"

One of the reasons I love the Santa Ana Winds is because they bring my city dwelling self a breath of my beloved Mojave. Longtime readers of heathervescent, know my love of the desert, the Mojave and the Santa Ana winds. 

The first few years I lived in LA, I attuned myself to them. I lived in Mt Washington, and would wake to see the sparkling San Gabriel Mountains. That's when you know the Santa Ana's are in town. Not always hot, sometimes they carry the chilling 4am desert cold. Darkest before dawn along with the hot midday heat blowing through sweet creosote.  

Many times in 2011 and 2012, I returned from transatlantic flights, to have my nostrils greeted with the hot or cool smell of the Mojave at LAX. It was the best welcome home, because I did not have much time to get into the desert directly. 

These memories evoked by these swirling winds of the desert. Penetrating my heart, finding the pain, drying it's wet bloody crying to dust, blowing from my heart to join with dust in these Santa Monica Mountains, the San Gabriels and beyond.

A few weeks ago, I got home late and was giving the dog a midnight walk. Los Angeles had been cool and moist and I was wearing warmer layers. As he sniffed his usual spots, I felt a lick, a curl in my nostril - an unmistakable hot swirl of the Mojave in the cool night. Then it was gone. A few feet later, a gust caressed my face, blowing my hair gently. I tasted the breath again - it was the unmistakable Santa Ana. For the rest of the walk, I opened my body completely, experiencing the incoming Santa Ana wind, mixing, twisting with, teasing the cool marine layer. Cool ocean, hot desert. It was an equisite physical experience. Los Angeles woke up to 90 degree weather the next morning.

And when I am in the Mojave? There is the moment, the atmospheric thermocline, when I pass from not the Mojave into the Mojave - the San Gorgonio Pass. It is a hypnotic pass day or night with the wondrous wind farms mining the energy from these winds. Lazy white circulating under light, red computer LED flashing at night. Hypnotic. Magical. Science at work!

Something in me comes alive when I pass this place. When I am here, when I breathe deeply, lungs filling and refilling with the dry desert air. Wringing out all but the essence. Cutting through to break through. 

Santa Ana winds I love you. Your winds lick deep into my body, goosebumps rising, blowing my hair across my face, neck, swirling up into my nostrils, into my lungs, penetrating my heart and soul. Electrifying my body. Evoking memories of the past, decades, millennium of time. Timeless in your presence.

Only the breath, the inhale, the exhale. Each a deep kiss with all my heart and soul.

Dome Loft

It's been a long day and I've been working out at the Dome. Today, the loft got in order. 8am sofa delivery after barely 4 hours of sleep. But I was running on excitement. 

I have this way of feeling how the furniture should be arranged. I have to be in the space. See the possibilities. Move the stuff around. Sit in the space some more. With the Dome, there are not many right angles. It's a new challenge in feeling the flow of the space and where the pieces should go for maximum delight and joy. Music helps me feel. I brought out my speaker system and set it up in the  loft. I put on the epic Empire of the Sun and at 9:30am the big bass reverberated through every room in the house.

Down in the dining room, across the other side of the dome, you could hear the music perfectly. The sound traveled around the circular shape. I'm sitting at my dining room table right now and it sounds as if there is a speaker directly above my head. And it's the same thing at another side and another side. It's completely magical - but also SCIENCE!

I spent the dark afternoon in the dome loft. The ice grey couches compliment the ice blue of walls and ceiling. Maria was crashed out on one couch, Mr Dog was snuggled on some blankets. I was reading. My favorite Boards of Canada station was playing. 

I could feel the calm happiness of the space. Pure bliss. I imagined the amazing times people would have in the loft. The amazing times I will have in the loft. I felt lucky, honored to safeguard and share this amazing place I call Dome Sweet Dome. 

Dome Loft, you are the center deep in layers I love. In California, in the Mojave, in a Geodesic Dome. Dome loft - you are my newest love. I look forward to many days and nights in your comfort.

the Words themselves

Language is amazing. I have always been fascinated by the context and meaning of words in the structure of language. And how we use them. Language is a co-created reality. The structure of the language influences your perception, understanding of reality. I didn't want to be limited by one view of our co-created reality, so I studied 6+ languages in college. There's a thing that happens once you learn more than one language - that there are multiple ways to view a situation, based on your language program. Once you realize this, it makes it easier to understand how there can be diverse perspectives.

I remember my first disillusionment with language. It was sometime in 2nd grade. I was taking a test or learning reading comprehension. I had a very strict black/white view of the world. I couldn't believe that a word could possibly change it's meaning based on the context or usage. That was a hard lesson I never forgot. It's through that lesson I embraced the grey area of meaning. And probably was the seed for my desire to become a poet. (Little known fact: I went to college with the intention of being a poet.) It was also the end of my belief in an objective anything.

Eventually I learned about my favorite word technique: the Metaphor. And later, this love was trumped by the technique: Analogy.  

How does one express a moment, captured forever in time? Or communicate the idea of something that is truly new?

As a creator, a futurist, someone who sees things emerging ideas, I need a way to communicate things that do not yet exist. Not just physical objects or products or services; but ways of thinking or feeling or an emerging possibility wanting to blow through previous definitions.

I use words, poetry to capture the essence of a moment in time. A marker that can be returned to over and over. (Much like I mentioned about music moments yesterday.) I will never forget the things I captured in time through my poetry. Back in advance poetry class, we called our journal, Dipped in Salt. Because that was what we did with our words. Captured these complex moments through the structure of words.

Words give the right flexibility with a formal structure. I use the structure of our co-created meanings, but as a poet and creative writer, I push the words beyond their comfortable meanings into new areas of possible meaning.

And I use words to do the reverse. By naming, defining, I give form and structure to an emerging possibility. Threading emotions, feelings with objects, observations and emerging possibilities. 

Analogies.  

The act of writing gives these emerging possibilities form. As I type each word on the page. Something ethereal gains form, being birthed on some level as I form concepts, ideas, emotions, feelings into words, sentences, paragraphs.  Capturing the moment. 

O words, I love you so much. You roll of my tongue and my finger tips with delight. Favorite words like Jacare, Anthropomorphic, Quetzalcoatl, Acerola, Effervescent, Puissant, Saudade. Possibilities. Words, I string together express my perception of the world. Without you, words, I could not create my world, this world. You are my building blocks, from which I build structures of beauty and meaning and delight and communication.

Together, we create worlds. 

Traveling without Moving

** You can listen to this Beautiful Eclectic playlist, which I listened to as I wrote this post **

I woke up this morning with music in my head. Between my brain and the sheets a song played over and over. The melody and wordplay dancing around each other. I grabbed my phone, plugged it into the speaker and played the song. The luxury of laying in bed, listening to your dream song, morning under the covers, snuggling dog. A moment of bliss.

Arising, making coffee, jumping on the international google hangout (which I was late to because of timezone mixups). Swimming in the beautiful #globalnow. I remain positive about my audacious decision to blog what I love. Then the suckerpunch comes in my email. A blow from left field. I sit. I take it in.

I think, this is a big raspberry to my experiment. But I made a promise to myself. A commitment to you, whoever is reading, to blog what I love. 

I kept thinking about this Grateful Dead Lyric. "Without love in the dream it will never come true." And I put on my Beautiful Eclectic Playlist and decided to write about my love for music. 

Music has always been a huge part of my life. I have often regretted my decision to never play an instrument. To not read music. I learned other languages, but I was always intrigued by the notation: notes spread across lines, structured and fluid, a magical language. But a doorway shut. I look at the black notes on the cream paper, ignorant, unable to hear the music. Much like my poetic words on this blog.

It's not just the music that delights me, but the wordplay. Poetry. Metaphor. The dance between meaning, symbolism and expression, dovetailing with rhythm, melody, structure, style. My favorites are fractalic. Diving deeper into the music, a pattern repeating, changing, repeating, shifting. I love a lot of electronic, trance and dance music because of this exploration. Over the summer I was introduced to a classic form of this: the fugue. And no, I'm not talking about space travel fugue state.

I swim within the layers of the fugue. Skimming the waves created by the notes. With electronic music, like the Aphex Twin playing right now, stops interrupt, bring attention, allow a pivot, shift, reach into a possible space and pull back something to experience. I follow a thread, a line, something I see in my mind, willingly as far as it leads. A Wonderland adventure. I lose myself in the movements, savoring the adventure, these possibilities. Structure returns me to the shore, where I am deposited, elated. Moments has passed, but a lifetime, I can return to over and over each time I listen to this song.

I layer my own experiences on the experience of the music. Increasing the personal value, meaning of each piece. These values fermenting, becoming something for my own experience. To taste again and again. And each taste has the original and each revision.

These moments, these experiences, these lifetimes - I experience. Daily. Multiple times Daily. What sweet musical bliss?

Music, let me count the ways I love thee. You take me on mental journeys, to places I dream of, that exist in the possibility of the existence of music. You sooth my heart and soul when I am less than myself. You give me answers to questions. You fill the silence with beauty. And yet, I do not miss you when there is silence. I love that I live in a world with such diverse music available - at my finger tips. From Bach's Fugues to Daft Punk's Get Lucky to Moby's We are Made of Stars, to Steely Dan and Jamiroquoi and The Orb and Earth Wind and Fire and Bill Withers and ELO and George Michael and and and...

 

the <3 experiment

Hi there. heathervescent here. So yeah, this is a new blog. I had a crazy idea this evening when I was at the spa. I was sitting in the gold room, meditating, thinking about my life, rolling things around in my head that I loved. Then I drove home, in darkness on Olympic and Highland listening to Jamiroquoi. "Salvation's coming!" And then I thought about something my friend Josh told me yesterday. I was saying something about trusting the universe, and he said, you trusted yourself. And I though, fuck yeah, stop giving my power away to the universe. Trust myself. I have the universe right here... in my heart. 

I thought of something my friend Rusty said to me yesterday. I was sad, lamenting on my breaking heart. Bleeding all over the damn place. Feeling like a fool for falling in love. For being real, following my emotions - these damn emotions. Stepping into the air, taking the leap, falling, flying, following some possibility that only I can see. I can't help but take action when I see the path. Damn etheral paths. Anyway, Rusty said it took bravery to do, feel what I did/felt. And I shouldn't feel embarrassed or like a fool.

Love. Surrender. Courage.

So here goes. I have lots of love in my life. I want more love in my life. I'm opening up my heart as far as it goes. This is the experiment. This is a practice. Every day until the end of 2013 I will write about something that moves my heart. That I love. An experience in present moment anchored in the past and slingshot into the future. I will share these moments with you, if you will read them.Here goes Internet. Here is the soft  pulsing heart of vescent. Be gentle with it, please. It is so tender.

Kombucha how I love thee Effervescence

If you are a friend of mine, follow me on twitter or the FB, you know that I have recently gotten a bit excited, some might say, obsessed with Kombucha. 

If you don't know what Kombucha is, use the Google to enlighten you. My first memory of its mention was several years ago, by a friend in NY, who was much into mushrooms. I barely registered it in my mind. Then, earlier this year, another friend convinced me to try it. I took a tentative sip - it was sweet, effervescent, slightly bitter. Unusual, I didn't dislike it, but I wasn't about to add it to my diet. Then my most excellent world traveling friend was in LA from Peru and we were out at the Dome in the Mojave. There's a place I like to stop and get a snack on the way out and my friend noticed they had fresh brewed Kombucha. She got it and offered me a sip. I wish I could say I said yes, but I passed. However, my interest was piqued. On my next trip out to the Mojave, I decided to try it myself. It was so light and refreshing. Perfect for the hot weather. Then I happened to be somewhere that had Kombucha for sale, and I decided to try it again for reals. And that time, I got hooked - and the obsession kicked up. 

After working my way through several brands and flavors, I took a trip to Seattle, where I learned about Kombucha Cocktails. This knowledge really put me over, especially since the Kombucha Cocktail contained my favorite liquor: Campari. Kombucha & Campari? And St Germain? Just wow. Awesomenewss - and healthy for you too!

Then it was time to take my Kombucha obsession to the next level - and make it myself. I love being domestic, having an awesome house, garden, great kitchen to make stuff in. I've never shied away from producing stuff, so I thought I would try brewing Kombucha. Thanks to the Internet, and a friend who hooked me up with a scooby, I've been brewing Kombucha for about a month now. And it is awesome. 

I love effervescent beverages. I don't drink much more than coffee, sparkling water and red wine so I love adding a new choice. Brewing Kombucha is pretty easy and it's in the second brew that I flavor it and it adds its effervescence. 

Just today, I pulled out my batch of cran-lemon-ginger. Deep crimson, tart and effervescent. So totally awesome! I've experimented with various teas, but my first batch of Oolong and Jasmine Ginger has been the best so far. 

I've gotten used to Kombucha's gelatinous blobby ways. I'm not so freaked out by your multiplying self. I'm not sure I'm such a great scooby husbander - but I am learning how to take care of your yeasty and abundant self. 

Kombucha, let me count the ways I love thee. I love that I can make you. I love that you are unusual. I love that you are new in my life. I love that I can experiment with flavors. I love that I can leave you alone. And I love that you sometimes need a lot of attention. I love that you go from flat to bubbly. I love that hiss when I crack the seal. I love taking you to parties and making cocktails with you. I love that others get excited about you too! 

Mostly, I love your home made effervescent ways! I'm so glad you came into my life and I cherish every sip made from my own hands. 

My latest brew: Cran-Lemon-Ginger Darjeeling