the world and words of a writer

gretchen is a writer floating between australia and manhattan

Tag: new york city (page 1 of 72)

lucid. unplugged. disconnect.

“Yo puedo hacerte feliz…”

I met my husband 29 June 2017. Halfway through our first date, breakfast at a French cafe’ on east 44th street in midtown Manhattan, he leaned across the table while I blushed crossing and uncrossing my legs (both of us dressed to the New York City nines, suits and frocks at 7am) and he stated, quite plainly in a husky, cigar-smoking Spanish accent that I drank like a green smoothie…

“I can make you happy.”

“… yo puedo hacerte feliz.”

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go west

Namaste, my heart

I’m moving west soon…


In 2003, back before all of this inter-web hype, I visited what’s referred to as “the most isolated city on the planet“. I immediately knew I couldn’t settle anywhere else. I reluctantly left and returned to Australia’s eastern seaboard for education and work opportunities which resulted in me doing my SHIT in midtown Manhattan.

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yogmata keiko aikawa. blessed.

“To attain enlightenment, yogis undergo rigorous training and meditate for many years. Those who, like Yogmata Keiko Aikawa, have attained samadhi can transmit anugraha shakti (God’s grace and power).”

img_7716Tonight, I had the unbelievable and utterly indescribable honor of being within 15 feet of her holiness, Yogmata Keiko Aikawa. And I returned to a place I know better than anything. Better than heartbreak, better than any daily in or out.

She led a meditation at the United Nations as part of international yoga day. She blessed us. And now I understand why people travel to India to seek a guru, or a holy touch.

Her sheer presence was like nothing I have ever experienced. I can’t even go on. Watch:

guardia di attraversamento

guardia di attraversamento

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out snapping

I’m snapping out of it blog tribe.img_6253

As a gypsy, minus my parents being 80 miles away – I don’t really have chunks of family somewhere. If I didn’t have a global cult of love-tribe who check in on me from time to time, it’s possible I might be classified a recluse.

Not that I’m misanthropic. Clearly not, or I wouldn’t fall in love every day, and I certainly wouldn’t live in midtown Manhattan. I love many humans, it’s just that since my divorce – I’m usually alone (minus the babies).

Anyways, last night I saw a favorite person who greeted me with, “How’s your boyfriend?”

Uuuuuuugh. Continue reading

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