Simplicity.

Then to return to perpetual motion.

Perpetual Motion Machine

I begin to wonder if that's the fate of modern life.

From one thing to another. Every cyclical, upward spiraling - connected. Circles intersecting for a fleeting moment on a regular basis or just sporadically. Speeding up and slowing down like the well heeled soles of a tanguera on the floor of a milonga, moving with her partner, synched with the staccato notes of the accordion.

But also like an accordion, cramming and stuffing life into a small space and time.

* * *

This weekend I'm going to try not to even think about what class I'm registering for next session at UnityWoods or how balancing Ashtanga and Iyengar works. I've loved every moment of just practicing Ashtanga this week in preparation for the weekend.

Of course I have been running around all week - cramming 5 work days into a normal 4. Shopping, cleaning, cooking, and laundry when back at my apartment, collapsing into bed after short but sweet and warming evening conversations.

Tomorrow will start some pause - forget about everything.

Just the forecasted rain, my iPod and a 3 hour drive.
A weekend with no internet and spotty mobile service -
A weekend of Ashtanga and philosophy.

So I Went a Bit Internal Again.

It happens.

I experienced a bit of, what could best be described as, an existential crisis of sorts. Incurred by the theme for a joint 30th birthday party that I'll be attending in NYC this weekend - come as yourself in 10 years. That coupled with the meme, my 29th birthday* and a airline credit that needed to be booked by today, really got me thinking; from my writing for this blog, to my practice, to my pursuits, to what is really important in my life, who I am and who I'd like to be.

I feel a bit like I'm standing on the edge of opportunity and time.
I quite like it.

Talking with the SecondBeatle about my costume, he asked me what I didn't want to be and then think of what the antithesis of that would be. What I don't want to be is sitting in front of a computer mucking through receipts and expense reports, well heeled and dressed in a tailored suit and silk blouse. The antithesis I immediately envisioned involved bare feet, t-shirt and jeans, a drafting dot stuck here and there, IndiaInk stained and sobo glued hands and a yurt.

I'm quite alright with my antithesis, save for the yurt.
I like indoor plumbing and my 600 thread count sheets too much.

To get anywhere, takes a lot of practice alongside patience, discipline and crazily enough, having some fun along the way. A bit like an asana practice really. That all being said, today and this coming weekend, most certainly are not the time for "sensible" shoes...

...and maybe indulgence in a maple spice cupcake from B&W.




* Today. 2:09 pm - although the "official" paperwork says 2:11. I consider 29 still to be young - looming on old - but in my mind old is a looooooong way away. Maybe in another 90 years? Then I'll certainly be closer to old.

Travels: You know you're hooked when...

...you find yourself planning your vacations around moon days and the shalas, studios, and teachers who will be at your disposal.

A Different Shade of Green

I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm one of those people here in DC who have to get away from the city for at least a day once a month. Otherwise, I become cranky and slowly become embittered and curmudgeonly.

That coupled with not sleeping well, replaying the events of two years ago as I tried to sleep, trying to sit with the images and sensations, allowing them space to process, the two times I did make it to my mat last week, I was no better than lead weight attempting to move through molasses and some semblance of the asana sequence. Case in point: D had me stop at Mari-C last Thursday after I completely foo-barred the Janu sequence and to be honest, I'm almost positive I missed a couple earlier asanas.

Traveling, letting go, returning to New England, and seeing a different colored green was much needed.

* * *

Saturday morning I woke, bright and early - 4 am so I could catch my cab to National and be there promptly at 5am. Upon arrival, I look at the departure screen and I didn't see the departure time for my flight. I saw the flight number, it wasn't the correct time. I was just going to proceed to the gate, but thought better of it and went to the ticket counter to inquire as to the change. As I walked to the counter, SakaPinda mat bag on my back and small weekend tote in tow, I looked at my boarding pass and it didn't look quite right.

I figured I was just tired.
Then it dawned on me like a hammer falling from the sky.
I MADE MY FLIGHT RESERVATIONS IN REVERSE?!

I was currently supposed to be at TF Greene, in Rhode Island - flying to National. Ha! After talking with the ticket agent and laying the blame of the ticketing snafu squarely on the shoulders of my secretary (never mind that I am a/the secretary) it would have cost $1,170 to correct this error.

Call me crazy, but I'm not interested in paying that amount of money for what would total, round trip, approx. 100 minutes in the air.

The Mathematician and the Artist checked the Amtrak schedule and there was a regional train leaving Union Station at 6:20am. I could just make it and did. I've always enjoyed traveling by train - save for the Columbia Law student who sat next to me and proceeded to have the same loud drama-filled phone conversation at least 10 times between New York Penn and Mystic, CT where I met up with the Mathematician and the Artist.

The whole plane debacle became a great lesson in flexibility and creativity, remembering that there are always multiple solutions and the initial error, set up for a wonderful weekend. Forcing me to relax on a train as it wound it's way up the eastern seaboard. The weekend was full of wonderful food, from local restaurants with fresh local ingredients and fresh baked goods, to practicing mat to mat at SPY, going to a new-to-me shala for a led full primary class, to catching up with close friends I hadn't seen in ages.

If I had to pick a single solitary highlight to my weekend, I would have to say the time spent with Lady Apollo.

We hadn't seen each other since the Parson's and my wedding in August 2006. Sure, we've talked on the phone but there's something to be said for seeing someone in person. It's an understatement to say that a lot has happened since then. Laying on our backs soaking in the late summer RI sun in the Sculpture Garden behind RISD admissions, she hadn't realized the scope of everything that had happened. Simultaneously, I came to some further realization of how much 5 months of my life, two years ago has affected me and my path.


This was the first time in a long while that I shed tears for Parson and outwardly and publicly showed my grief, my pain, and my passion for living all that life has to offer.

Om Namah Shivaya.

Off the Grid.

One of the best ways to remove a splinter from your fingertip is to coat your hand in vaseline and cover it with a white cotton sock overnight. In the morning the splinter will have either worked itself out or can easily be coaxed out.

So I'm off to RI for the weekend - catching a cab at 4:30am tomorrow morning to Regan National. (Yay for e-savers)

Currently I'm planning on catching up with Bro, Fluellen, Lady Apollo, and of course the Mathematician and the Artist. Maybe catch a class at SPY and make it to Ashtanga Yoga RI for a led class Monday morning.

I've been off the grid for a bit - floating on the waves of emotion. Trying to figure out how to navigate these paths, I was reminded by Tova, a wonderful shalamate of mine (who knows the value of a luscious cupcake), that one of the things this practice does is to bring up emotion.

On a daily basis we work to honestly face ourselves. Processing our fears and desires - allowing it all to work its way to the surface - trying to find some balance and flow among everything going on in life.

Travels: Coming Home

The holidays are stressful, none of us will question that - having to travel here and there go to parties, cooking, baking, shopping to complete, Christmas cards, office parties, and in all of this we neglect ourselves. When all is said and done, it is truly wonderful to retreat into the love and comfort of heading to that place called home - whether down the block or a car ride or a flight away.

As much as things change, I'm convinced, ultimately; they stay the same. Upon my arrival to RI I headed to the holiday service at my Middle/High School - I walked in the front door and I was transported back to my school days. My first question - Where can I find my mom? The secretary and my high school AP English teacher burst out in laughter, pointing me in the direction of the Middle School where I found the head of the Middle School (my 6th & 7th grade English teacher) and rest of the faculty valiantly attempting to put the students in perfect uniform into some semblance of order. I couldn't help think that was my classmates and me 15-17 or so years ago.

Has it really been that long?

I headed over to the service wondering how it had changed - my Junior year they radically changed the service the complete dismay of the student body and it was really no different when we were Seniors. Looking at the program, there was no pageant; the music was for the most part the same. As the Lower, Middle and Upper Schools processed in I saw my classmates, other students and myself in the current student body. The bell choir began, and the Seniors entered, candles and white sweaters.

A Quaker School, they celebrate Silent Meeting, a time for community to worship in silence, to meditate, reflect, and come together as a community. The Seniors invoke the silence for the service:

Now is the time of the winter solstice;
Now is the time of the greater night.
Now is the time for songs and stories;
Now is the time for candles bright.
Now is the time to dispel the darkness;
Now is the time of growing light.

We're gathered together in love and in kindness,
In joy and in unity, warmth and good cheer.
Ages and seasons surround us with wisdom,
And light from within makes our way the more clear.
The lessons of youth do not pass, but repeat
Like the cycles of the seasons of each passing year.


Sitting in reflection, I felt the most at home I've felt in a long time.