coming back to New York is difficult. i have been here a day and a half and already, i am overwhelmed with meetings, work, emails, rehearsals, and more. it comes down to this obsession with time. how can i find enough time in the day to do all these things and do yoga, Suzuki, clean my apartment, learn Japanese, read, fix my broken shower, play the ukulele, and take care of my cats and all of the others in my life: my “otters”? i start to hate New York City because she is not like Bali or my parents’ house or anywhere else.
as he immediately won me and the rest of the gang over with his charm, presence, and the inner light that he exudes with every word and every breath that he makes, i have often come back to that mantra that he holds in his sight on a day-to-day basis.
and so hearing it again on this day, i stayed at my parents’ house even though i was supposed to leave earlier with my sister, Alicia. because, well, i am here now. i was torn about going back to NYC—i have so many obligations to take care of, things to do, people to meet with, and cats to take care of (namely my own). but i mistakenly have someone watching them through today because i was confused as to when i was returning. (i have to wonder, is there any such thing as a mistake? then i remember that Everything We Do is Right.)
i have been thinking a lot lately about co-existence. this summer has brought a lot of odd changes to my life and apartment. once a solitary yoga haven where i could write, eat, and create in a void, it is now going to be occupied by a series of other bodies and voices. Toshi will come and live for a time, as will my European artist friends, Zdenka (with her creative partner) and Lorenzo. after three years of living alone (and loving it), this is a big change to my now-quiet lifestyle.
so i did it again. i freaked out because i am afraid of things that aren’t going to hurt me.
last night, i resolved to shower in the outside shower. our inside one is right next to my parents’ room and my mom goes to bed early. so it was a practical decision, but i also decided to overcome the fear of our backyard at night, which has plagued me for as long as i can remember.
i mean, it’s fenced in for chrissakes, and i have a new philoSophie about co-existence with bugs. so i am going to shower out there dammit. this is what i thought, and anyway, the air con inside was making me feel cold and artificial. i am not going to become disembodied by my own fear.
when i try to “be straight,” i find myself locking into a position rather than fluidly remaining upright.
the key is to release into whatever pose or position i find myself in—straight, crooked, warped and everything in between. because when i think about holding myself straight, that’s exactly what i do: i hold. i hold tension, i hold my breath, and i hold myself in a position that is either not straight at all or else it quickly devolves from straightness because it is not fluid with the movement of my breath.
everybody is all a-flutter this morning. (except for Dad—he’s always just kind of swimming along.)
that must be it.
my parents raised me to be a Lobsterbird.
my mother, lover of birds and flowers and that of the Earth. her energy, while always big, comes in huge bursts (the kind needed to take off into flight). and she is low flier. she flutters around, always busy, always doing…something…
i always thought i was so much my mother’s child.
…and i am. there are so many ways in which we are similar.
this morning i did yoga outside in the 90 degree heat, bugs swirling all around, sweat profusely dripping off my body…
it was glorious. i practiced for so long, zoning in on my breath, on my center, and moving so slowly that i could gauge where either of them were at most given times. i began to imagine what it would be like doing Suzuki in Toga, based off Tina Mitchell’s description the other night while we were training. the heat, the bugs, the bright and blinding stage lights, having only what one needs to survive. i have never been more ready for something that challenges me so fiercely. i felt a light emanating out from my center and reaching around the world—a battle cry of release into the unknown.
the New Jersey Parkway is so green that i almost feel like i am on my way to some warped version of Bali. maybe i am, in a way, if i am traveling to another place that feels like home…
i used to have this weird conflict of language usage that would happen whenever i would go and visit my parents. i would say, “i’m going home.” i don’t know that i will ever stop calling it home even though i don’t live there anymore. i grew up there from birth until i left to attend college. it was a happy home—a place that allowed me to grow into the being that i am today. but when i would tell my sister (or others) that i was “going home,” they would be unclear if i meant home to my parents’ house or home to my NYC apartment.