Lovely Little Words

Island in a Storm

Water shattered on the glass from 10 different directions. The wind made it seem like the sky was everywhere except up. Welcome cyclone, respect our lives. Windows had to be shut and locked. On the island, no one left their homes. In 9 months a river of children would flow from women.

In the morning she woke from the sound of the rain. Last night had been harder, but the vibrations surrounding her on all sides of the little house soothed her like a lullaby. Outside the cyclone ran it’s marathon, not caring that people had made plans at the beach, not giving a damn that today was suppose to be a special day for lovers and friend, but instead, the storm ran, faster and stronger.

After she opened her eyes and stretched her body like a cat risen from a century-old nap, she thought about calling him. When would he stop being the first thing that arose in her mind like an annoying alarm clock? When would his memories be safe and sound, on the other side of the world? When the sun stopped rising.

The book by her bed was opened and instead of listening to the words the author wrote she wondered what was going through the mind of the writer as he set down each word into the typewriter. What pushed him to find his perfect words? And how could he have settle for such a muck of verbiage? She placed the book back in its corner and looked out the window. Wet, forever dripping panes. The thought of his finger running up and down her spine flashed like lighting. The skies stayed grey, her cheeks flushed in color. She wanted to get up and stand outside underneath the rain and feel each drop rail her until she stood drenched. It reminded her of how she would run outside in a storm as a child ignoring the screams of her mother. Sunshine made her forget these moments. Rain kept her in a corner to play with her shadows. Alone. She wondered how long the storm would last. Things to be done pulled at her nightgown.

She shut the crack in the window and made her morning coffee. Always in a bowl and strong, never in a cup. Just the way he had taught her. Sip and think. That was her game. Every morning she liked to believe that it made her better, a stronger thinker, smarter than the average. Maybe one day her morning thoughts would save her. A thump from above paused her thoughts of whether or not Sugar cane made Coca Cola healthier. The Mango tree no longer surprised her when an overripe fruit would sail down like a bomb in warfare on her tin roof. Now it was just a hiccup in everyday life, even when they came in the dead of night. Numbness settled back down. One more sip and she could see the bottom of the bowl where the crumbs settled from where she had dipped her Strawberry jam and buttered toast.

One day at a time. As she washed her dishes and prepared for work she thought about how much love she had felt in a lifetime. Dishes always made her sentimental. Her grandmother had always called her The Little Measurer. Grandmother had been right. She measured everything that presented itself to her, whether it was a piece of cheese at the grocery store or words written on a piece of paper meant for her eyes only.

A kiss was never meant to be measured, only enjoyed. And if it wasn’t enjoyed, there was no other thought except to stop. Yet she never stopped, instead continued measuring. The first time he had kissed her they were standing beneath a Papaya tree. She had pointed her finger up, her mouth half open with words resting on the tip of her tongue measured for his amusement only. They stayed there, he never looked up. Instead he took that first step breaking the short space which had before been used as the shield away from others. When their lips touched, her ribs tightened. When her tongue tasted him, she knew she had found something much sweeter than a fat hanging Papaya. That first kiss lasted less than 3 seconds. That first kiss also lasted for her entire life.

She took her morning shower and washed her long black blue hair which she was known for. Even though it rained outside, the air was hot and the cool water made her relax. She could have stayed under the stream for hours if she didn’t have to think about the bill which would eventually come in response. Streams ran down her body with her hair fanning over her shoulders and back. She looked at her white feet and the black rock floor which she stood on. The vision of him washing her feet entered her mind. She measured how the first kiss had been just as powerful as the last, yet nothing alike. She had wanted to kill him for what he had taken from her when he left. But what had he taken? He hadn’t cheated. He hadn’t abused her. He hadn’t said one harsh word. Somehow that only made it worse. He had only grown apart from her. Far after she had grown to be a part of him. So what had he taken? Only half of her heart. She was still waiting for her organ transplant.

Each day she tried to build what had been taken. Each day, she noticed a little more of the paradise that went on around her. The trees, the sea, the smell of foods. Soap to feel clean, perfume to feel new. She stepped out of the shower like a nude slate and noticed the rain had stopped falling.

Opening the windows and Japanese shoji doors, sunlight entered her small home and the humidity followed. She wrapped her hair in a towel and threw on a light wrap, sitting outside on the white tile balcony steps. This was her favorite place in the whole world. Close to the ground in the safety of her home. But it was the view that made her feel like she was a million miles away from Mankind.

Before her sat the wild of the South Pacific Ocean. Trees lined the beach and beyond the white sand, she could see far off waves where the reef met deep darkness. It reminded her of the first kiss they had exchanged at night with not a light on in her little home. Only the stars were out, and still, they were untouchable. They kissed. It wasn’t like a movement but more like a message from both of their souls saying that this was a dance they had been preparing for all their lives. Each movement and caress was a secret unfolded. Each sound, a noted rhythm in a symphony. This was light, regardless of the nights’ shadows. Life was being reflected. Smooth then strong, sipped like a latte.

She blinked and it started to rain again. Harder. Flowers from the Plumeria tree fell to the ground. She loved the rain. Even if it made her remember…

The storm continued.


Lindsay Reva

#Tahiti #Paradise #randomthoughts



One day at a time,
Trying to understand what it means to be alive.
Take a dip and release your past crimes.
Who said we weren’t born to strive?
Your dreams, my dreams, all are waiting.
Even if we release one,
Ten float back in a pastel-reflected painting.
A river once-upon-a-time
Held me down deep beneath the rocks
Till a spirit entered its habitat
And on to the shores, I walked
Head high, Pearls lining an encrusted crown; fat.
Now I believe after I reached the mountain peaks and rocks
That everything is just because it is.
So I plunged back
Arms raised,
Straight into the sea.
Not the Pacific or the Red,
But that of the Free.



Lindsay Reva


Curtains Left Open

Today was different from yesterday.

I woke and noticed my room was brilliant with sunlight, white on white. Reflections of clarity bouncing off the walls. It made me feel pure and washed away my doubts on how everyone was amazed that I had chosen white sheets, why I had painted my walls bright white, why I had always slept with my curtains wide open. I was addicted to the light and how soft it made me feel in the morning. How the darkness didn’t seem so cold, and especially how white made me see that no matter how much bad burn in my blood, the white walls would always be my sanctuary. Canvas in the morning, there was no such thing that could have felt fresher than this. It made me forget my dreams that woke me in the darkness past midnight.

But I was bathed in brilliance in the early hours of the morning. Last night I had given up all my loves. I had quit my job. I had scorned the worse habits of my friends. The rest of the world hated me. The only difference now was that we were on equal playing grounds. Still, the lightness of the room drenched me. Love soak fingertips. Eyes hazed and focused on the dust motes that sailed through the light. Smooth and soft, if only I could be gentle like the dust, like a new lover’s kiss. No capability of the chaos floating through the mind. Just serene light, holding me tight.

Don’t let me go light. No matter how many people leave me, how many times mankind disappoints me, please light, shine.

Only you can purge my dark, my damndest.


Lindsay Reva

Photo by Danee Hazama Photography

Bed Time Sombers

As I lay myself to sleep, I could feel every single one of his words stroke a different part of my body. His laughter was like a kiss on my temple. The way he always tried to be right; a finger trace underneath the curve of my hip. Asking me if I was okay; a hand around my ankle. Telling me that I was better than I believed; his chin against my belly button. Rest, touch, his presence killjoy to my sweet dreams sending me back into a world of remembrance.

He made me remember more things than should have been allowed. When I closed my eyes at night, I saw other darknesses. His eyes looking into a world that I hadn’t meant for anyone except myself. His lips a finely shaped key.  A key which he used to unlock all my secrets, and no matter how hard I beat him, how hard I begged him, there he was; Keeper of the key. Unlocked, unraveled, he spun me in the rain and I felt lighting bolts strike me from every direction. I could hear every drop falling until he locked me in his arms. Still, I spun.

I tried again, to sleep. yet, right besides me his warmth lingered. It spread over my belly so I held my breath. Dry mouth, wet lashes. Then I came back down because I knew eventually it would ache. And ache it did. Softly first, to a hardness that made me want to yell his name. Not in pleasure, not in anger, just as a reassurance that the energy he left behind would hear it. An ache that made me realize that no one would hold me, and indeed I was all alone underneath my sheets.

But that’s okay. Because in my thoughts as I lay myself down to sleep, I am alone and the play-keeper is out at the moment. The Do Not Disturb sign mounted with plaster.

Sleep, I can’t wait to feel you hold me.


Lindsay Reva

morning time alarm bell
Photo by Gratisography on

Voice In The Valley

Last night I went to sleep feeling like love. This morning I woke up sweet, like pink cotton candy dissolving on the tongue. Then I looked up into the sky and saw the rolling clouds with the sun hidden and fighting for a chance to shine down on me. Don’t worry honey, you’ll have your chance. The wind picked up and licked the back of my neck which would have made me cold if I hadn’t been born with a heat that was meant to burn. As I walked on to my favorite cafe, I could hear the birds but I couldn’t see them. It made me wondered if I was imagining everything, which led me to the ongoing mental revolution that everything and anything was imagination in the first place. All exist, nothing existed. I walked, out of the cold into the warmth of the little shop’s doors. People sat, mingled, sipped, pretending that nothing mattered and thinking of all that mattered. And on I strode protected by my belief that today, indeed would be better than yesterday. Small black coffee, please. Sip, contemplate, try not to overthink. When I looked out the window I couldn’t help but noticed my reflection in the glass, that of a human attached to habits. Another sip, this time with a new measured tilt of the head.

I sat still shutting the world off and listening to words that echo in the canyons of my deeper thoughts. What are you waiting for? What are you capable of? Why do you listen to them, when “them” are driven by their own beliefs and selfishness? Explore, create, keep on believing your own birthright poem. Why are you straying from the person you were born to be? Create, damnit. The other believers are waiting for you. But no, keep on going on your tea-weak path. Sip your black coffee and pretend that you’re making a difference in someone’s life. Forget about your own. But when you decide to grow balls, I’ll be here. Don’t wait too long. The longer you wait, the farther down the valley I go. I’m an echo right now. Eventually, the wind you create will blur me out. You’ll try to listen harder but I’ll be all the way droned out. Bye now. Have a good day. Remember, if I die, so do you. I love you. And unlike them, I actually mean it. I will always love you. 

Sip. The coffee had a bite, with a twist of copper. I looked away from the window and finished my cup. As I walked back out onto the street I couldn’t help but notice a tiny bird that sat in a tree high above me. The bird peered at me and I smiled. Hello, little birdy. 

That was my last thought before I decided, today would be the day. The day I changed everything.

#courage #bewhoyouwereborntobe


Lindsay Reva



Things won’t always be easy…

Things are bound to be hard. Just like the definition of perfection will always lay in a haze, no matter how hard you try to focus on the picture. That’s not quite the point though. The point is that you have to continue, no matter how hard things get, to move forward.

Progression. Advance. Rise. Persistance.

Just don’t give up. Don’t throw in your towel when they’ve pushed you past your limits. Think clearly, even though they drive you to your wits.

Continue to believe in yourself. One day it’ll pay off. And if you happen to be unhappy, you have to learn to believe that one day all your efforts will be worth it.

Not all stories have a happy ending. But I’ll be damned if mine doesn’t.


Lindsay Reva

achievement action adventure backlit
Photo by Pixabay on



Create till your mind numbs. Love till your heart’s empty. Give till your hands are bare. Think until you feel the sense called sure. Believe until there’s nowhere else to go. Inspire until they feel. Work like there’s no other satisfaction. Grow until they whisper, unstoppable. Sing like the birds in the sky. Rise until they call you butterfly.

Above all,

Share your gifts. They sit there in your soul, wishing for the dust to come off.


Lindsay Reva



Lightness followed by a tingling sensation underneath the fingertips. Heart contracting, feeling the currents of the pulse flow in and out, out and in. Heart hugs Mind, Spirit grabs the hand of Soul. Linkedin on a personal level. Like a symphony sitting in the living room (4 trombones 30 violins 10 harps), like a Pheonix resting on your ashtray staring you straight in the eyes. This is life, and you’ve just taken the fattest hit. The turbines pull you, higher and higher. Faster and faster. Rise, damnit.

That’s exactly how I felt last night when I attended Sefa Pumphrey’s “Mana” Video Release Party. A small function, which had nothing to do with quantity and everything drenched in quality. I walked through the Nonosina doors after driving for 2 hours from San Diego to Buena Park. My ass hurt, my eyes were dulled. But I hardly noticed. I was excited to see Sefa’s first music video he had created with the help of many talents.

When I spotted him across the room I noticed that he was glowing. It reminded me of how light is always good, and when goodness resonates in our cores, we become beacons of light. He was an illuminated one. We said our hellos and exchanged a thousand smirks and smiles, but I let him make his rounds. This was his night after all, and we only had one task to do; support. Because we were all on island time, people eventually arrived an hour later (What the hell was I thinking, being punctual?).

Then it happened and everyone sat in a dark room and watched as the Projector screen front and center showed a mans reflection of a dream, of the connection from who we are in our everyday lives and who we were born to be. Traditions & Fire; burning like our ancestors would have wanted them too. Bridging a gap that sits within many of us…But let’s bring it back to July when Sefa and I chopped it up on the phone lines about his drummers providing all the beats for Heiva San Diego. Somewhere in between negotiated for food and lodging our ideas of the legacy we wanted to create slipped out. We shared our values and aspirations. I remember sitting in the bank when he called and our conversations flowing like a crossed web into our future prospects. He spoke, I spoke. Why did it feel like I had had this conversation in a different lifetime, on a different earth? I remember goosebumps rising and an underlying urge to cry because I had met someone who understood. It’s one thing to share your ideas and be accepted, it’s completely different when you’re genuinely understood. The same understanding crept into my consciousness as I watched the video and erupted like fireworks on the blackest of nights when he spoke of his purpose and future prospects.

He talked about creating, sharing, guiding, building our community. His words painted a canvas that had the face of one person. That person’s name was OUR TRIBE. So I had to take the time to write these recollections down. Sefa and his team are doing great things and I have no doubt that they’ll only continue down that admirable road.

And if there is one thing I would like to see, it’s that YOU support him. Check him out on Itunes, listen to his beats, stalk his gram. SUPPORT him, because you shouldn’t forget; If he grows, so does OUR TRIBE.


Lindsay Reva

Deep Blue

I could see his soul every time he let me look him in the eyes. He didn’t know, even though he could feel it. He also didn’t know that I could see his color swirling around his being like smokey magic in the air. Bluish teal, unless he was angry. Then the tips would start to fade into a deep red. It reminded me of the time I took a picture of him, a glass of wine in hand and stare fixed straight to me. As if he wanted to hurt me or possess me. It drove me crazy when I could feel his energy settle on me. Like a thousand stars shining underneath my name. He would whisper in my ear. That didn’t drive me crazy. That made me wish I had never met him. Why should someone have so much control over another human being? He wasn’t a King, and I had no right to throne him.

Nothing in my past could have prepared me for the day he stepped into my world. Picture perfect, posture erect, like the highest flower in a white rose bed garden. But he would never have been white. The smirk in his smile proved it. He would have been a fire-red rose, slowly blossomed into perfection. Thank God he was human, thank God there was poker face.

Late at night, he would come up behind me and even though I sensed his presence before he walked into the room, I pretended. I pretended because I wanted as much control as was possible with a man like that. Still, he knew. As did I. He crept like a cat behind me and placed his hands around my neck, up through my hair, and kissed me where my jaw began. I waited until he ended. Looking away from my computer into his eyes, again I saw the colors surrounded him. Like a dark blue ocean, swimming in his aura. Take me, love. Rip me with your riptides. One wave and I’m yours. Another and another. After that, float me out to sea.

People like him were so hard to find.

Oceans are never stilled.

People like him never stay.


Lindsay Reva


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