Always in motion is the future.

~ Yoda, Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back ~

NYC subway sunset

three days ago would have signaled my 12th anniversary of moving to NYC. today i found this draft from September 16th, 2012 (written just a month shy of my 9th anniversary of moving to NYC). in a month, i will be back in NYC, briefly, after having expanded out into the world and living in all kinds of places and spaces.

in celebration of all these anniversaries, of a great love and struggle with numbers and time, and of breaking down the very notion of time itself, herein contains the post. it comes from the future, about the past, and, i don’t know about you, but somehow all this time travel puts me right here in the present.

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on Building a Home in the Sky: Converting Groundlessness to Spaciousness.

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:: walking down Marlborough Road in Ditmas Park makes me remember some of my dreams growing up ::

when i was little i always wanted a room with a cushioned bench by the window, so that i could sit there and look out and dream. safe and cozy, and still connected to the outside world.

later i envisioned another window, the kind that certain old houses have jutting out of their façades. multidimensional shapes built into and out of traditional structures. in this window i put a writing desk, unconventionally situated to look out of many windows with different perspectives. if this area had three windows, maybe i could look to the East and the West and find some balance in between.

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“Be Here Now.”

i remember these words taped onto the wall behind composer Gerald Busby’s head as we interviewed him for This is My Home: Voices from the Chelsea Hotel.

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.)

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:: A Family Collaboration ::

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.

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i am feeling very quiet today. i don’t have much to say, so i am going to let someone else do the speaking for me:

“Home.” Leo worked at a small sliver of wood on the old trunk. “The Island’s always been home to me. How did you like living in New York?”

“I loved it and I hated it. I learned a lot.”

“Like what?” Leo stopped pulling at the sliver and looked at me.

I looked out to the sea. Near the horizon I saw something dark leap out of the water in a beautiful arc. A porpoise. I shivered. “Oh—how very protected we’d been, living in a tiny village like Thornhill all our lives, with visits to the Island a couple of times a year. I’d been under the illusion that most people are pretty good.”

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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.

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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.

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:: what animals did we have growing up? ::

 (created the morning i woke up in my childhood bed)

  • Cats
    • Sammy
    • Whisky
    • Shwabby
    • Nowhere
    • Daigy
    • Gypsy(?)
    • Booger 🙁

    • Dogs
      • Vicky
      • Goldie
      • Roxy

      • Very Large Hermit Crabs (3)
        • Kermit is the only one whose name i remember, and i always wonder if he is still around somewhere since my mom thought he was dead and threw him in the garbage. (turns out he was just molting.)

        • Fish
          • Chinese Fighting Fish
          • Guppies from Uncle Butch
          • Jimena’s Fish when she moved back to Argentina
          • My own Aquarium – Tiger Fish, Neons, Sucker Fish
          • Goldfish

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::: On the Way Home :::

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.

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