As I get ready to wander out of the Big Easy and head my way towards Nashville I am left with a sense of bewilderment and awe. I have been to Mecca, and truly I was blessed to have stumbled along the same streets that giants before me have wandered.

As I peer down Burgundy and admire the simplicity of it all I am greeted with a fanfare of Dixieland jazz that is belted out of a trumpet from a lone busker, whose hat has seen better mornings, and whose clothes could have used a good washing a few months ago. I am truly in awe of this slice of beauty pulled from the gutters and presented without remorse. His lone wail echoes against the sounds of traffic just one street over, and the gentle gallop of a carriage that pulls up alongside him at the corner briefly mutes his trumpet with the gleeful noises of genteel tourists as they produce multiple cameras to catch a photo of this far too underpaid talent.

His trumpet swings into a lower register, and soon falls into a low melancholy blues number that quickly shifts me from a happy place into a tearful moment of regret as I pack my bags and get ready to say goodbye to this swampy bohemian rhapsody.

From derelict buildings, and torn up sidewalks that only a drunk can navigate properly, I wandered the town and found dreamers and artists, celebrities, saints, whores, dealers, evangelists, witch doctors, queens (both voodoo and rainbow varieties), cross dressers, children, drunks, pirates, thieves, and yes even more writers.

They say you haven't been to New Orleans unless you get scammed, this is the guy who scammed me, lol!

New Orleans has such a magnetic charm that draws upon the dichotomy of celebration and sorrow so splendidly it is easy to see why so many desire to call it home. It was tempting to stay here for me too, but I hold a vision and I will stay true to that which moves me onward.

Onward to Nashville, onward towards helping others live their vision, onward to expanding and growing Open Heart Publishing, Onward to meeting new and amazing people, onward to tomorrow.

It floated into the cavern and filled the air with such sweetness and delight… a delicacy rarely afforded trolls who live in bog like caverns full of filth and grime. Why it was so tempting that little Passion couldn’t bear it and began clamoring for the hole to the outside world.

Her elders tried to stop her, but it was to no avail, Passion was caught up into the outside world and what wonders did she behold.

The sky was pure as blue as blue could ever be. The salted air wafted across her from the shore of a mighty ocean. Seagulls feasting on the fishes caught in shoals along the shoreline.

Behind her the other trolls cried and wailed
“Passion… come back Passion”

But Passion heard nothing over the jocularity of the seagulls in the air; not even over the laughter of the waves pounding along the coast. Passion was so caught up in the joy of the outside world that she could not see her mother screaming in agony as she watched her youngest child slowly wither away under the beautiful rays of the sun.

For though Passion was enjoying her romp, she was killing herself with every step she took.
“Return passion… Return to us Passion before it is too late”

But it was already too late for Passion had forgotten that she was a troll, and trolls as the Tolkien legends go are no friends of the sun.

However sad the demise of Passion may be, her sacrifice has blessed us beyond measure.

For when we now think of passion we might just remember what happens to those who follow it blindly.