Taste of Fall
September tastes like apple cider in New York City. I walked through Central Park in 5am darkness that pricked with the first bite of winter’s warning. Not as hard as what was said last night.
No one goes to the park this early. There’s me, a clan of serial joggers, a few cyclists and a couple of homeless people. I’m here because I have dogs. I have dogs because they get me out of the house. And it’s important for me to get out of the house, because I have habits.
I have habits for a couple of reasons. Continue reading
Namaste blog tribe
Most of our loyal cult affiliates are aware that my birthday never goes for only one day. It usually ebbs and flows for a week-ish and I spend the month of September shouting out the whole being born concept. I’ve always just felt if there’s one thing to celebrate, it’s your birthday.
Meanwhile, I’ve developed this affinity for bottle popping. You see, if you’re a feisty female ready to go out whenever, New York City club promoters take notice. That said, I’ve recently surrounded myself with a handful of Manhattan’s finest hailing from Italy to Brooklyn and a few spots in between.
There’s something enthralling about your phone sporadically igniting seven days a week with messages like, “Le Souk tonight? 11pm walk in. Bottles all night.” Such messages are often accompanied by a secret password you tell the doorman to skip the line and walk right inside.
It’s a bit pimped, really. Continue reading
It occured to me this morning that last Monday, which was Labor Day here in the States, was my three year anniversary of being back.
In the past three years, aside from all the junky things that occurred in the midst of a nervous breakdown that my ex-husband packaged up for me on the way out the door; some of my most favorite things also happened.
I landed a perfect job as Writer Extraordinare; I managed to swing my own one bedroom in Hell’s Kitchen with two furry creatures; I’m halfway through “the” novel which will be the strongest I’ve done to date; and I have written some of the best poetry I’ve done, which will have it’s own “lost words” special edition coming after Novel is complete. Oh, and also, someone appeared in my life a few weeks ago, seemingly the most legit spirit I’ve seen.
It’s been a hell of a three years. Continue reading
the way that we (started)
the first night. he was in my bed. i blinked –
a 3am stir. my discovery
painted my immunity in fresh ink.
snapped look connection. our recovery.
a cool tail of summer brushing our skin,
swimming in oceans, playing in gardens –
uncertainty perishes. now. begins.
what falseness presents, fate always pardons.
rolling shoulders as a way to lighten
up. my focus rose and set. on master
manifestation. the way he heightens
my world, time stops. eradicate faster.
i awoke next to someone. blue eyed dream.
return to realize. unravel seams.
So… I just had the best weekend of my life. Hands down. I danced to this in my living room when I got out of bed before. I haven’t even had coffee yet.
I’m going to a new kung fu school tonight. The only Sifu I have trained under was in Australia – and he will always remain my true teacher. I never understood the impact that my three years of training in shaolin kung fu had until it ceased. And by that time, I was so far off the deep end, I kind of wasn’t aware of anything.
It has taken time and grace for me to return to training. There is an addictive discipline attached to it, to me. So I didn’t really want to get involved unless I was ready to commit. Finally, after three years and a lot of bullshit, I reckon I’m ready.
I never pegged myself as someone that would be passionate about a “martial art”. And ironically, the only reason I agreed to study shaolin kung fu was a sad attempt to make my first husband notice me. Naturally, he didn’t. But ironically, I found a system my body seemed to be made to for. Continue reading