The Time I Dreamt of Heaven

It looks like a picnic.

There is a field that I have seen before. It isn’t like a meadow, it is a lacrosse field. The last time I saw it, it was thunder and lightning, this time- I am in heaven.

I find out that I am in heaven through the people there, the people who have died. I see Corey and I see another man, who at this time as I am writing this, I have learned to be my brother Joseph. 

This heaven is so strange. There are people everywhere, and everyone is happy. But, we are in a park. Why are we in a park and not in clouds? Why is there no music like the people who have seen heaven have talked about? I am just in a park, watching kids play and smelling grass and I see a concrete basketball court and that lacrosse field way in the distance.

This can’t be MY heaven because I was definitely not THAT in love with lacrosse, right?

I see a staircase going down, but it doesn’t lead to anything. Not air, not darkness, just nothing. I see my mom sitting on it. Is she dead?

I go next to her, I can hear Corey's laugh and see him playing around with the man (Joseph). They are playing basketball. Did Corey like basketball? That laugh is ringing in my head. My brother must have been funny.

I am right now having a few different thoughts: 1. Why have I not run up to Corey and hugged him and held on so tight he would think I was crazy (right?) 2. Why have I not gone right up to Joseph and introduced myself? 3. Why is my mom here?

I went to the staircase and sat next to her. I asked what she was doing. She told me she was in heaven now. I panicked. NO. Not her. Why was she so calm? What the hell was going on? I looked at her and asked how long she has been here and why she was sitting on the staircase. She told me she had just arrived. This made me question why she was not with Joseph, I looked at her for a second- but she knew what I was going to ask. “We come to the stairs and say a rosary for the ones we left behind before we are able to enjoy this heaven.” She said. If you would like to pray with me you can, otherwise please be quiet for a moment. 

I started hysterically crying. She couldn’t die, she couldn’t. And she was praying for me right? Wasn’t she praying for me?

Corey’s laugh again- In my head. I can’t type it because it is not his huge laugh it’s his laugh that he has in the middle of telling a story. The one that he uses as the periods to his sentences. Damn, he is probably telling Joseph all the crazy things him and Brian did (not that he needed to). 

My mom finishes her rosary and walks away into the park. I see my dad in the distance, she is walking to him. WHAT THE HELL. Is everyone dead? What is going on? I start to see some of my friends in the distance, I start to recognize every single person in this park.  I start to realize that I am dead too. 

I cannot move from the stairs, I realize now this is because I have not said my rosary. I am so mad at God that I do not want to say my rosary. Is He kidding me? 

I noticed the smells of this park. I had never had a sense of smell but it smelled so wonderful. Fresh and light. I loved the smell. I closed my eyes. 

I turned my body and looked at all of the people I loved in this park. They were so happy. They were enjoying each other company and though I had pain and hurt and sadness, they seemed to be unaware of those things. They were just happy. They didn’t even think- you could tell. They just enjoyed.

This is when I realized I was not in heaven, at least not yet.

This is when I realized what people meant when they said that in Heaven, there is no time. These people in the park were not waiting for their loved ones to die, because they already died in their minds. Do you see what I am saying?

There is no time in Heaven, therefore, when you are there, the people that have not died yet have already died. They are just not in the park yet. 

I decided this is what baptism is. I decided this is why my parents are not afraid to die. I decided I needed to say my rosary for me, so that I could bask in the happiness of Heaven.

I woke up from that dream with one question,

Where was God?   

Mash-up Music Lesson

Making music is not just about writing lyrics 
                   or forming some kind of melody. 
Making music can be fun even if it is not completely your own.  
What I like to do is
       come up with ways to take an artists message 
       find little connections with other songs,
       (particularly in different genre's)
       with the same message
and connect them all through the same simple beat or chord pattern


for instance..

The chords are so simple and the songs send the same message. The artists are unique with different stories but the songs still flow so easily.

If you are a musician, try it.

Take songs with the same message 

and find a way to put them together.

Even if they sound completely different,

 use your vocals to form similarities. 

I hope this blog message was helpful to anyone looking for some fun ways to practice music..


           or just another reason to love it!

Home

It's a foggy feeling. I really could only describe it to the youngest of minds. Dreamers, with open hearts and knowledge that don't understand too much about politics or money or even religion, but know everything there is to know about living. 

If you can follow this, and you are not a young mind, then you most likely are a young spirit. Cheers to that. 

Anyways it's like running through a forest, dodging roots and leaves and bugs. Short breath, small smile, big goal: the tire swing. You make it there just to realize you can only swing for a short while. 

You swing high, looking at the forest you conquered. Smelling the world and picturing yourself doing anything you figure peter pan or michael jordan could do. You soar over everything that you struggled to get past. You are free. 

Then, it's time to go back through the forest and home again. You can't stay on the swing forever, no matter how badly you want to. You can feel it getting cold and hear your stomach growl and realize it only makes sense to go back. 

You can't swing on a swing forever. There are times when you have to jump off the ride and start your journey back home. 

Home, the place that brought you walking (or running) distance from the swing in the first place. 

Seven days

Seven days until I am back to reality. 

Until I am on a plane flying home from my 3 1/2 month long dream.

Seven days left to give back to this beautiful place. 

To appreciate the people I have met, the places I have been, and all the fears that I have faced.

Seven days to convince myself it couldn't last.

Seven days to remind myself the best reasons for going back.

Seven days until family,

seven days until Dunkin Donuts Iced Coffee.

Seven days of rain and fresh air

seven days of Guinness signs EVERYWHERE.

Seven days of birds, dogs, and babies

Seven days of Irish music all over the streets

Seven days with the friends I have here, and until I see my friends from home

One is silver, and the other gold.

Seven days that will fly by,

Seven days to say goodbye. 

 

What I've learned..

I've learned that you really can't grow unless you let things go.

Things that tend to hold us back, questions we're afraid to ask.

I've learned that I can do much more

I don't need to look too far to find what I am looking for

I've learned that I CAN do it all

I can make it to the finish line, even if I have to crawl

I've learned to give people a chance

I've learned to trust, love, and smile

I've learned to rule out the word "can't"

I've learned about family. 

I've learned to take extra steps in order to show them what they mean to me

I've learned true friends are the ones you hold close when you are far away

I've learned that there are reasons 

why the phrase "live every day like it is your last" is cliche

I've learned the truth heals, no matter how hard the burn

I've learned to take deeper breaths through magic moments

..and that I still have a lot to learn

I Believe

I believe that dreaming is a beautiful thing

I believe that a hug can cure almost anything

I believe that laughing is contagious, foolish gossip is outrageous

and that you need absolutely no talent to earn the right to paint, dance, or sing.

I believe that kissing is the best kind of connection

I believe that at any point and at any time, you can change your life's direction

I believe not in letting go of your past, but learning from every step

I believe that no one really knows anything at all, at least not yet

I believe people that judge have a lot to hide

I believe that it is possible to fall in love a hand full of times

I believe in making sacrifices to humble yourself

I believe in music, nature, and meditation

I believe in myself. 

Gabrielle Boyle

Writing a Song

There is something about writing a song that is both aggravating and completely fulfilling. First, every thought in your head needs to come out to form a perfect rhyme that has the ability to  slide along the perfect melody. If you can't accomplish this, the song isn't worth it. At the same time, songwriters, including myself, have the tendency to fabricate their songs. We will do this by making the scenery more magical, or the feelings stronger, or the world brighter than it actually is at the time. Call this fake? Well maybe, but writing a song is not always just about the writer. It is about the connection the writer has between the music and the audience. 

Think about it...I meet a boy at a coffee shop and he is amazing and I think things could really go well. He leaves and I never see him again. I will talk about how the butterflies in my stomach were flying around, the world was moving but I couldn't hear a sound, my heart dropped as he footsteps hit the ground when he walked away, I hope someday, I will see those butterflies again.

Were there actual butterflies in my stomach? No. Was I partially deaf as he was leaving? No. It is a sensitivity, it is a feeling. It is a moment that I can't get back. Therefore, the world stopped and then ended when he left me. Many can relate to songs like these because of passion and the ability to have a little girls dreaming heart no matter the age. 

Once the song is complete, it is best to learn it right away. Memorize it. Play it over and over because it is yours and you deserve to own it in more ways then just writing on a piece of paper. 

For harder songs, those take time. Emotional songs that involve family or insecurities or even the love of someone who is hurting can take far longer to write. At least that's how it goes for me. Those songs need to have the perfect lyrics. There is no space for fabricating because the situation is real. So real that it can tear you apart or pull you together. Those are the type of songs you will hear on the radio that can make you cry. That can touch the deepest part of your heart. I can guarantee those songwriters spent a lot longer on those types of songs then their fun loving romantic songs. 

Maybe that's just me. 

My songs need to be perfect. I need to connect. Otherwise, it's not a song at all.

It's a poem.