Month: June 2018

The Long Way Home

June 29, 2018

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I must confess; I’m in love with Brooklyn.

There is something enchanting about Brooklyn evenings that few other neighborhoods in New York City possess.

My bias is not with out an excuse; I’ve lived in the same neighborhood in south Brooklyn ever since I moved to New York from Athens five years ago. Except for a brief stint living in Manhattan in the East Village and the Lower East Side (which I still love), most of my time has been spent south of Prospect Park.

I owe my love of this part of city to my original host and friend from college who introduced me to this multi- ethnic, multi cultural and multi layered microcosm few (thank goodness) still know about.

Simply put it’s a gem.

Nestled in between Prospect Park and the Greenwood Cemetery, this still unspoiled part of Brooklyn is a place where you can say hello to the corner bodega owner, chat with your neighbor while they walk their dog, and see familiar faces walking around the streets on a lazy, Sunday afternoon. I wave to the store owners catching a glimpse of the action in the street every morning when I go to work, but I never think of taking the time to truly explore further.

From what many locals tell me, the neighborhood hasn’t changed that much over the years. Originally an Italian immigrant neighborhood, it is now peppered with a spectrum of nationalities, languages, cultures and religions. A true cultural crossroads. But I needed to know more.

Summer nights are a perfect excuse for a long walk.

One evening after an event in the Greenwood cemetery I took this rare opportunity to take the long way home.

As the sunset burst into a beautiful tapestry of colors; shades of pink, salmon, purple and yellow adorned the early evening sky. The aroma of evening primrose and soft wet soil wafted through the air… I was transported. For a moment I was lifted away from the worries of my New York life and felt like I was walking through the streets of my old neighborhood in Athens. I instantly felt carefree; but the real treat didn’t arrive until the sun set; revealing thousands upon thousands of fireflies signaling to each other in their own mystical code.

I closed my eyes took a deep breath and floated with the sounds of stories being told of the families living in these neighborhoods, of meals shared, travels taken and lives changed forever. This was the first time in my years living in New York that I was absolutely in tune with my surroundings.

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Living in such a high strung city, we are used to boxing ourselves in. We end up shielding our bodies and minds from the cacophony of noises, lights, tall buildings, strong aromas; all  of which accost our senses in invasive ways.  We choose to be numb to the big stuff and forget to take a moment to really observe the more subtle aspects of this city. During my walk through my neighborhood, all of that outer noise instantly vanished, and I was able to just enjoy the long walk home.

Outrage–

June 20, 2018
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Outrage. 1950. USA. Directed by Ida Lupino.

We are drowning in outrage. Everyday there is something new to be outraged about. Tragic, manic politicians doing more harm than good, putting us all in a state of panic.

Devastating war in distant corners of the world while leaders of countries play chess with peoples lives.

Talent show hosts with draconian immigration schemes that fill the pockets of thieves and corporations, with zero tolerance for human devastation.

War machines growing and growing like vines.

Greed, capitalism, human rights violations, massive migrations and we are all outraged, devastated, furious beyond comprehension.

And for what?

Did we notice that we are still in our comfortable living rooms,  dining in restaurants, and safe in our beds sleeping at night?

Did we notice that we won’t have trouble, buying food, or bottles of water or a new shag rug, and that cute little dress that looks just right?

Let us stop drowning in outrage and turn the page.

We are more useful and necessary than we think. The big man didn’t do this with out our consent.

But we can pay the rent.

Enough with the outrage and let’s choose to take our place in history.

This isn’t a mystery… stop complaining about the injustices and settle back into your routines. This fight isn’t a fair one without our participation.

Cause it’s easy to think that your super market doesn’t have a gluten free section when you’re far away from devastation and pain.

So let’s come together again.

Unprotected children deserve more than our grass roots facebook attention span and insta-fury.

The world is watching, our outrage.

To what comes next-

June 20, 2018

Picture by Robert Valenzuela ( @3rd.night)

I have had a recent lull to my writing, in stark contrast to the frenzy of past months. My spring feverish ideas and thoughts left freely from my brain onto the page. I truly enjoyed my every day post commitment I set out to complete back in March (birthday challenge) . Truly nothing has kept me more on my toes, than my yoga/ exercise practice and my writing.

As of late I’ve had what many would call a freeze of my creative flow. I don’t know if this is a set back or a regroup, but for what its worth, I would not be a particularly good blogger, if I didn’t share this stagnancy with my small yet powerful and encouraging audience (share my posts with your friends!).

I’m feeling a little stuck.

There are a plethora of things I want to share my thoughts on, but in this growing cacophony of opinions and thoughts my mind is becoming overwhelmed with the opinions of everybody else, to really be able to be a valid voice in the mix. The reminder that depression, and suicide is so openly discussed, took me back to my days of battling depression, and how I was able through very lucky circumstances and good people to get out of bed, put one foot in front of the other, pull myself out of dark cavernous thoughts, and figure shit out.

I battle with self doubt, body image issues, self esteem issues, and the list goes on. Yet here I am writing about it, even though I’m still stuck. I often promise I will share as much of myself as possible it’s the only way to write.

There is definitely a chaotic order to the way I convey my thoughts on this blog, and I appreciate those who’ve followed and continue to follow my musings, poetry, analysis and reflections.

For now I will leave you with a small gratitude list. When you get stuck, make one too, it helps.

  1. I’m grateful for my health. Two dear friends who I deeply care for are battling cancer. They are warriors, who absolutely give me courage to be even better and more resilient.
  2. I’m extremely grateful for my home here in New York. It’s a sanctuary and a quiet space, in this overwhelming city.  Every night I sit on my balcony; on these warm summer nights, and smile at how blessed I am to be here. I miss Greece and my home there every waking moment, but having the opportunity to travel and live here isn’t available to many of my fellow country men and women. Thousands of refugees are still in limbo on many Greek islands bordering Turkey. Children and their families are being torn apart as we speak at US borders. As we all battle internal crisis, so much turmoil is occurring on a daily basis. That forces me to think twice before I forget where I’ve come from.
  3. I’m grateful for rekindled and real friendships, from the embers of dead affairs. And I’m grateful I recently escaped a toxic affair before it created further damage.
  4. I’m grateful for Art. As I’ve mentioned in past posts and I’ll say it again, Art is the only thing that can and has created meaningful change. Art touches and effects everyone in small and big ways and is and will continue to be a huge vehicle for truth, change, and progress.

I’m still stuck with my writing, but I’m grateful I can share that too. When overwhelmed with life’s rocky path, be grateful for what you have to overcome it.

May all beings be Happy and Free.

Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu-

Letting go of fear- Lock and Key

June 13, 2018

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We’ve all felt it. It paralyzes us. It leaves us numb, without a way out. We all know it, that feeling of being helpless and fearful. Fear can be a necessary tool, it keeps us alive if we hold back from jumping off tall buildings to see if we can land in one piece,  it keeps us safe from fatal harm, it keeps us from making sometimes really stupid mistakes, but in many cases it stops us from living lives full of wonder and joy. The older we grow the more fearful we become and one thing a 20 plus yoga practice has taught me is the playfulness and joy doesn’t have to dissipate just because we let our fears and insecurities take over.

Fear can rob us from opening doors or perception of dreams and of possibilities that could make our lives richer, more luscious and more beautiful.

But what if we just turned the key and looked beyond our fear? Yes, it’s harder to do than to say, yet there it is beckoning us, the unknown, the undiscovered.

We’ve always had the key to the lock. Sometimes it IS as easy and taking it out and trying it out. And what If we fail? And what if we fall down and scrape our ego? And what? What if we fall in love and have our heart broken, what if we tell the truth and get rejected?

Nothing.

You get the fuck up and keep trying. Because you can’t let fear drive the car. You can’t let this mind numbing agent steal your life from you because life is way to short to live in fear.

Don’t let it.

Recipe for Disaster-

June 7, 2018
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Mural by SimpleG @simpleg1 – Athens, Greece

How does it taste?

My desire for you….

Is my flavor too much for your stomach to take?

I cooked it slowly with the age old recipe.

Spent all night blending the spices just right.

I put slices of passion in between each promise and lustful embrace.

I let the juices bubble and hiss.

  *     *     *

Is it too salty?

Did you leave in haste due to heartburn?

Too many cooks spoil the broth I guess.

I must confess this was a recipe for disaster.

I’m a master in the kitchen and a servant of my heart.

I’ll have to start over with this prep, follow each step to the letter

I should have known better

You can’t serve creme brulee in a plastic cup.

Tainted Fruit-

June 1, 2018

Mural by @FKDL– Bushwick, Brooklyn NY

The delicate insignificance of your smile
was quietly encouraged by you.
Overwhelmed by your self importance
you over estimate your value and weight.
Acting like an emotional cheapskate.
                                               .   .    .
Shameless self promotion causing the death of substance at your feet.
But you won’t admit defeat.
You would rather die than see the other side of the coin.
A Trojan horse infiltrating the souls of those who cross your path.
A monster in sheep’s clothing.
                                              .    .    .
Beware of my wrath.
It’s deadly and never misses the mark.
Cheap thrills don’t purchace a place in my heart.
It’s a stark contrast to a chorus of lies and ego boosting shots.
I tell the truth and it’s not pretty, I’m gritty.
I’m the real deal.
You try to steal my thunder but you fall and crack when you’re exposed to the light.
                                           .   .   .
And still… and still
I fall hard for my lesser self.
The one that believes you to be mighty and me a speck of dust on your shoes.
I lose myself in your world of titans and and one eyed thieves.
I neglect the divine femininity that will break it all apart into a million little pieces.
                                        .    .    .
I won’t be this, weak little thing for you.
My roots are deep and my fruit is luscious.
I’m a wild child I’ll stick to your subconscious like sweet nectar.
You tasted my juices and spit them out.
That’s not what I’m about.
Time is of the essence and in order to bear fruit
we must rise above low expectations.
But still… I fall…