What did it feel like? Maybe that’s what it took? Was it a room? Don’t limit yourself my love. Change the perspectives and look beyond. Moving from one square to another, it was the game of life. A portal of energy. One pathway to the next. Spontaneous moves. Strategic moves. Missed moves. It is still a move. The possibilities were endless. A move into peace and quiet with only but the superior senses of sight and sound with the spectrum gleaming in. Nature can do wonders. Tune in. Do you see it? Do you hear it? Do you feel it? So much to take in. Full of abundance. Oh what a privilege. What a joy. Days, weeks, a month in solitude for the fire began to grow. Slowly igniting. Coming into its own. Creeping into the spectrum of the universe. The unknown. The mysteriousness and limitless of this so called world. It was all a matter of balance. A move or no move. Simplicity in the unknown of the new. A recharge of the human battery. Growing and growing the flame that makes one spark, ignite, and radiate. A fucking queen she was. For it was all a light of solitude.

Hats off. Bottles pouring. One foot in the groove. A constant motion. A culture of change. A great leap of evolution and independence. The roaring twenties. The jazz age. But as the French called it, Les Années Folles ~ “The Crazy Years”. A memoir to the 1920’s. A roll of a one, nine, two, and a tie at the eight. 1928, sitting at Les Deux Magots, Hemingway heavily drinking with his immense direct charm and whit. A literature gift by the gods. The defining years of society. A leisure game of tennis & chess followed by a smoke & a martini. Sitting secretly inside a speak easy, ideas and collaborations flourished. Passion running through the veins. Love in the air. Prohibition fostering ideas. Jazz blossoming the ears and souls - allowing women an outlet to express themselves. A decade of emphasizing the era's social, artistic and cultural ambition. A race towards an industrial revolution in the iconic and popular black Ford Model T.

Transporting people from place to place. Transporting change. A step forward in history. A slower pace of time. The pace of a horse. The pace of love letters. The pace of communication. The pace of change. The clock never changed, as time is a constant. For humans in this moveable feast are the only change.

Don’t you get it? These were the years. A decade of profound social growth. For in order to understand the present, you must understand the past. For it is history that we have to thank for the present and future. For we must raise our glasses to the times of A Moveable Feast.

Welcome you beautiful souls. Sit sit my dear friends and loved ones. May I offer you a glass of orange juice? Tis’ the season. Fresh and ripe. When it rains, it pours. Abundant and vibrant. May I serve you luck and happiness? A simple yet mighty fruit. A sweet embrace of warmth. A traditional symbol of good fortune. A hue of a fruit so powerful it is said to symbolize gold. An auspicious fruit. A pour and token of my appreciation. A cheer. A toast. A celebration. For I only but wish you all happiness and prosperity. A squeeze of the day by yours truly, The Orange Man.

All it took was a shift. An unexpected delightful click. For it was time. Time to come into her own power. Strong as a ruby, power she played. A simple yet mighty shift. The shift of perspective. The shift of mindset. The shift of belief. Oh the power. The mighty all power of belief. Like a ruby, she stepped into the possession of unbeatable courage and unparalleled strength. Fearless and passionate. Rooted and grounded. She vowed by “this above all, to thine own self be true” ~ just as she was taught from The Teacher. Carve your path. Accept your karma. Follow your own weird. For the game of life was all but in the hands of The Ruby Girl.

-

“Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." - E.E. Cummings

He was The Teacher and she was The Student. Side by side they evolved. Life was kind. Full of light. The midnight skies so clear, they were limitless. He taught her all he could. All that he had time for. One checkmate at a time, the clock effortlessly paced on. Clouds of darkness took over. Sickness and pain prevailed. He continued to teach her all he could from afar.

A heart of gold. Radiating like the sunflowers of the earth. She was empowered like an imperial gōngzhǔ. For she prospered. Blue all around like the element of wood, for growth was inevitable. Optimism was her only foresight. Advancement and immortality. Proud and strong. So she stood. Chin up. Head up. Eyes forward. Through the weaves of her straw hat, she saw the faintly faded present, future, and past.

Was it all a matter of the physics or chemistry?

Checkering through life. For each move is an act of faith.

Tied and anchored. A weight lifted off his chest. A weight as heavy as an anchor down in the deepest and darkest realms of the seas where no light is to be to be found. It was time.

Ba ba ba (八 八 八). Looped. Linked. Tied to the eights. A number that so strongly defined ones life. Living for the eights. To such a number that only but enlightened ones life. Quite the number huh?

It all made sense. The late drunken nights. Iconic tunes playing at its highest volume. The endless nights of jamming out on the piano & guitar. Piano Man was on cloud 9.

Oh Dickie, oh Dickie. Get movin, get crackin and hit the ground runnin’ with one foot in the groove. One foot right. One foot left. One foot forward. One foot back. One foot in the groove old sport.

Full of wisdom. Knowledge up the sleeve. Patience all around. Grounded and clothed through the portals of energy. A man who cared. Who listened. Nothing but pure intentions from the heart. Full of groove and soul. A constant theme of liquid intake. A lover of liquor. No one will ever know. It is just water right?

A Dream of Flight. Take a birds eye view of the world: its endless gatherings and endless ceremonies many journeys in both storm and calm and the transformations of things coming to be existing and ceasing to be. Allow your inner compass to guide you. Allow it to light your path and show you the way. Allowing nature to take its course, for the truth is jut around the corner.

Sometimes life has a funny or yet beautiful way of speaking with you. Sometimes it speaks to you in the form of numbers, a stranger, a color, a new born baby, a movie, a dream, an object, or an animal. We are the writers of our own life. Our own book. It is YOU who decides what will go in that damn book. It is YOU who chooses to see what you want to see. Let the angels act. Let the angels prance around.

Some punk with a shotgun killed young Danny Bailey. 16 federal agents positioned and ready outside Chicago’s Biograph movie theater. An hour and 33 minutes of “Manhattan Melodrama”, young Danny Bailey walked out to his death. Damn you Lady In Red. American Gangster or Hero? Hero or Imagination?

Their eyes in sync. In harmony. In rhythm. They went together so beautifully. A match made in heaven. Like yin and yang. For one watched over the other from atop. For the other radiated so powerfully, the gods from Saturn and Icarus could feel and see this oh so radiating soul from the grounds of the Earth. Charismatic. Goofy. Generous. Intellectual. Philosophical. Simple. Gentle. Groovy. Zealous. To every event, journey, experience, and memory, It was there. It’s always there. For there is no life without It. As It is the true meaning of yin and yang. For It is the only thing that life truly guarantees. But why do we choose to view It as dark or sad or evil? Why must we be so afraid of it? It is only there to love and cherish. It is only there to take your hand in marriage, as it vowed. Until Death do us part. I. I. I. I. Get comfortable with it. Get real comfortable with it. For after all, we did take each other’s hand with vows and promises to always protect one another. For I empowered you. For I am the greatest motivator one could ask for. For I reframed your fear of me as a fear of not living. The worst thing is not dying, but it is never having lived. You must understand that the future is happening regardless. So, again. Death, do you take Life to be your soulmate? Life, do you take Death to be your soulmate? Do you promise to recognize one another as equals, and support one another in your goals and wishes for the future? For one last time, they took a look at each other before the clock stroke at 4:24PM. It was the last time. For, I, am death. For, I, was death. For, I, was above all, to thine own self be true of facing souls.

8 was his life. 8 was regarded as his luckiest number. 8 was also regarded as the luckiest number in Chinese culture. To fortune. To prosperity, success and high social status. For he embraced this number everywhere in life. His passwords. His license plates. His salary. His life. It was always 八八八 (Bā Bā Bā). For every light to a cigarette, he prevailed. For the mind is stronger than the body. For your body is not you. Your body is not who you are. Strike of a match. Strike of a match. He striked on and on and on, so desperately seeking a glow. For he was a creature of habit and routine. For till March 11, 2014, he no longer prevailed. The body conquered the mind. Eating away. Signs of early decompositional changes. For the light at the end of the cigarette was his light. For I had battled to be his light but the faint glimmer of the burning nicotine had beat me. She gave him exactly what he wanted. 200 hits of nicotine to the brain each day. Consistent and reliable. An easy light that shined 70mm from his mouth. Pale, plump, swollen. 2555 days went by watching the carried blood to the heart muscle narrow by blocked clots. Watching death. Watching 8 burn at the end of the light. Vanishing into thin air. For life circled like a Lucky 8.

He looked like death had taken over his body. Pale, plump, swollen. It was as if the circulation of the blood had been cut off. Discoloration. Purpleation (if even a word). Blotches of purple across the arms. Yellow stains on his finger nails from smoking. For cigarettes only but enriched his life. As all one could see. Keep it together. You must stay strong for he will collapse. Your strength will keep him up. Eye contact was challenging as she saw only but darkness, sadness, guilt, shame, and disappointment. So badly she wanted to break down in tears. Keep it together. You are the light. You are his light. You could hear it in his voice. You could see it in his eyes. You could feel it in his hug. You could see it in his walk. You could see it in his swollen limping body. You could….see. What is worse? Watching death upon a loved one or watching death knowing with no control? As all one could see. Make a wish. Blow out your candles. A wish to do more. A wish to know the answers. A wish to get in that head of the “Hommie-Ji”. She begged, wished, and weeped. A plea for help. Desperately asking what to do. For the death answered.

Yankees fan huh? Nope, I just like the color of the hat. You can’t go wrong with navy blue. Just one commonality and a connection is made. The power of human connection. You know that comforting feeling when we are physically embraced - feeling heard, emotionally understood and supported by another human being. There is this sense of warmth, security, and satisfaction. We all thirst it, even if you’d like to try and deny. But see, what one must grasp is that most of us are in love with the idea of being in love. What is real and what is not real? Are you rising or falling in love? We chase this illusive feeling, feeling the spark of the new and intensity of the passion and then as soon it dwindles we are disappointed, and we set off trying to find the feeling. A sense of excitement. Newness. Fresh. Bare but not so rare. Loving wholly, arms and heart wide open. Tick tock tick tock. We are left chasing that feeling or forever comparing all other feelings to that experience. You see, for all life is an act of faith and an act of gamble. The moment you take a journey, what an act of faith. In madness lies sanity. Leap, and the net will appear. Falling, falling, falling. Was it all it a dream Brooklyn Boy?