2009 - 2010

How do I even begin to describe this past year? For fear of falling flat, let me keep it simple. Thinking back on this past year, quite frankly makes me sort of depressed. I really hate re-hashing stuff until it turns into mush, I’d rather go read a book.

So, without further a-do, I will not bore myself (or you) with the retelling of my less-than-lyrical life, and will only share with you a short synopsis of what I have learned this past year, that may or may not inspire you.

As the calendar year draws to a close, and the transitions between nights and days get shorter, then longer again, and the sun just isn’t as warm as it was, I reflect on Matters Of Importance.

Top 10 things I learned this year about life, sweaters, and policemen:

10. RELAX! (No one looks pretty when they’re stressed)

9. I’m learning to do things for ME, because I want/need them, not because anybody said they were good or bad for me. (Not in a selfish way, just in an I’m-going-to-do-this-for-me-not-you way).

8. No matter what anybody tells you, crying will not get you out of a speeding ticket. (It didn’t get me out of one, it didn’t get me out of two…)

7. Surrender! (Sometimes there’s just nothing you can do, so stop pushing!)

6. It’s okay to make mistakes. (I like being right, but sometimes I’m wrong…)

5. Growing up is about taking responsibility for your own decisions. (You can’t blame your life on anybody else… Well, you can, but…)

4. Turtlenecks are bad. (I don’t care if you look damn good in a turtleneck – I loath them!)

3. Saying “No” is something of an art form. (It takes skill, craft, diligence, and courage)

2. Let the past be in the past. (You look pretty funny dragging that heavy load of skeletons around with you)

1. Trust your instincts. (There’s simply no other way)

That being said, I could pile on a whole lot more of things I’ve learned, and am still trying to learning, like that parents will be parents and you can’t change them. Or I could share with you, my newfound love for Bollywood movies. But let me sum up with this: I prefer spinach salad over French fries (call me a freak, I don’t care). I’m a sucker for a man that knows how to dance (especially if they’re wearing a scarf, the right way…), and I now know why people detest law enforcement officers, (“Officer, would you please allow me to explain myself…?” “License and registration.”)

As someone wrote earlier, it’s a New Year – time for new ideas, new aspirations, and new beginnings. This is a time to tell your minds that the slate is clear. Now go, tell someone you love them, do it quick, do it NOW!

I love you.

I love you. 

I love you.

on speaking from the heart

“Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer.”
–Barbara Kingsolver

I wish I had thought of this first,
but that’s really just my jealous nature speaking
These words speak so true for me
She says what I already innately know, but somehow haven’t figured out yet
I am constantly struggling with saying the right thing
Most of the time, if I don’t have anything useful to say, I won’t say anything at all,
but sometimes I get carried away and don’t think about what I’m saying before I open my mouth
and then it is too late,
and then I am in trouble
Sometimes I think that people expect me to say something great
so the pressure is on,
and my heart is racing,
and I open my mouth,
but nothing escapes my lips ‘cept for an indecipherable guttural gurgle
I’m young and angsty and sometimes I just say things to be sassy or argumentative
I can become over-zealous and righteous for no good reason,
on topics that have little importance to me,
or anyone else for that matter
But mostly I like to talk of real things,
topics of meaning,
things that will draw a connections between listener and speaker
Sometimes I say things just to prove a point,
whether or not they really have any relevance to the situation at hand,
or hold any weight at all
Sometimes I get lost in my thoughts and I can’t make heads or tails of my over-active, incessant mind chatter
I can easily loose myself in imagination, falling down the rabbit hole
I’m not very good at strategizing and I HATE planning ahead
For the most part I am optimistic
I can’t stand superfluous conversations,
so mostly I tend to smile and nod when I can’t be bothered

To figure out what I have to say –
It doesn’t have to be profound,
ground-breaking,
or earth shattering
It simply has to come from the heart

I simply cannot help it!

Spontaneous dancing in the street
Cartwheels through the intersection
Feet tappin’ in the gutter

I simply cannot help myself
Hands raised high,
Waving at the clouds

Dancin’ top the pavement
Weaving through the trash cans as they set the stage
I just cannot be still

My lungs fill with air
Expanding and contracting with that winter flavor
Breathing in the aroma of each house as I pass it by

Roast beef
Laundry detergent
Motor oil

They too become part of my dance
Skipping through the gravel,
Hopping on the curb,

Twirling with my eyes wide shut
Heart lifted,
Head thrown back,

It’s a one of a kind jamboree
For the likes of me
And what does your dance look like

Love in all it's Forms

I’m afraid of not being loved
By my mom, because my father and then my older sister came first
By my sister, because she found the love of her life
By my best friend, because she found her one and only
By my surrogate sister, because she’s in love with a boy
By anyone who I come in contact with
What if they don’t love me forever
What if they can’t love me enough

I refuse to give my heart away
Instead
I use them to stoke my ego, then leave them before they can tear my heart strings
Constantly one step ahead
Trying to avoid heartbreak before I even get to know who they really are
Because we all know what happens when we give ourselves away –
We loose ourselves entirely
When we break, even if we are put back together, we will never be the same

Perhaps, I can re-frame –
To give to myself to someone else, means
I can take time to discover those areas which are uncovered
Handing over my heart, I can see more clearly the space in which it rests
Making room for more love to open and unfold
I know that I am loved, but sometimes I forget
I’m afraid of not being loved to the extent in which I love
I am afraid of not being loved
Aren’t we all?


Note: This is just poetry, I know that I am loved, by many, many individuals. But sometimes I forget, because love shows up in different ways, from different people.

In Celebration - We Cook

I fried Panir for two and a half hours today
My face is washed, but the smell of grease still lingers in my hair
The smell of garlic on my fingertips
Cumin hangs on my breath
Naan
Saag
Date Chutney
Tomato Chilly
Pistachios
Lentil Curry
Coconut
Rice Pudding
Jelebees for Dessert
Raise your hands and sing, “Om Shanty Om!”
Spices fill my soul
Music dances across my hips
Ghee paints the stove
Oozing from my pores
Butter in abundance
The scent of food still suspended in the kitchen
Sweet Tulsi tea, we sip until midnight
As we move from sitting, to standing, to lying fully down
Drinking in the night air
The face of the full moon, watches as we glide into bed
Giddy with pleasure and too much stimulation

Words for a Song without Rhythm

Rolling
Tumbling
Music on the lips, in the ears, through the heart
Bump bump, thump,
Smack your knee in time to the radio
You shake my body, you make me sing,
However badly it may sound
Jumping, twirling, leaping spinning – careful, don’t fall down!
Don’t try to rhyme, just feel the rhythm –
Don’t try to balance, just fall into grace –
Start right now, take that some how
Let the beat carry your soul
Let the drum take you way
How can listening be so grand
How can wishing feel this bad
Don’t get stuck!
Let loose,
Wiggle your toes!
A lost green cap,
A silver snap
A dot on the map
We took a nap
Under the trees
Reminds me of those days –
The simple life
The easy ways
The rays of sunlight peeking through –
Reminds me of you.

24 hour Road Trip

The buzz of the needle – penetrating my entire body
After having spent the past six hours waiting for my turn
I was anxious, and ready, oh so ready
As his hand moved over my collar bone, I shut my eyes
Looking out made it worse
Seeing only blackness, the edge was real, but I could breath
Pain like perfect agony seared across my shoulder
I made a face, and he said nothing
I tried to breath, but no air reached my brain
Briefly, he moved away, I inhaled deeply, air filled my belly
As the point pierced my skin again, I exhaled, trying to make it last
“This is real,” I repeated over and over in my head, “This is real.”
There was no checking out, no zoning, no spacing, no leaving my body.
I was called to attention every moment the tiny silver needle ripped through my skin
Paralyzed I could not utter a sound
Feeling like a child, I tried to hold my ground
Each grimace, I consciously relaxed my jaw
Every flinch I tried to make a mental dance
But the pain was present – ever present
I watched the others move about the shop
Listened to their stories,
Their jokes,
Their songs
Their friendly banter
But my mind was focused only on the sting of tearing flesh
From across the room, he caught my eye, and made a face –
I laughed,
I could not help myself
I was being silly,
I was making a big deal out of on hour and a half in the chair
Relax, girl, it will all be over soon
And it was
Now, on my right shoulder I have a sunflower ¬–
A flower for my love of travel, for beauty, for all the women who mean so much to me
And on my left shoulder, closest to my heart, I have a sunflower –
A flower for my best friend who lives in France

Questions Arise...

What does it mean to…?
How can I get…?
What does my heart…?
How can I change…?
What is my…?
How do I find…?
Where can I find…?
When will it…?
How long…?
I am bound, I am not bound…

Love.
The answer.
Tell me.
The world.
True passion.
My niche.
You.
Arrive.
Until I know.
By a promise, by a promise.


...But only words cannot answer

Midnight or 12 AM

For fear of being too pretentious
I’m going to say, good morning
For fear of sounding like a pompous ass
I’m going to say goodnight
Nothing makes sense anymore
Not words, not stories, not nothing
I don’t know how to say it
Or even what I’m trying to say
Most days I don’t even know what NOT to say
I’m 22 and have made conclusions for the world, out of my delusions
I’m sinking fast
On a raft made of lonely nights and black and white photographs
I’m drowning
In a wine glass half full or is it half empt-…
I’m gulping in a lungful of salty ocean spray
How should I begin to explain myself
What is there left to say
It’s all been said, a dozen times
Grow Up
Take a look around
They’re all singing it
You must BE that change you wish to see in the world
Don’t stop Believing
Put on your Red shoes and Dance
Give up, and give yourself to me
Never!
Just you wait
I’ll conquer you with the brilliance of a sunflower
I’ll take you down while dancing the tango
I’ll nock your socks off when you look into my crystal ball of golden brown leaves, scrunched up like something special
These voices in my head just won’t shut up
Who are they anyway
Not you, not me, not anyone really
Wake up and smell the coffee
A New Dawn’s Coming
And it’s staring you in the face
Run to the Middle of the Morning
And see if you can’t find that pot of Gold

November 12th

I wake up to the sound of my phone going off –
It’s a text from my dear friend
I have three more that I haven’t even read yet
Today is going to be a very good day
Stumbling, sleepily into the kitchen, I discover that my mother has bought me flowers
Sunflowers
My favorite
This day just keeps getting better
After rehearsing my lines for the play while atop the porcelain thrown
I barely make it to my yoga class in time
Two other people come into class after I do – I don’t feel so bad any more
Coffee with the girls, then down town to enjoy the Autumn day
Yellow leaves cover the wilting grass and the breeze blows hard
Heading into shops, we find things that make us laugh
In the art store – paint brushes that feel like silk again our cheeks
In the show store – the most hideous of shoes
In the candy shop – everything phallic
Then home for lunch and 12 e-mails later I’m still smiling
Out again – vintage black dress with a brown leather belt
I’ll wear that Saturday
No paintings of Jeanne d’Arc in the library’s collection
That’s the least of my worries, I have a gift certificate to get new shoes!
Home again and more smiles – who knew so many people cared!
White wine and spaghetti with my mom
She told me I woke her up laughing in my sleep last night
Something must be going right in my life
Mona Lisa Smile
Hot chocolate
Bed Time
What a fabulous Birthday
Let’s make tomorrow just as good!

TIME

It’s creeping up on me
It’s getting closer
The days are getting shorter
The years are zooming by
I look back at pictures
My face is getting leaner
My body’s getting stronger
I am less afraid
I remember you and I’m sorry I never got a chance to say goodbye
There are things I have wanted for a while – where did these things stem from?
How long have I wanted them?
And what has been stopping me from obtaining all that I can?
It’s knocking at my door
It’s about to spill over the edge – SURFACE TENSION!
It’s catching on like wild fire
Burning away the underbrush that has cluttered the forest floor for centuries
Can I really be this old?!
I’m not old, God is old, the Koran is old, I am not old!
Cat’s don’t place judgment, why should you?
“Because it’s my right!” You say
You have a right, and so do I
I have a right to put on a red hat and strut in my skivvies down Main Street
I think I’ll do just that!
Ta Ta For Now!
You old bag of cockles
I have a right to act my age, or not!

Unconditional Love

Unconditional love
That’s what we try and practice
Day in and day out
Absolute love

Questions arise
What if they’re ugly
What if they’re broken
What if I can’t do it

Then, my child, love them even more
For the ones that are imperfect need it the most
The beautiful ones can find it anywhere–
For the shattered, love is like glue, an adhesive for life

If you feel inadequate
Then muster the courage–
That is far more important than not loving at all
Never underestimate the power of a smile

Unconditional love
Love without limits
Love without boundaries
Pure, simple, unquestionable

Some Would Say

Some would say, “What the (insert curse word here) am I doing with my life?” I would say, “What the (insert same curse word here) am I NOT doing with my life?” All I’ve ever wanted to do is have an impact on other people’s lives in a positive way. Be a catalyst for constructive change. Yet, given the state that our world is in today, how am I supposed to make a difference? How am I supposed to help anyone when I’m just a 20 something white girl living in middle class America in a town so small it doesn’t even show up as a dot on the map? By what means can I really effect transformation when I can’t even advise myself?

I extend my arms and reach out. I am expansive, open, ready, waiting. Like a dry sponge – apt and tarry to absorb whatever comes its way. I shout towards the sky, “COME GET ME! GIVE ME A SIGN! JUST TELL ME WHAT I’M SUPPOSED TO DO NEXT!” Now, in a quieter voice, my face towards the earth, “These hands are your hands, this body your body, I’ll do whatever needs to be done, just let it me be fulfilled. Bring joy into my life and the lives of those I around me.”

To do great things, both little and big, metaphorically and physically, that’s what I am all about. I have an able, blonde head on my shoulders, all my fingers and toes to write with, a pair of 20/20 eyes to see with, and a mouth to shout, sing and smile with, and a heart with witch to love fully.

Can I conquer the world with weapons of peace, grace, movement, sincerity, truth, love, honesty, and clarity…? With only the sharp edges of my words to cut through fear, aggression, oppression, and ailments…?

Give me these tools and I shall crusade to the ends of the earth, or die trying. With my feet as my music, with love as my flying carpet, with my heart beat sounding out the drums of the ages, with the winds as my scarves for dancing through the stars, I am out of this world, ready to duel to the death, these egos of mankind.

My Life As A Couch

“So she bought the couch?!”
“Yup.”
“Great! … How much… a hundred bucks?”
“A hundred end twenty-five.”
“Nice. I feel so screwed over.”
“By that couch…?”
“Yes, and by everything – life in general.”
[Gentle chuckles]
“Don’t laugh, this isn’t funny! I feel like I’m only worth a hundred and twenty-five dollars.”
[She thinks to herself]
My brown and gold, vintage couch with feather cushions.
Does this woman know that the cushions of this couch are stuffed with down?
Does she know that I adored that couch?
I slept on that couch.
I cried on that couch.
I laughed so hard I peed on that couch.
That couch was the safest, warmest place in the middle of winter when I kept my heat down low to save on the bill.
That couch hosted guests, my father, my brother-in-law, my neighbor.
That couch cradled us as we cradled big glasses of red wine.
That couch saw us when we played with photo booth on your Mac.
That couch watched as I concocted dinner in the kitchen.
That couch held fast when I beat my fists against it in anger,
When I practiced my backbends on its seat,
While I danced in nothing but my underwear across the living room.
Does this lady know that she’s getting a piece of my life?
Will she appreciate it as much as I did – do?
I can only hope so.
$125. Is that all its worth, this icon of a time in my life?
Not all couches are created equal.

Limitless

I am standing in the middle of a circular room, the foyer to a dozen doors.
Each heavy rectangle has been flung wide open.
And behind every one, a different scene, season, sensation.
Bright, island sunshine converges with frigid, arctic winds.
Spring tulips amidst the desert sand.
The vast ocean stretches out before Mt. Everest.
The Eiffel tower marks the entrance to the Amazon.
I could run and hide, but where, under a doormat?
I could choose to fear what lies behind each door.
Instead, I stand with arms stretched open.
Stripped of everything familiar and comfortable I surround myself with what I do know – the embrace of someone who cares and a home cooked meal shared by all who love.
Naked, I embrace it all because I have no other choice.
If nothing else, even if I find myself totally alone, at least I know that their affection will carry over the continents, even into outer space.
Turning, spinning, head thrust back, heart lifted to the sky, arms spread like wings. I twirl.
Perhaps if my feet move fast enough I will lift off the ground and into the expanse that is this world.
After all the sky’s the limit, or is it…?

Discovering A Whole New World.com

Discovering A Whole New World.

So, apparently, there is a whole new virtual reality on the internet.
(New in the most adjective of terms.)
Okay, okay, of course we all “knew” that there was a whole other world on the net, but I didn’t really KNOW that.
I mean I just spent the last two hours (two hours of my life) that I could be doing something WAY more useful, but no, I spent the last hundred and twenty minutes on my computer delving in a world previously so unfamiliar to me.
I feel so sheltered.

Let’s call it Social Networking. I’d call it, “avoiding reality.” Wow, what a trip. Some people lead totally different lives on their computers. I mean, hell, dream what you will, but living a double life, is like playing God. Okay, maybe not that extreme but still… One life here, in this body, and one with a skinner version of you out in cyber space, maybe with the same name, (maybe different) doing things that you’d always wished you could do. Well why not go out there and DO them? What’s REALLY stopping these people? Is it fear? Is it a physical handicap? You tell me. I just don’t see the point. Call me old school, call me a hippie but I’d rather hug the apricot tree in my back yard, than build an orchard in my virtual reality on the internet.

I prefer to travel. It gives me the freedom to be whom I want, within the limitation of this body. I meet people in much the same way. We have something in common. Either you search for them via social networks on the worldwide web – right click “food and wine.” Or you’re stuck with them on an eight-hour flight to Rio de Janeiro. Whichever way, you have something in common and chances are, the one you’re sitting next to in economy class is much more real than username WiNeLoVeR whom you get to chat up everyday on your lunch break. Discussing the latest reds you’re coveting or that new pinot you’re dying to try. Give me a grimy old fart who snores or a crying baby – at least they’re tangible.

Having given out my e-mail address about a dozen and half times; typing in my name and my country of origin at least that many, I am satisfied in saying I still don’t have any new friend requests, or new comments. Guess that means I have to “update my profile…” Sky Harbor International Airport, here I come. Make room for this hunk of living breathing flash, because I’ve had enough of cyber space to last a while. I want HUMAN to HUMAN contact. I want to touch that person I’m talking to. I want to hold them so tight that neither of us can take a breath.

Conclusion:
I’ll leave social networking to those who have that kind of time on their hands. You know who you are. But me, I’d prefer to look into the eyes of those I talk to – seeing the laughter, the joy, the pain the tender soul qualities each of us poses, and no, not through a web cam, either.

What is it that makes you, you?

What is it that makes us tick?
I wake for the sunshine.
I wake for the promise of movement in each day.
I wake for the connections I will create.
I wake for the ones I love.

What is it that makes us shrink?
I avoid the dampness of disillusion.
I avoid the heat of confrontation.
I avoid the conflicts of telling someone no.
I avoid the inevitable – change.

What is it that makes us hum?
I sing for the blues skies.
I sing for the green-eyed cat, purring beside me.
I sing for the little boy upstairs.
I sing for turning of the leaves.

What is it that makes us smile?
I laugh for joy of today.
I laugh for the humor of my father.
I laugh for the brightness in their eyes.
I laugh for the friendship created.

What is it that makes us weep?
I cry for chances lost.
I cry for those whom have gone.
I cry for fear and frustration.
I cry for release of pure emotion.

What is it that makes us believe?
I trust because I have no other choice.
I trust because it brings me comfort.
I trust because I know I can.
I trust because I am.

What is it that makes you, you?
I live for the joie de vivre.
I dance to make me smile.
I smile because I can.
And I don’t believe there’s anything I cannot do.

My Big Fat American Burrow

In a house formerly inhabited by
ten Buddhist nuns and forty Dachshunds
There now live two
wonderful women, their son, age
two and a half, a dog that never
barks, three black cats that I can’t tell apart to
save my life,
the lady who rents the
basement, with her
computer and exercise tapes,
and me, with my guitar and enough clothes for an army
Not to mention the numerous
friends, visitors, and the occasional cable guy

A full house to say the least,
But one with good, warm energy
That of a holiday gathering, every day of the week
A family reunion of perfect strangers
a family without the problem child, and the alcoholic
One with cat litter, dog hair, and love in every corner
If you’re feeling lonely
go upstairs and listen while she reads to him
If you need some inspiration, just sit and
observe the voices of the children coming from outside
Or the murmur of feet on the floor boards above
Take note of the rhythms of the house
the comings and the goings of each
tepid being within the walls of this
old abode

As I write these verses,
one fuzzy creature purrs beside me
Tail curled around my arm,
taping softly to the beat of some
internal musician
Our breathing becomes one and we synch, subtly
BAM!
The front door hammers open, and screams of joy
hit the ceiling
Flexibility, and grace, I must master these traits –
learning to love and adapt to constant change

Visit: an official call paid for the purpose of inspection.

According to the books,
I live in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
A place ranked third in the world for destination weddings.
A place of healing and renewal.
A place one can find it all – outdoor adventure, vacation resorts, healing energy, and beautiful scenery.

According to me,
I live in a small town in Arizona.
A place where people come when they’re in denial.
A place to try and loose oneself, only to be found out as a fraud.
A place of beautiful, picturesque landscapes, pockmarked with mansions the size of a Super Wal-mart, and that’s about it.

Let’s compromise.
It’s a nice place for a visit.

This Morning

As I waited to turn right onto the highway this morning,
I watched the passengers of cars in transit.
With the sun in their eyes, most squinted, some scowled.

Observing these unsuspecting individuals,
glimpsing scraps of their everyday lives,
I felt a combination of ordinary and special.

To knew I was not alone on this planet.
No matter what we say, we cannot live without the company of others.
And yet, we pride ourselves on denying it.

I like to think I’m independent,
but when push comes to shove,
I always get home sick when I’m half way around the world.

Even as I get older, I don’t feel like I’m growing up.
Seeing these faces pass me by, on the road,
I felt odd, as if I were eves dropping on humanity.

There’s no edit button on life.
cntl. alt. delete does not exist.
This is it, as it is, here and now.

With the sun shining on our faces,
we wait, I wait, I wait
for traffic to change, so that I may merge.

I’m impatient,
I take a chance, and as the cars thin,
I gun the engine and take off.

Finding the Love of the Divine

A Sister’s love is easy to feel, for that love
has been present since before the time of birth.

However the love of God, is a little more
challenging to find.

As her hands rubbed the mother’s belly, telling
the being inside, “I love you,”

there was a mutual feeling of adoration exchanged.
But the hands of God, were harder to come by.

These sentiments of love we
have for each other are evoked in every moment.

Whether I am consciously
thinking of you or not, our love is permanently shared.

You were there for my birth.
You held my tiny hands, you washed

my infant feet,
you smiled at me throughout the years, always

with love in your eyes.
I feel the presence

of The Divine, yet still, sometimes
I loose sight –

I am only human, after all.





The way of love is not
a subtle argument.

The door there
is devastation.

Birds make great sky-circle
of their freedom.
How do they learn it?

They fall, and falling,
they’re given wings.

- Rumi

Close Encounters of the Poisonous Kind

102º and there’s a scorpion in my bathtub.
Too hot to care, or worry too much.
I put an empty flowerpot over it, and hope to death it dies,

without applied pressure.
How do you kill a hard shell anyway?
A shoe? Something toxic,

perhaps?
How about some really strong
bathroom cleaner? Or hair spray?
Sounds like animal abuse and torture

to me…
But could I really sleep at night knowing that
it’s out there, scuttling

around, and could possibly get back in!?!
It’s my fault, I left the
window open without any screen.

But tomorrow it could appear in my living room.
Or
my

bed.

Finding the KEY to the door, not the TRICK to the magic

The key is to do things, not because someone else told you to, but because you WANT to.
… to find the balance between loving others and loving yourself.
… to realize that this life is YOURS, not any one else’s.
… to not let anything anyone else says, have complete and total control over your life.
… to find peace between listening to opinions, and finding “The” truth, “Your” truth.
… to let things occur naturally, as well as knowing when to nudge.
… to listen to the heartbeat of the work, and breath with it.
… to hear the music and dancing WITH it, not TO it.
… to get lost in bliss, but not loose yourself completely.
… to dream big and know your potential.
… to make your box, with definite edges, a circle, of never-ending possibility.

GOOD ENOUGH

As the sun sets
I set my sights on being gentle with myself
As the sky turns yellow, and the edges of the clouds darken to a purple
I propel myself across the great expanse that is my mind, and grasp hold of being
GOOD ENOUGH
That is quite all right
Darlin’ you ARE good
And enough is enough, so just be happy with what you have
Because fighting the ocean waves of self doubt is impossible
So, here I am, surrendering to the tides that ebb and flow
Knowing that changing is possible and change jungles in your pocket – it’s inevitable, because nothing breaks even
A pocket full of posies we all fall down, yes, in the end
But right now, life is happening
Take hold of those opportunities and swing with it
Like Tarzan in the jungle – beat your chest and say AHHHHHHH!
Because that’s all you’ve got girl
And all you’ve got IS good enough
You ARE GOOD ENOUGH and that is perfectly all right

Tools of the Trade

Tools of the trade.
My feet are my tools.
Like a baker uses his hands to form loafs.
Like a farmer uses a scythe to cut the crop.
Like a musician uses her guitar to strum out melodies.
Like a chef uses his knives to sever vegetables.
Like a mechanic uses a wrench to tighten tires.
Like an opera singer uses her voice to make the audience cry.
Like a cowboy uses his rope and saddle out on the range.
Like a healer uses her hands.
Like a carpenter uses a hammer to build houses.

Dirty. Dusty. Sticky. Greasy.

Rusty. Worn. Tired.

Nicked. Dented. Used.

My feet are the tools of my trade.
A dancer uses her feet to fly through the air.

Take care of your tools.
But know that they are tools to be used.

I am proud of my dancer’s feet, because without the scars and bruises and tired muscles, I would not be able to accomplish what my heart desires.

If you buy seeds, and never plant them, you will never grow a garden.
If you have a pan and never write, you will never publish that novel.
If you own a plane and never fly it, you will never get anywhere.

Use the tools you are given.
Put them to good use.
Take care of them and love them for doing their job.

I love my tools, and without them, I couldn’t do the things I do.
My feet are my paintbrushes on the canvas of the dance floor.
I paint a picture as I dance with colors of movement and energy, I explode.

Art is Key

Inspired by a friend,
She wrote to me thins morning and said,
“People working with their bodies as a real instrument, that you have to respect [and] consider
Societies are so modern, and they’ve grown so fast that it feels like our bodies don’t matter at all – we could just replace them ¬– buy them some surgery or medicine if we treat them badly
Seeing bodies exhibited in the street,
Or naked bodies in dance or theater
This seems to shock most people
And I actually belong to those who feel “strange” when they meet a human body completely exposed in an unexpected place…
It looks like artists are one of the keys to help us come back home!
How cheerful!”

Yes, how cheerful indeed.
So today I put myself in the street,
If not naked in body, at least naked in mind
Let’s go create some art – shock people!

As the sky burned. I danced.

The sky burned
Lit by the setting sun, it glowed red, and yellow and orange
The heavy, dark rain clouds tumbled over one another as the rays of pink shot out in all directions
Elated, I walked on air
With the sheer joy of dancing, I floated
As the embers in the sky blazed, so did my being
My body hummed with energy
Every cell buzzed with excitement and joie de vivre

For the moment, all worry gone
For the time being, all doubts banished
For this instant, only joy

I encourage, go out and find that one piece that make you feel like a million bucks
I suggest, doing the thing that makes you most happy
I encourage dancing because, unless you REALLY hate it, it WILL serve to fulfill you

Just dance, You know what to do!

So when something comes up that’s just too hard to digest, I dance.
So when I can’t wrap my head around a whole in the dark, I dance.
So when everything seems to come crashing down around me, I dance.

I can find solace in the movements of my body.
If I can’t be sure of the movements of the world, I can be sure of the flexions in my toes.

I create comfort in the winging of my limbs.
If nothing else resonates with the tune of my world, I dance to that song and make it my own personal symphony.

I leap in the face of struggle.
I swivel in the snare of conflict.
I stomp on doubt and pivot on worry.
I bend insecurity in half.

I dance with what I know.
I boogie with my blues and foxtrot with my fears.
I dip and turn and promenade my resistance until it becomes my strong hold and I find my footing once again.

Let it Roll

When irritation gets under my skin.
When I can feel it itching and a good hard scratch only makes it worse.
When sand paper and lemon juice and salt get in.

Breath, baby breath, and let it roll.
Off my back, like drops off a duck.
Like the waves of the ocean.
Like the rounds of a record.
Like the lilt of the samba,
Let it roll.

Take care of your mind honey, and don’t let it fester.
Be aware of your bind sugar, and untie the knots.
Stay away from the fire, and you won’t get singed.

Inhale, darlin’, smell that sweetness in the air.
Exhale, let love be the catalyst for it all.
You are okay my sweets, everything is going to be okay.

It's about Realizing

What is the true meaning of “Kindness and Compassion For All?”
What does that really entail?
My interpretation – the gist:
It’s having the power, the will, the strength, the capacity to embrace all ways of life.
Even if those ways, views, personalities, paths, methods, idiosyncrasies, habits, likes/dislikes, etc. don’t “fit” into your personal scope, mind-set, pre-conceived notions, conditioned perceptions of life.
Your life.
It’s about allowing these concepts to exist in your world, no matter if you think they’re right or wrong, good or bad, true or false.
Being able to acknowledge without necessarily needing to accept.




Thank you Dad, for putting it to me in a way I could finally understand, and please let me know if I’m off the mark in any bit of this. You have a way of wording things that I can understand.

Sunday Afternoon

Drenched in wine
we saturate our selves in Brie and buzzed conversations
Feasting our eyes on the greenness of the vineyards
stretching out before us on the hill
Three of us share on glass
with tastes and flavors exploding
rolling through our pallets
Sighing with pleasure
we listen to the sounds of water washing over rocks
and our table neighbors telling stories of their humorous lives
Sweetness hangs in the air
friendship lingers on our breath
with mutual agreement
Silence happens with ease
words walk out without judgment
smiles play across lips
and we revel in reverie

Dynaminicity

Restless again
I’ll blame it on the weather
As the winds picks up they bring scents of far off lands
The evening breeze triggers memories of nights spent in countries distant
Rain hangs in the pregnant clouds
I’m itching for new scenery
Aching for new faces
Longing for the tones of languages not quite understood
Beaches, rain forests, dirty, gritty streets
Give me new food, give me bad food, give me sweet company and late nights
Early mornings, long afternoons, and great friendships made out of new adventures

Love for where I’m at
Being thankful for what I’ve got
It hard to be still and quiet when I know that my heart wants to bust loose and break something
That feeling of wanting to getup and walk out on something important
Something I’ve always wanted to do – get up and walk out on something important – work, school, whatever
Satisfaction in causing a minor disturbance
I take great pleasure in shocking other people and what better way, than to create a little friction
Comfortable is nice
But change is even better
Dynamic is fantastic
Okay, here I go – off to teach the most vibrant WALTZ class that I can

From Noah Mazé’s Yoga Workshop May 30th 2009

(I write while I eat lunch, after the first three hours of morning practice – Backbends):

Each of us are born to saver the sweetness.
Like bees and honey.
We are all bees collecting sweet offerings from different flowers, from our own unique experiences, both sweet and a little bitter.
We pool our collections in this community of life, practice, today, this moment, as-it-is here and now.
Allowing the process to happen.
The artistic expression of ourselves, through yoga.
Dance. Poetry. Art.
Allowing ourselves the freedom to do what is right for us and our own body.
Backbends. Wow! Hard! Yes! Joyous! I FEEL ALIVE!
The harmonium draws forth our voices to collect in unison.
Beautifully. Sweetly. Like Honey.
We are born to saver The Sweetness.

We can always go deeper.
More.
There is always more.
There is always the next level, the next step, refining the simplest of movements.
Expressing, experiencing the vastness of expansion.
Infinite expansion.
This body is only for this life.
Then there is the next endeavor.
There is always more. More sweetness to be had by all.
The intricacies and subtleties of each new experience/movement.
Tasting the honeycomb.
I am just tasting the honey.
Discovering the new sensations of delicious, innate sweetness and grace.

I am buzzing, like a bee, with energy, Prana (breath), and life force.
I feel like I am drunk with happiness and enthusiasm.
Even though I can’t do every pose like it is shown in it’s fullest form, my body is still trying and creating muscle memory.
It is opening up and creating more space for grace.
Drops of honey, in the form of sweat, caress my skin and I want to weep with joy.
Like the green leaves on the trees, I explode with energy.
Pushing my boundaries, my limitations are shattered and I overcome my fear of failure.
Busting down the barriers and conditioning of my own ego and mind, I CAN EXPAND!

(During the afternoon session, I take notes, I don’t want to miss a word – Meditation and Inversions):
We’re packed, mat to mat with one, maybe two inches in between.
Edge to edge.
After lunch the chatter has changed.
The voices are a bit different.
Yet a wonderful freedom and sweetness prevails.
Madhu – sweetness, honey, nectar.
Soma – intoxicating elixir, ecstatic liquid.
Ecstasy.
Bliss.
We are born to get high, get ecstatic.
We are born to be ecstatic.
But all of it contains toxicity.
There is always more – the dark side.
Being comfortable in the depths of the dark.

Noah Quotes:
“Moving in cycles and phases of revelation and forgetfulness.
Reveling in the ecstasy, then forgetting, so when it comes again we may rejoice in that, and savor it once more.
The color of the moon, milky intoxication.
We need the cycles of deep sleep, ecstatic intoxication and forgetfulness.
The play of Nataraj.
Concealment and Revelation.
Savoring the experiences of embodiment.
Ganesha. Ganapati. Masculine. Outside, In. Wounding and restoration. Having an identity independent of mother and father. Sweat. Culture.
Natural cycles of one’s own authenticity. Feminine. Tears. Inside, Out. Nature.
Peaks and troughs. Like waves, like orgasms. Born to ecstasy.
Desire is the nature of the universe.
Being comfortable in the depths of the dark.
Ecstatic through peaks and troughs and the space in between.”

In Shavasanana, laying on our backs.
Another form of meditation.
Like Ash. Cremation.
We are born again.
We rest, restore, lie down, in order to rise again and do it all over again.
Peaks and troughs, riding the waves of ecstasy and sweetness.

Rains pours from the sky like tears of the feminine and secretion of the masculine encodings.

This is a wondrous life.

Sheets of Trees

Why does a piece of paper have to define who you are?
Depicting, illustrating, outlining your future, your status, your heritage.
From birth we seem to be identified by pieces of paper.
Birth Certificate.
Social Security Card.
Passport.
Learner’s Permit.
Driver’s License.
Diplomas.
Documentation that tells you what?
Stating what kind of human being you are?
Certainly not.
What kind of friend you’ll be, mother you’ll make or father you’ll become.
I don’t think so.
It says nothing about what’s really in your heart, about what your true characteristics are.
A Piece of paper does nothing but state your name, the date, and how much money, blood, sweat and tears you put into the label in black calligraphy on that biodegradable sheet of tree.
Accomplishments, perhaps, but character, absolutely not.
And what’s accomplishments without character?
A declaration of…?
That piece of paper says what exactly?
Nothing that I really need, just confirmation for the ego, the superficial, the mind.
The heart needs no authentication.
The heart already knows what’s true.
The heart sees that you are doing it, that you have achieved what it is you set out to do.
Tell the mind and ego to shove it, put it in that piece of paper, roll it up, and smoke it.
Do what you have to, but in my opinion, pieces of paper are a waste of oxygen – good, green trees that we need for livin’.

Yes Breathe

Fear of failure.
Fear of not being good enough.
Fear arises.

To quell the storm, I breathe.
Put all that aside, because YOU CAN DO THIS.
Tell yourself you can, and you can, because you have to.
Have to because you CAN.
Because this is who you are.
You, not defined by your actions but accented by your endeavors.

Self, you CAN do this.
Breathe.
Breathe.

The sun sets pick and purple and orange.

The sun sets pick and purple and orange.
Summer time has arrived.
98 degrees and full steam ahead.
Eating food with my fingers is so much more delightful.
Some days I just have to lay down the fork and knife, and suck the juice from the tip of my thumb.
My skin kisses the sunshine.
My soul delights in the warm embraces of May.
Strawberries taste like strawberries.
Corn on the cob pops so sweet in my mouth.
But no matter the season, hot tea still finds a place, nestled snugly in my hand and tenderly on my tongue.

Let's not put screens on any window

Last night I watched the sunset through my open window as I took a shower. The cool evening breeze mixed with the hot steam from the running water was a welcome, easy contrast to my long day. Watching the sky change to orange and purple and yellow I washed my hair invited the scent of shampoo and dusk into my senses.

I put on a loose dress, made dinner, and sat on the back deck, finally accepting that spring was here. The temperature outside was perfect. I felt as though my skin were the air and the air was my skin, there was no barrier.

Practicing guitar by the light of a single candle, I sang to the stars with my out of key voice and strummed along to the crickets with not a particularly good rhythm.

Why can’t everyday be an adventure? Why can’t I make every moment worth sharing? Traveling makes it easy to experience life in a new way. When I don’t have that luxury, I’ll accept the challenge to make every day a new and exciting endeavor. Inviting interesting happenings into my life and accepting mundane experiences as learning tools regardless.

War Paint

Running her fingers through the wet earth she dons her war paint.
Two bands around each arm. Stripes slash each cheek. A dot in the center of her forehead and a streak down the center of her face. Wrist bands and chest paint and two hand prints on her stomach. At her throat, beads of clumped, dried, mud cling like an amber necklace.

As she watches the sunset, she builds a fire. The flames growing larger, the stars appearing brighter, the crickets getting louder and the music in her bones becoming stronger. She cannot help herself. She must be free. The dance courses through her blood. Leaping to her feet she whirls around the flames. Kicking up her heels and letting our loud whoops of delight to the drum beat in her heart.

All night she sings prays to the divine. Her heart becoming open and pure. Sweat cleanses, rinsing her clean – returning the carefully applied armor to the earth from which it first came. At length she rests, curling by her dwindling fire, exhausted yet fulfilled. Like the embers of the fire, she glows. With a smile on her lips she dreams.

As the sun rises once more, illuminating the world, so too is her life once again lit.
She is now ready for the battle of another day.

What language do you dance in?

What language do you dance in?

I dance in hips side to side.
I dance in feet out and back.
I dance in arms round and around.

I dance from the music in my heart and the sounds from my stereo.
I bounce my shoulders up and down.
I wave my head back and forth.

I dance with expressions of my body.
Emotion comes from somewhere deep inside and I talk about it with spine undulations.
Words are not necessary for I have my extremities to do the talking.

I dance
I dance
I dance

It’s not pretty
It’s not even rhythmic
It’s just say what I have to say in the way I have to say it

What language do you dance in?

Magic Carpet

When my life seems to be turning upside down, the best remedy is to turn myself upside down.
So, with my yoga mat as my magic carpet for the day, I find myself in a backbend in the middle of my cardboard box, cluttered living room.
With nothing else to right me, I turn myself upside down.
Arms and legs grounded, belly flying high.
But who’s to say there’s a right side up anyway?
Yes, we walk with our feet, but some people walk with their hands.
Hey, some people even walk with their heads, physically and metaphorically.
So when I’m presented with obstacles I think of my life as a video game – all I have to do is conquer the first limitation and I’ll get to the next level.
I am able to jump, leap, turn and bend if the need be.

The only thing obscuring my bendy ability is my mind.
So if I can tell my ego to shove it for a little while, I might get something done!

Move baby move!

With the rhythm of life pounding on my chest I have no choice but to joint in
To defy it
Rally against it
Would be my destruction and
D
O
W
N ward demise
Like a fist drumming on my heart, I choose to step into the current and flow not fight
In an
d
r
a
w
p
u
spiral
I direct my attention and lift my thoughts to the heavens
My eyes,
torso,
pelvis,
knees
&
feet
F-A-L-L-O-W
In a back bend I offer out my Greatest potential
Shining like the light from the Sun
Belly and spirit raised in a humble offering
My fingers and toes RADIATE
Twirling, as I glide across the wooden floor, perfecting my rise and fall MOTION
The MUSIC in my being courses through my veins and runs along my vertebrae
Sending MUSIC to my every cell

Let me MOVE while I’m alive!
Let the pulse stir me
My heartbeat will suffice
Dhoom, DHOOM, dhoom
Always, some part of me is
D
A
N
C
I
N
G!

Something To Remember: Back To Basics

Here are a few wise words from my mother that helped me through today:
“Sometimes life is hard.
And sometimes it isn't fair.
But all in all you are held in the hands of the Divine Goddess.”
Thank you mom.

Now I’ll continue those wise words and tell you what I learned today:
Sometimes we have to go back to the basics in order to move forward, upward, onward to harder, more challenging endeavors
This morning for example, I went to a yoga basics class but I was really resisting because I was afraid it wouldn’t be challenging enough
I really wanted to sweat, you know?
Upon arriving to class I was instantly glad I went
I knew that I could make the class as difficult or as easy as I wanted
So, during class I focused on my core
I strengthened my insides
Being a smaller class, little cues and more one-on-one attention was given to each yogi
I was sweating within thirteen minutes, and enjoying the challenge I put forth for myself
Lying in Shavasana, at the end, I was really glad I decided to go to class
Feeling fulfilled and heroic
Returning to the basics only helped to solidify my understanding of the purpose and principles, both in yoga and in my own life

I’ll suggest it to anyone:
Get some finger paints
Find an easy reader, put down the philosophy
Simply take a minute and revel in the abundant life you live, because if you’re reading this, you have a computer and that makes you one hell of a privileged person, so enjoy that
Create space in your life for simplicity, it’s not boring, it’s a clearing out and starting anew
Smile at the sunshine
Rejoice in the rain
Remember to be kind to yourself
Remember that it’s not about how much you sweat or how sore you are after class that made it successful
It’s about how much you allowed yourself to grow, and how much you brought forth in recognizing that all ventures are learning experiences, no matter how simple or complex

In Each Day, Little Dances

Lips moving
Hands gesturing
Feet walking, running, peddling
Tongues tasting
Eyes smiling
Arms encircling, grasping, holding
As we eat, as we play, as we talk to one another
These are our dances
Tiny dances we create each and every day
Always dancing
If we are moving we are dancing
Coffee dances as is percolates
My banana dances in circles through my cereal
My fingers dance across the keyboard as I type these words
We dance to the music of our voice
We dance to the rhythm of our heartbeats
We dance to the sounds of our lives

Let's Go!

What will satisfy this restless girl’s appetite?
I have to limit my reading of the travel section on the NYTimes Online.
She has to still her itchy fingers from booking the first flight out of here.
This overwhelming need for anonymity consumes me.
I just know too many people who knew me.
I can’t focus, I can’t do my homework, I can’t even think straight.
All I can concentrate on are distractions and making cup after cup of different kinds of tea.
First Maté, then Bengal Spice, then Jasmine, then Lemon Grass, then Hibiscus.
I’m seeing a trend. Change.
Her impatient nature is profound, if extremely unproductive.
Perhaps a bike ride would help to clear the mind?
I’ll take you up on that offer, let’s go!
Go! Go! GO!

(P.S. There's not a cloud in sight!)

Another one of my brilliant ideas...

Another one of my brilliant ideas.
I secretly always wish to get caught in a downpour no matter where I am or in what kind of attire.
Well, today it was more like a “mushy hail-storm” as I rode my bike home from dance class.
It was fun for about the first fifty-seven seconds as I coasted down the first hill, feeling the breeze on my face and the slightly therapeutic sting of rain-hail-sleet as it blasted me head on.
Then, as I neared the road, and my second hill, I realized this wasn’t so fun anymore.
Cars rushed by, spraying me with filthy slush from the gutter.
Peddling as fast as my short legs would allow, I finally made it to the sidewalk.
(Yes Dad, I had to ride on the sidewalk, sorry).
Then traversing through traffic, trying to avoid the big puddles, looking like I had just come from a mud-wrestling contest, and lost.
Wiping the remnants of precipitation from face, I quickly zipped around corners, not stopping at the stop signs, but not really caring either.
Main objective: get home without eating too much sludge.
Up my driveway and under the dry overhang of my apartment.
Locking up my bike, I strode inside to assess the damage.
It was worse than I thought.
Mud on face? Check.
Mud on pants? Check?
Mud on backpack, shoes, fest, hair? Check, check, check, check!
Laughing, because after all, I asked for it, I put on dry clothes, and the others went in a basket, labeled: To Take To Parent’s/Sister’s House, because I don’t have a washer.
Now, sipping tea, feeling warmer and much dryer, I give you a piece of my day.
Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, at least for the first fifty-seven seconds.

The Subtleties of Movement

(Today, in my modern dance class)

The subtleties of movement
The impressions we have on one another
Standing, facing one another
Grasping hands we close our eyes
We take turns
He shifts his weight from side to side
I fallow, mirroring his movements, shifting my weight from side to side
Fast, smooth. Slow. Gentle, firm
Then, without words, keeping our eyes closed, I take the lead and he follows
How nice we flow together
In this simple gesture of reaching out, holding on, slightly pushing –
Giving our weight over to the movement
We float there, in space for what could have been two hours, but was only two minutes
Swaying from one foot to the other, dancing our little dance together

just waiting

I’m pretty sure I’ve told you before, but just to emphasize this point, let me tell you again, I HATE WAITING.

My father pointed out to me today that I am not happy unless I am doing, and to me, waiting is NOT doing ANYTHING.

Waiting is simply wasting time, space, and energy.

Waiting for others is the worst, because there is NOTHING you can do in the mean time because you don’t know WHAT to do because you don’t know HOW long you’ll be waiting, and eventually I forget WHY I’m even waiting. Then I get all upset because I feel as though I’ve wasted all this time, just waiting.

Sure, I don’t mind waiting for dinner to cook, that’s always nice, because you get to smell great things simmering, hopefully you have good company, you can even read a book, because you have an END date, a time to eat, enjoy, and be DONE waiting.

I can swindle myself, like waiting for the seasons to change, sure they will change for you (unless you die, but even then they’ll keep changing) so one can rely on that. It’s the WAITING that gets under my skin. Luckily there are remedies, like making a smoothie with last year’s strawberries, hidden in the freezer (gotta love frigidares!), deceiving myself that spring is really on it’s way.

But this, this is just ridiculous.

Waiting, what is it ABOUT waiting that I dislike so much? Well let me see, it possesses a passive aggressive nature. It looms over my head, behind my right shoulder. I find things to distract me, I things to “DO” in the mean time, but it’s still there, like the wind. Shifting and changing, but always clinging to me, there, there, there, always there, it’s waiting.

For me, waiting is nothing but stagnation, fermenting and festering. It whittles away at it my bones, and it has no human qualities. No compassion.

How can I be content with doing nothing? Content stilling my mind and quieting my restlessness. JUST WAITING.

I crave adventure, transformation and dynamicity.

So, I took my alter-ego out to lunch

Yesterday I did something I’ve never done before. I took myself out to lunch, armed only with my notebook and pen. It was fantastic. I’ve always felt sorry for those “lonely souls” out to lunch all by them selves. I’ve always found eating out to be a group (or at least a duet) activity, never a solitary endeavor. Sure, people do it all the time and love, it. My mom always tells me she loves it, did I believe her, of course not, she’s my mother! But even so, I just never saw myself being that type of person. I was always in the mindset of, if you’re going to eat alone, you might as well do it at home – boy, ways I wrong. (That’s funny, it’s sort of a relief to know that I’m wrong, it’s almost better then being right, and shit, I like being right!)

I procrastinated for about an hour, testing my fear, to see if the conquest was worth it. Yup, I was scared. Scared of what? Of being judged by people like myself, before the incident, I suppose. Now I can officially say I’ve crossed the unseen line of “being alone” (ooh boogie, boogie scary) and “being alone” (fact of life and part of growing up). It’s a nice feeling.

I enjoyed eating out alone, so much in fact, I want to try and make it a regular date with my alter ego. It’s different than coffee and a croissant, which if you felt the slightest bit of discomfort, you could take it and leave, or shove it every so daintily into your maw. No, this is a commitment to a meal, which should last at least 30 minutes to allow for proper digestion, but could take hours, if you’ve got the time and the intent. It’s an occasion to taste, savor, relish, write (if you like, read if you like) and just enjoy every moment of being alone with people to serve you AND do the dishes for you! Wow, doesn’t that sound nice, now where is my cleaning fairy…? (Have to get on her, man…) People watching and eaves dropping are taken to a whole new level when you’ve got no one chatting your ear off, or wanting you to divulge.

One might even find that they are not entirely alone. I just happened to be sitting next to a pair of animated talkers, and almost felt included into their conversation. Also, I started to notice that I was not alone in the “eating out alone department” either. And not only was he good looking, he looked way more awkward then I felt, so there’s that too…

And the best part was, the waiter took me seriously. Yes, that’s my “looking young, female, and blonde” complex talking, but still, it was brilliant.

Cuban Motion

Cuban Motion
Create the frame of an angled roof between your upper body and your partner’s
Lean in
Get close, but not too close
Don’t lean on your partner
Round your frame
Bend your knees
Stay tall
Move your hips
Carry your own weight
Roll through your whole foot
Use the floor for power and support
Let your body move first, before your feet
Really attack your steps!
Dance it like you mean it
This is the hardest thing you will learn in Ballroom dancing
Cuban Motion

Untitled

I wake up in the morning with the promise of music and movement and the kiss of sunshine.
I admire others for the way they live their lives, finding pure joy throughout it all.
I can’t stand some people because of the way they treat others as well as themselves.
Enlightenment is a really big word.
The brain can only handle so much at once, but I’d like to think that my heart could handle a lot more.
When I surround myself with joyful people, I reflect that.
I really enjoy laughing.

cell phone paradox

Never let the facts get in the way of a good story.

Yesterday I left my cell phone at home.
Accidentally.
For the first ten minutes, I felt nothing but anxiety and worry, “What if someone has en emergency, and the need me?!” But after that – totally freedom. (They’ll call the police if they have an emergency).
I recommend it for anyone who is game.
No one knew where I was, but no one needed to either.
I could do whatever I wanted for however long it took me.
There were no restrictions whatsoever.

Normally, my ears are always strained to try and catch my level three ring-tone.
On most days, I am always on edge, just waiting for that call that will change my life. (Well, okay that happened once but they left a message and I called them back, and everything worked out).
Usually I feel this sort of obligation to answer my phone no matter what.
Scenario: I’m having this really great conversation with a good friend, I hear my phone ring, “…Uh, hold a sec, let me see who this is...” or, every ten minutes we pull out our phones, just to make sure we didn’t miss a text or call.
What a shame.
Technology is getting in the way of normal, real, human interactions. (My opinion).

Let it be.
I’m leaving my cell at home from now on.
If you need to reach me, leave a message and I’ll check it when I get back.
That’s what used to happen, and landlines never killed anyone.

Find a Surface and Dance on it

Sleek, jumbled, crowded, sparse, cluttered, clean, dirty, white, black, glowing, cement, wooden, plastic, sprung, laid, carpet, tile, linoleum, living room, kitchen, bedroom, bed, bathroom, bar, patio, porch, deck, lawn, desert, forest, river side, mountainous, boulders, log, moss, mud, street corner – the possibilities are endless.

People find themselves on that surface for one reason: to move.
Move their bodies, stir their minds, and shake their souls.
Souls in the broadest sense of the word.

On the dance floor I can be anybody I want to be.
I find myself without inhibitions or worries.
I am transported to a timeless time.

I dance for the feeling not the look.
For the joy not the gain.
For simple love of motion.

On the dance floor there are no limits.
I have only the music, the rhythm and my body.
We are all dancers of our own accord.
We are all dancers in the most rhetoric of senses.
We are all dancers, for we find ourselves ON the floor.
Whatever or wherever that surface may be – there we will find joy in the movement or our bodies.

Find a surface and stomp on it with passion and glee.
Glide, spin, twirl.
At the very least wiggle your toes to the beat that come from within.

The Train

There is something seriously humbling about standing beside the train as it races past.
It shakes my bones and leaves me with a craving for adventure and freedom.
As it slows by the station, I imagine myself hopping one of those cars and just letting the ride take me wherever.

So let life happen like a train.
Let life take you where it pleases.
All you have to do is jump on that boxcar and let the train tracks do the rest.
Don’t forget you can get off whenever you please.
You can also change stations and take another train in the opposite direction, if you wish.
Or you can just hop off and walk a while.

As I stood there, with the whistle blasting through my headphones and into my cells.
Reverberating its rhythm throughout my entire being.
It shook me to the core and left me unpretentious.

Hope

Rain today. Grey and wet and hopeful I leave my house to hand in yet another job application. I go into a local coffee shop to ask if they’re hiring, but I already know the answer, “No, sorry” says the man behind the counter. So I buy a cup of coffee, “Just cream, thanks” and fill out an application anyway. There’s no harm in trying I tell myself. I stare out the window of the café and wished I were in Paris. Wished I were away from “real life” and on a wild adventure, not caring, not calculating, not wanting things I cannot have. My id is taking over and I want immediate gratification. NOW! I hate waiting. It’s probably the least favorite thing I have on my list. It shouldn't even BE on the list.
So, now I wait. I wait and I write and I decide to be creative instead of wallowing in despair. I decided to be creative today rather than let mildew grow on my heart and brain while waiting for life to happen to me.
After finishing the last dregs of grounds and milk, I handed over my application and gave the guy unwrapping bagels the most courageous and courteous smile I cold muster. Knowing he was not hiring. In return he gave a genuine grin and his kind eyes gave me hope, maybe, just maybe… give me something I can work with.