Joy. Love. Ride.

To the safari I want to go, to visit with the animals, talk and run with them, tell them stories, sing them lullabies and play some kind nut games that none of us can explain; boring it won’t be for sure but edgy it will. So, I dream. Yeah, I want to go out in the wild, run free like a butterfly, jump ropes with the kangaroos and scream joy to the world where no one can hear and reply back but feel good, bust up some moves and dance to the groove, inhale fresh air, sit and breathe the sound of nature, let it all out, let it all in and calling it love. Love of thyself. Love of you. Love of others. Just Love. Joy. Love. Life. Living. Cheers!

© Angela Aguiar


Running Out of Script

Dear God, I am trying to navigate, learn to trust, be patient, confident, have faith in tomorrow as you have prescribed but I seem to often ran out of script and straight to that peculiar box. Time and again, I find myself in the river swimming, fighting against the large ocean currents that only a truck full of cockroaches can deliver. It has been a challenge, I may add. I thought I was brave, built like The Rock but like a clock, wound up caving in, flipping at sign of a hot burning pot when the pump kept going, screaming my lungs out for the world to hear, to no avail. So I wave, do the hockey pokey dance like a dog with a tail in between its legs, put the mascara on but half way through the walking machine defeat parade, I wake up from the rubble to clap an Alleluia give me something fuerte, I am still alive, can you hear me?! The road is a tad narrow, crowded, with endless curves and adjacent noisy streets but I urge you to be a wee bit understanding as I plod through the gravels, leaving a black patch on my wounded foot. Sitting at curbside, I felt the wind going by, blowing the seat cover that has been my existence, emerging from the ashes I left behind. Signed, the birdman!