BB Webb as BB Webb!

Exploring the Possibilities

Ooooh Mary…..sweet June 9, 2010

The power of YouTube… had Theresa Anderson on their main page this morning…..

a new talent to me.

Ahh the fiddle. Ahh the voice.

Makes me (and clearly), Mary, weep!

BB Webb


Bury Me Please Under a Dogwood Tree April 12, 2010

It’s a small request, but one that suits me.

The Dogwood. Graceful, poised with her perfect blossoms and statuesque build.

She sneaks in behind the eager daffodils, an ACT 2 harbinger to spring.

Magically she arrives on stage, like a ready dancer, her arms held so perfectly poised.

Sturdy is this beauty, independent and strong with her trunk and muscled arms.

So bury me there so I might enjoy her brief blossom, so much like life.

We arrive, tarry awhile yet depart really quite quickly,

This pretty Dogwood, her stay is not so different,

Her return each year like our own journeying from one lifetime to the next,

As we meet the people we’re meant to meet upon our path,

Bury me there, my ashes and a favored trinket or two.

And if my dogs should live beyond my years.

You might bury them there as well.

It’s fitting, Dogwood and all!

BB Webb


Revisited….that tipping point April 1, 2010

This week is a milestone week, for many reasons…

I’ve known the tipping point was on its way…unsure in only impatient moments.

But, a higher source noted its coming and I’m learning to trust that voice more and more.

It’s something when your mind, heart and spirit shift. It’s like bursting from a cocoon!

As I shift my focus, only the love remains.

I could live no other way.

And so I feel an expansion in my own silence. Yes, silence. Something new. There is a path in my mind’s eye, certainly in my heart and I can feel the muscles in my legs readying to take me there.

Oh, and such a relief as I’ve been in an airplane hanger for so long, building my wings and applying protective coating so I won’t melt like Icarus when I get too near the sun.

I truly can hardly tell you how excited I am.

And, well, grateful, of course.

‘Thank you’, is all I can think of to say. ‘Thank you.’

Below, a poem I wrote while spending time in Normandy France almost 2 years ago….sleeping in the front of a horse trailer, hobknobing with open hearted, open minded Dutch people. I felt the tipping point’s rumble, albiet nearly two years away.

The Tipping Point

You think it’s gonna come early,
Then were sad and felt it was too late,
You get a tad peaked and encouraged,
Then you wonder hard about fate.

Then dang if the scales don’t tetter,
Don’t they toddle, create a wake,
And oh the tipping point comes,
Yeah open them flood gates,
Baby, go on and open them flood gates,
I got some livin that jus ain’t gonna wait!

The money it just wouldn’t show up,
Your biz slowed, got stuck in the mud,
Your love life seemed on terminal hold,
You’d given ‘nuf sweat and lotsa blood.

Then dang if the scales don’t tetter,
Don’t they toddle, create a wake,
And oh the tipping point comes,
Yeah open them flood gates,
Baby, go on and open them flood gates,
I got some livin that jus ain’t gonna wait!

You’ve scoured the ads, traveled so far,
And that voice in your head keeps saying ‘soon!’
You’ve said your prayers and thrown your cards,
What else now, must I howl at the moon?

Then dang if the scales don’t tetter,
Don’t they toddle, create a wake,
And oh the tipping point comes,
Yeah open them flood gates,
Baby, go on and open them flood gates,
I got some livin that jus ain’t gonna wait!

Then fifty came smack, without warning,
Behaviors of old, took their toll,
Divorce struck quick like sharp lightning,
But freedom, she knocked hard at your door.

Then dang if the scales don’t tetter,
Don’t they toddle, create a wake,
And oh the tipping point comes,
Yeah open them flood gates,
Baby, go on and open them flood gates,
I got some livin that jus ain’t gonna wait!

And heaven you find it was right here,
Peace was well within reach,
Abundance was in every corner,
And love was what ya needed to teach,
Yeah, love was what you needed to teach.

Then dang if the scales don’t tetter,
Don’t they toddle, create a wake,
And oh the tipping point comes,
Yeah open them flood gates,
Baby, go on and open them flood gates,
I got some livin that jus ain’t gonna wait!

BB Webb


A Sad and Beautiful World March 8, 2010

I was listening to NPR (National Public Radio), on my way back from a killer Bikram Yoga class which I travel all the way to Alpharetta for, (I drive nearly an hour to be tortured). It’s the closest location to my home.

Having plenty of time to listen to tunes or talk on the phone, I lately find myself listening to NPR, the only programming, aside from perhaps Sirrus Radio options, which I truly enjoy. This evening, and latecomer that I am to some ‘things’ and people, I heard of Mark Linkous aka Sparklehorse for the first time. He apparently was prone to deep depression and took his life last week in Knoxville, Tennessee.

I liked the music they played of his on the radio. I’m sad to just learn of people and then have them gone from the planet. I went home and immediately read all about him and played his many songs. I am especially taken by his song, ‘A Sad and Beautiful World’. I concur.

All these feelings, coming and going. All these souls coming and going and coming and going….it somehow puts some things into perspective.

.His ‘Heart of Darkness’ hit a resonate chord. I like his tone, his style, his voice, the words. I would have liked to have met this artist, this man.

Thank you for leaving this lovely music for us to enjoy Mr. Linkous and may you find a profound and deserved peace.

BB Webb


Sartre…Satie and questions for the Universe February 27, 2010

I’m waxing a bit poetic this late evening. You may want to play Erik Satie’s music below while reading. And in that it’s probably morning time for you, you may consider reading and listening with a strong cup of espresso or hot ceylon or oolong tea, sweetened just so, snugged up in a comfy chair with the sun in your lap, perhaps a curled up kitty nearby.

I was reminded of Erik Satie’s music this night and hadn’t known that he was also a writer.

Recognized as a member of the avante guarde movement in France in the late 1800s and early 1900s, I imagine him sitting with the likes of Jean Paule Sartre, (I know, Sartre would have been an infant), and maybe a young Ionesco or Samuel Beckett, drinking strong coffee on the Champs de Elysses. I’d loved to have accompanied them and tossed ideas about while stoking on cheap, thin, handrolled cigars with our feet up on the empty chairs at the table, the bustle of people moving on the street and that special European taxi honk in the background. (Oh goodness, maybe not in the late 1800s….that honk came much later). Still, much bustling going on indeed!

Some background which I found:

Sartre was influenced by many aspects of Western philosophy, absorbing ideas from Kant, Hegel, Kierkegaard, Husserl and Heidegger, among others. In 1929 at the École Normale, he met Simone de Beauvoir, who studied at the Sorbonne and later went on to become a noted philosopher, writer, and feminist. The two became inseparable and lifelong companions, initiating a romantic relationship, though they were not monogamous. Sartre served as a conscript in the French Army from 1929 to 1931 and he later argued in 1959 that each French person was responsible for the collective crimes during the Algerian War of Independence.

Together, Sartre and de Beauvoir challenged the cultural and social assumptions and expectations of their upbringings, which they considered bourgeois, in both lifestyle and thought. The conflict between oppressive, spiritually destructive conformity (mauvaise foi, literally, “bad faith”) and an “authentic” way of “being” became the dominant theme of Sartre’s early work, a theme embodied in his principal philosophical work L’Être et le Néant (Being and Nothingness) (1943). Sartre’s introduction to his philosophy is his work Existentialism is a Humanism (1946), originally presented as a lecture.

And then I found the following, written by a favored playwright of mine, Eugene Ionesco. Frankly, these words might have easily been written by me, it’s nearly verbatim how I wonder the same thing.

From Ionesco’s play, ‘The Hermit’. 1973.

“I thought that it was strange to assume that it was abnormal for anyone to be forever asking questions about the nature of the universe, about what the human condition really was, my condition, what I was doing here, if there was really something to do. It seemed to me on the contrary that it was abnormal for people not to think about it, for them to allow themselves to live, as it were, unconsciously. Perhaps it’s because everyone, all the others, are convinced in some unformulated, irrational way that one day everything will be made clear. Perhaps there will be a morning of grace for humanity. Perhaps there will be a morning of grace for me.”

These are the very thoughts that keep me up at night or howling, (in my way), at the moon. It’s why I dance every morning for at LEAST 10, sometimes 15 minutes in between putting on my make-up or fixing my unruly hair, working to tame it as I work to tame the parts of me which feel caged, roaring to move forward, lunge, leap, dive, splash or simply fly or twirl like a helicopter skyward.

And truly, are these not the things which fill your mind?

I sometimes wonder what it might be like to be an owl sitting on a limb under the moonlight questioning, ‘hooo hooooo?’

BB Webb


If… February 15, 2010

IF….. by Rudyard Kipling

Rudyard Kipling 1865- 1936

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
‘ Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

The right words come if you but listen. Listen and not be afraid to hear.

BB Webb


On Truth. December 30, 2009

I’ve learned some key things this past week…..or maybe it’s a lifetime that has brought me here.

Who we are, our truth, how we feel, what we believe, is like a personal elixir, making us full, alive, passionate about things perhaps, allows our soul to flourish within our human skin.

Though, to live in our world, here on this particular planet, certainly in the society to which I was born, a measure of magician-ry need be employed to not extinguish that flame. This I know for sure.

Sharing all of who we are to the varied populace with whom we come in contact, to which we are exposed, is not always wise. People may not understand where we come from, and that’s okay, and I’ve found, in my case, often they don’t. And here is where wizardry comes in. (And, I must remind myself that I DO relish a measure of challenge).

Like a director working with an actor, a General guiding her troupes or a leader working to uplift and inspire her team, new tactics might need be employed to gently relay the message intended and to have it received as intended.

And, just as a fire need have freedom to blaze, a heart and spirit need room to flourish though, just as a plant needs air and water, if polluted, it will not thrive. Similarly, discretion and a measure of laying low, might oft times be a better choice. As we sit and wait, and listen, we might better know when to walk through the curtain, to appear on stage, to walk into the light, as timing is key if we are to be received well to make the impact we desire.

And trust, those souls who want to find you, or need to find you, the ones curious as to what makes you shine or who are curious as to what treasures you possess which might benefit them, they will seek you out, will feel your vibration. It is imminent as are our varied paths. It just is. In this we must trust as in God we trust. (My belief anyway).

For all the others, they have their path, allow them their preferred securities or insecurities, pray for our collective fears to dissolve and intend perhaps a united front to conquer the dark and work to bring forth only light. And in the Ho’oponopono Hawaiian tradition, consider that what you see in front of you is merely a reflection of yourself. Grace others and yourself with the magic prayer to your distractors AND the ones who buoy you forward as well, ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me, I love you, thank you.’ This can change the world.

For, to me, love and light are the only elements of existence and being which I’ll embrace, the rest, illusion, if I chose them to be. All this thinking clearly a work in progress for I am as human and emotive as they come. In knowing this, I can then truly share, as I shift elsewhere, what it is like to be stuck in the dark. I’ll know too, how to lead others somewhere better as that is where I am going….each day, with every challenge and set back I am only bolstered to where I am meant to go.

In earnest can I then truly thank and love my ‘seeming’ distracters.

There is no other choice. I may forget in moments, but when I am quiet and sit, I remember well.

Brian Andreas, one of my favored artists and poets said what I know so very well. He created a sculpture with this short poem, which hangs in my home office. I read it often.

‘For a long time, she only flew when she thought no one else was watching.’ Brian Andreas.

By Brian Andreas, courtesy

2010 may mark the year you take flight and allow all to see. It’s all in the timing, as a trained performer, and mistress of special events, this I know well, though merely forget some days when I impatiently consider my own passions and desires for what I see ahead for myself. Timing.

Blessings to you all.

BB Webb