blank blank fullness

So here we are, almost a month after the fact but hey, 'betta late than neva' (say it in a sassy, sultry Marlyn Monroe or Jessica Rabbit voice).

On 4/20/11 I led a yoga class over at the Morrison Hotel Gallery to benefit Guitars in the Classroom. As I work with young 5th graders, I've been brought closer to the exact reason why education has always been a critical issue at the forefront of my mind. I feel quite lucky to have received a terrific education, and I know a lot of it was due to the fact that, along the way, I've had a few stellar teachers who exposed me to new perspectives and frames of viewing the world at the right times in my growth. Anomalies, stand out human beings.

The 3rd grade teacher who took it upon herself to teach her students French- via children's songs- in an early-90's Astoria. The albino-haired 10th grade English teacher who so clearly didn't belong in suburban New Jersey (but DID belong at the school) -- dressed in Gucci, former lawyer, TERRIBLY intelligent and refined in the subjects he asked us to think about critically. The art history teacher who made you want to work so hard for her love. Because she made you love the subject so much.

Those kinds of teachers are there before you can choose the world for yourself, they open the doors to new places, and those kinds of characters inspire me, and all those they touch, to search deeper; revealing a few decadent crumbs along a trail to exhilarating discovery.

And they do this how? They become art themselves. They've touched that place inside themselves that then radiates the works and spirits, drives, emotions and creations, and they pass it on; the gatekeepers to our curiosity and capacity to live full lives through meaningful work, whatever that means to you.   

To me it means passing on yoga and art to children when they're still fresh, but also beginning to feel the pressures of the world around them. The high expectations of tests. The struggling parents, the moves and losses of friendship, the latest Nicki Minaj, Rihanna, or Beyonce songs they will hum in class, while saying "I wanna be a fashion designer". Pop and locking, sliding in a funky grove with an "I'm going to be a lawyer". All while we figure out how to sound a Sanskrit word (s = sh), what values are and what they want theirs to be, locating spinning wheels of energy in their bodies that connect to love, or ego, or creativity, and how to hold their bodies to be more compassionate, less egotistical, more creative. How to enjoy the silence. They are 10 years old. And when they fight over mats I get to remind them about non-attachment. It's a trip! I digress, I also hope that these little seeds planted, make their lives a little bit richer. Like those farmer-teachers did for me...

I want to spread this kind of enrichment. Enable other teachers to take creativity into their own hands and then share it with their students directly, every day. Yes, kids, we have to learn about the rules of grammar, but what if we all got together for our lesson today and wrote a song about it? And then sung it together?! So I got together with Guitars in the Classroom. And took their teacher's workshop. And saw, experienced firsthand what this charity is doing. Am learning guitar so I can sing with my students! And I can only imagine the benefit to so many more children right here in New York City. Maybe ESL students in East Harlem who could really ease and enliven their learning of English with a song. Giving enrichment to schools that might be in trouble (seen Waiting for Superman?) , teachers getting some art in their own lives, learning how to play the guitar, maybe even holding a guitar for the first time. Democratizing the making of music so more of us can carry a tune in our hearts, a tune we helped create.

Taking the edge off city life.

Doesn't that sound amazing?

So we did some yoga at the beautiful, warm, good-vibe-filled Morrison Hotel Gallery Loft to raise some money. So that more schools, more students, more teachers in New York City can get this beautiful chance.

Looking forward to more....

'The Dignified European'

'The Hilton "Haay!"'

'The Ingenue and Pursed Lips'

'The Comic'

'The Indie'

'The Latin Tamale'

'The Big Shot "Hey!"'

'LOVING LIFE! aka Oprah'

'The Skeptic aka James Franco''

'The Britney Spears'

Accidentally discovered Via

Love the pure wisdom of the East, the Tao; the non-dualism we arrive at when acknowledging duality..............

To be a good yoga teacher, you have to be a good person. Sure I could get by on what's been embedded in my mental and physical memory from years and years of practice. And what of the energy in my heart and mind, body when I approach these other beings. Am I thinking of something that was said last night, a drama that's ensued in some other part of time, or a not-so-distant future? Judging myself as I move and sound? Or totally taking care of you, teaching you how to do such, for the next hour and some? Sure, I could get comfortable reciting a script, following a formula, hardly deviating from the structure and flow of 'what works'. But then it becomes a job. And jobs lack value because they are founded solely on their financial worth. And this can apply to anything. Any field, any talent, any relationship, any art. The technical skills can override, replace the fun and in-the-moment inspiration necessary to supply the heart & soul of the whole operation. The tired, vulnerable human gives way to the efficient, technically perfect robot. And some days, it's just gotta be that way. But over time, like feeds like. The robot sucks away the potential for joy and now-won satisfaction, and the human becomes more tired, feels more vulnerable, less capable. Its spirit memory has been overrun by the repetitious hard memory, which in the meantime, has been, technically speaking, getting the job done  So, what's in 'result'?  How much does it cost you, and in what value system?

To be a good person, you have to make good choices; do the right thing, as it were. This is not so easy; even if you are 'technically' a good person. And here, I mean good as in maintaining, not replenishing and balancing (what the GOOD kind of good does). And I face the repercussions of falseness in waves, in my own mental, spiritual well being. Sure, physically I'm fit and I eat right but the roller coaster still kicks in every now and again, and happiness built on faulty grounds tumbles easily down. What's more, happiness built on love is a hell of a climb up a mountain.
And what if? Would the views not be majestic on the way there? Or would your eyes be closed, creating colors, passing through bodies at multiple rates at a time. Would you be doing it for the views, of them of you (looking back at you)? Or for the sweat, the burn and occasional vista of fresh air? Pointed one-focus eyes at the top? Perhaps you'd take a helicopter up there? Whaddha you got that I don't and how do I get that? Or better, are you levitating? Perhaps your eyes are down to the view below. Working out ways to make it better. You can't help it, it's your compassion. Or your know-it-all-ness. Where do we get that from any way? Ok now you're rambling. [editor's note: let's leave those last few out before publishing maybe?...]

The thing is, in this world we live in today, bad choices are front and center. Bad choices are in disguise. Bad choices are so easy and available. It's hard to really grasp the fact, make a difference, label your act as such, as bad, because 'bad' has underpinned established lines of thought, behavior and impulse. It is reflected in our establishments but it starts with individuals. It is reflected en masse and the trees cannot stand alone in a forest. [editor's note: You mean 'materially' bad?]

Bad has no immediate consequence. In fact, bad facilitates. Immensely. That which is, essentially, good, right, and healthy is inconvenient. Takes time, patience, and discipline, can't be bought or paid for (or it can but you're not getting the results, they are. You just get the product, instead of being the product.). Takes a trained eye, heart, and sense of self. A sense of self that has achieved a clear reflection through dedicated self-study. Who has time for self-study these days? And what do you mean, anyways? Well, many people are turning their lives over to it. But many more are consumed by the medias they consume. Are replacing their soul-searching and talent-developing with easy entertainments. What's more, the soul-searching and talent-developing is only a platform, not the end in and of itself.
Art is a wonderful, beautiful tool for understanding ourselves and the worlds we create and sustain but art and garbage are replacing each other, it could be argued. What is considered art by many may have started as such, in a room, in an energy-filled location on this planet, in an experience, an insight and revelation sourced in many people; synthesized by one person, they, dipping into the mysticism of a moment marked by informed webs, an ah-ha where a ready mind and heart can assimilate this collection of chance encounters, over-heard words, quotes, run-ins, fights, flights, causes and effects. Then: the creation creates, becomes whipped and spun into a product. God complex much? Unbeknownst, the spark of divine inspiration generates a new species: industry upon industry built to sustain and propagate something you can't touch, once so essential you used to be able to feel it in your heart when you just lived your own life. Yes! You're living your own life, ah there it is back again.
But we've overpopulated this place. And money is the new old chase. And nobody wants to live with guilt and judgement so we say "to each his own". How do we get to a place where truly good can emerge to lead with the same success as Lady Gaga (at this very moment in history). Who, by the way, has in a large way, managed to somewhat obliterate a noble thesis purely via the medium in which she's chosen to represent herself and those so-called humanitarian statements. Is she successful? How do we measure success today? And is that not helping our case? She may be supremely successful in her inner world, satisfied with the energy she emits, the relationships she forms, the objects she interacts with, and the energy of performing.) But where do action and result reflect? They never really could, correct? Cause is not effect. Effect is a new entity from equation, equanimity perhaps if you're lucky (a real man makes his own luck) [editor's note: Quoting Titanic again?].... Site hits. Video counts. In short, eyes. Attention. Bodies. The more of them you've got, the more your success to pass on your wiseness. Is that it now? But where? I ask, where are these bodies? Google will tell me. And moreover, what could turn them all on in an inherently beneficial way? What a question to be asking, you should be ashamed. Who are you, anyway?

Why are the polarities so distant? Why is material existence so gratifying and increasingly 'necessary'. We're building higher up thanks to it but why this rapture of it coming down?

SO? How do we get good?

Am I about to write (right) the craziest thing ever or will I let it pass into the ether and forget its own name?,
she says aloud
By golly I think that's how Shakespeare may have written so many wonderful plays.
Where's a a recorder it'd be so much easier if I could have a microphone and record it all. Oh dear I think I'm falling into the river. Ah yes here it is. Or will there be no battery left, for me, to get self-conscious instead of Self conscious? No -- it's out. Better to use your inside voice. Shall I pull out a piece of my hair from the side of this neat bun and accentuate the crazy? Staring into her own eyes as reflected on the screen she asks, "Why are you smiling? Conversations with God?" and blows smoke right in her own face. Pulling her hair out of the bun she lets a cascading darkness fall to the right side of her face, reflected left. "Let me turn up the volume," she then says, and, realizing the double entendre, switching on a dime, begins to shout, into a sung, "Ahhhhhhhhhh". Reaching for her phone, she recalls something she'd written and now wanted to share. Begins to type into the note's 'Find:' bar: No, ah yes,

Noted:
I am a hypocrite
I know very little, nearly nothing
I am naturally selfish and must muster up effort to be selfless
Unnatural effort causes me stress
I like making people feel good, but only when I know, when It makes me feel good in return
Dancing is most enjoyable, it makes me feel free
Feeling free is most important to me
People give me energy, I feel good around others
Being alone for too long, or in neutral/poor company makes me into a destructive monster
Having a secure, lavish, even, material foundation is important to me
But then again camping, 'roughing it', paring down existence draws my heart
Travel, freedom, these are luxuries I cannot relinquish
I become irritable, disgruntled, cynical once routine knocks
I was slightly spoiled as a child
Because I insisted on getting what I wanted
I only care what others think of me when I feel amazing
When I'm in a shitty mood the world could fuck itself because I don't give a damn about its opinion
I'm a know-it-all but, as I said, I know nearly nothing
Xenophile, through and through
I am still immoral, or I was, at least
Honesty is relative and truth takes a strength I can't insist upon past the present
My love of ____ ____ (blank blank) has been met with much resistance, by family and friends (they're stupid, I am stupider), by the ____ (blank) himself, and I beg for signs when I want to give up so I can be free somehow [editor's note: I know you're not, but you sound desperate here, maybe take it out? P.S. are you talking about God?]
And when proof emerges I want to prove it to everyone
But I'm alone in this love
And I hope I don't go crazy
Because I think it takes a crazy person to have taken it this far
I'm fucked up, it's fine
I'm intoxicating, like wine
My personalities are multiple, thank you, ear for accents
I am human and I have my limits, especially in the United States of America, where an expansive, connected sense of self has been replaced by Facebook-gawking. And isn't it ironic
I was abused as a child, can you tell? [editor's note: big deal who wasn't? look how much we're abusing the planet]
Ugh I hope not, what would the neighbors think? [editor's note: Mars has repeatedly sent us messages that they hate us, it's in the Roswell files but shh don't tell anyone I told you, OK?]
Tipping is a pet peeve, that is why I love France
I am pretentious, with things that matter (like my ideas of what 'matters')
Let's laugh at how fucked up we are as humanity [editor's note: I think you should tone the negativity down, I know you think you're being a realist but it's not very progressive and isn't that what you love touting? Ok fine, let's talk later, I know, you have a rebuttal]
Hahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Fuck you! Who told you you could laugh?!
My love can't be bought. But my time can
Hmm. Fuck [editor's note: they're gonna want to edit the curses out, you know that right?]
Maybe I should sell some love and buy back the last 3 years [editor's note: Ok, well at least you offer some possible solutions. What if we changed 'the last 3 years' to 'the rest of my life'?]
I can be fake but I'll coat it with sarcasm to seem real. Wait, I'm confused

::::: D N R :::::

you gotta be fearless
can love save the world?

They were having open studios at the ISCP this weekend, and met some pretty cool artists from around the world exhibiting their work...got to talkin' to those whose works moved me especially...


Departure by Kanako Sasaki

This photo was taken in winter on a trip she took to Latvia, to visit the regions where the Russian - Japanese war took place, where those 'others' came from.

It knocked me off my feet when I saw it on the wall. Still does. Amazing.

There's always a point in the middle of the battle, the work, where it gets scary. When enthusiasm's gleam rubs off to leave you face-to-face with your efforts, and their underlying motivating factor. What's in a good intention? Patience to see it through, to be challenged by your values. Economy, balance, progress. The realization that progress is a term so vague, its meaning susceptible to the climate in which it finds itself. Hard fact all of a sudden gives way to perception, interpretation-- the daunting, simultaneously freeing truth that the stories we write rarely stand the test of shifting understanding through time.

And you realize what you've got is you. All you can ever hope to truly have is your self as a conduit. Remaining loyal to the forces of change. Dedicating yourself to crystallizing the residue of a hundred different stories, moments, experiences, intentions; for others. Compounded like carbon, copied, clouded; you come an polish it up to cut away what no longer works, serves. Walking the fine line of effort and surrender. Of desire and renunciation.

What will save you in the void? In that space between where uncertainty rules the ego?

How many times a day do you allow your sentences spoken, thoughts bestown by you unto you, decide the outcome of your mood? Your day, week, night, life?

What are you deciding?

Are you limiting your capacity to experience freedom, feel joy, and spread these things packaged up in undifferentiated love? Regardless of your role? Or maybe, in spite of it?

You are the key maker, the moment is the door through which you are free to pass at any and every breath. Perhaps 'pass through' doesn't do as much justice as, 'let envelope you'. The door may or may not be a rigid structure, with too-solidly built expectations of a room. What have you decided?
Perhaps you decide not to make any decision at all. Not at least until the universe reveals a little more to you.
What is perspiring?

These revelations, could they help us decide in-line with a flow so fluid, so nourishing that we are empowered to eventually steer the ship ourselves? Lacing our every movement, every vision with the power of a unity with that which makes no mistakes.

That is, unless you've decided what a mistake is.

“my hands want to hide in your hair, slowly stroke the depth of your hair while we kiss with mouths full of flowers or fish, of living movements, of dark fragrance. and if we bite each other, the pain is sweet, and if we drown in a short and terrible surge of breath, that instant death is beauty. and there is a single saliva and a single flavour of ripe fruit, and i can feel you shiver against me like a moon on the water.”

- julio cortázar, rayuela, 1963

Thanks to only on de marit for this gem. Kind of my other-half when you look at our sub titles...
Theirs: This is not for you.
Mine: This is for you.

"This incident is one of our last calls to change our mind and behavior. Simply, as a species we cannot continue like this, time is over. It was over long ago... Animals and plants know about this, they have been patiently trying to guide some of us into a better existence, teaching us about stillness, telepathy and the unseen world. They know way more of what we know... And now, in this nuclear incident, who think about them, who is concerned about the dolphins, whales, and all the wild life that might be affected by a potential nuclear fallout? Not a single reference on the net. I find this funny... to say the least.

Regardless of what is happening outside I am very optimistic and in a very positive mood... how can I be in a positive mood while witnessing such devastation? Well, it simply means transformation. Nothing truly new, and as we know, we are all going through the filter in one way or another."

Twitter has slyly satisfied my writing in little bits, allowing me to give and release drops at a time while behind the dam a tidal wave was where I swam, awaiting the moment when, [Oh our dear Japan...]
Satisfaction in a wide worded composition, take your time to listen while letters repeat the silence half way towards sound
My writing has been employed under other capacities, with a more structured tone of late
Yes this too is great, it's all alright, it's ok
Notebooks I carry with me, notebooks behind my bed on the window ledge, books abound fill with an array of notes for work, notes for play-work, notes for good-work, notes for love-mind-body-work.
Insights and must-do's, he, she and they all too
Me-isms from a flash of the mass of places I've placed my head, attention fed, fed, fed
Drop the work as it may seem. Undo its seams stress the intenseness of absolute loss into a 'this' -- at once you'll leave and find yourself
And she comes up for air
taking gulps between a depth swallowing sorrow, and a surface returning tears on a steady stream of all-consuming I-don't-know-how-much-love-my-heart-can-hold this is it's beat: running over and down my cheeks; yes, it's free, free, free
Like a journalist chasing the next-best lead
Impressions picked up from agendas, stories told from the book of life with our talents pointing to Omega point procession adding layers of new repetitions
And a name lost in the aisles of history creeps into my 21st century screen to place into me here those timeless realities -- whilst lilies invisibly mark the air I breathe
And at once with that she's thrust back into her seat where slides slipped by a screen along a wooden-paneled wall with ceilings high enticing dreams; Paris, school-girl scenes
Close-ups remain imprinted upon the brain Campin's altarpiece his details all are she sees
Eerie coincidences cease not to paint her nearto folly of I-can't-believe
Which of course means that's what must be, it must be, there's no clearer way, it has but thrust it'self upon my head and shivers run throughout, felt to awaken even those proclaimd dead long ago without a doubt
In this sea of possibilities how does my free will dictate such impossible chance to let it be
this my dear, the magic dance, catch the reflection, glimpse the trance

I dance like this at home everyday. Thom, thanks for inspiring me to record it with a sick set of words on buttered bass lines. Wouldn't work the same, but you did it for us all.
Go home and STRIP (+/your identity off) to this song, writhing to whatever your body hears.
Essence, come forth from our eyes closed focusing in.to[o]
I don't care who you are.
Just a suggestion.
Are you really alive?


Words:
I will sneak myself into your pocket
Invisible, do what you want, do what you want
I will sink and I will disappear
I will slip into the groove and cut me up and cut me up
There’s an empty space inside my heart
Where the wings take root
So now I’ll set you free
I’ll set you free
There’s an empty space inside my heart
And it won’t take root
Tonight I’ll set you free
I’ll set you free
Slowly we unfurl
As lotus flowers
And all I want is the moon upon a stick
Dancing around the pit
Just to see what it is
I can’t kick the habit
Just to feed your fast ballooning head
Listen to your heart
We will sink and be quiet as mice
While the cat is away and do what we want
Do what we want
There’s an empty space inside my heart
And now it won’t take root
And now I set you free
I set you free
Because all I want is the moon upon a stick
Just to see what it is
Just to see what gives
Take the lotus flowers into my room
Slowly we unfurl
As lotus flowers
All I want is the moon upon a stick
Dance around a pit
The darkness is beneath
I can’t kick the habit
Just to feed my fast ballooning head
Listen to your heart

Watch:


Wonder:
Are you un-self-conscious enough to let yourself be taken that far, that sublimely?
With or without anyone watching?

Why:
Because it's beautiful and people feel/think/move/talk/transcend thanks to it.

Dance like you can't judge.

Looking at this with an automatically anthropological eye, it comforts me, makes me feel like it wouldn't hurt to have other such seemingly senseless ceremonies. Gatherings of people for reasons not-so-serious, not so entirely focused on over-stimulating celebration either, something sort of in the middle... Sort-of way SILLY:



Men in top hats, bow ties. A gang of 'em standing around a groundhog who's wondering, "WTF?, Ouch you're squeezing too tight, I want to go back in my burrow now, Who are all those big animals out there and why are they cheering at me" etc, etc.

It's so primitive in a way, so wonderfully arbitrary, heartening that we are giving our faith over to a superstition on a wide scale (regardless of the underlying self-aware skepticism). No need for statistics to verify, to prove that ritual, regardless of outcome, has an effect... I mean, they got suited for this thing. And the scroll? Don't tell me that bit about the Steelers wasn't planned.

Here's to that so-called early Spring

“

Never obey anyone's command unless it is coming from within you also. There is no God other than life itself. Truth is within you, do not search for it elsewhere. Love is prayer. To become a nothingness is the door to truth. Nothingness itself is the means, the goal and attainment. Life is now and here. Live wakefully. Do not swim – float. Die each moment so that you can be new each moment. Do not search. That which is, is. Stop and see.

”

Hello,

I am a yoga teacher living in _____ and have been practicing for over ten years, having begun teaching last year. My goal as an instructor is to build strength while encouraging release and mindfulness of movement's power when coupled with awareness of the ceaseless breath. I once read a quote "The trust that others place in you is your grace". Before others can trust us, we must be able to trust ourselves, to establish an open relationship with the ebb and flow of life, having confidence in our ability to work with challenges and benefit from them. Trust is authentic awareness and its application to nurturing, progressive choices which encourage growth. Trust is letting go of preconceived ideas of an end, trust is allowing the moment to reveal grace. Already, as embodied yogis, dancers; movers and shakers, we've oriented our lives towards the health and happiness a solid connection with the body and mind can bring. And with this connection, we are sometimes granted that gift of transcendence, of grace in the trust of our choices at each moment. As teachers, we are so lucky to have the opportunity to share this self-trust with others. The students are a gift and their trust is our grace.

Much love,
Alexandra

Vous faites quoi aujourd'hui? What are you (formal or plural, 'you all') doing today?

Tu fêtes quoi aujourd'hui? What are you (informal) celebrating today?

Formally, you, we all, have to be doing something. But those who know you well enough to be informal like to look at it as a celebration.

Dope.

Ganesh [8b+] par Gérôme Pouvreau from Petzl-sport on Vimeo.

Thanks to

....always right.

The first few seconds of a song will usually a) rub me right or b) incite 'next', depending on my mood.

Then there are those nights where a long trip home is accompanied by good music no matter what song comes on. You can sink into the sound happily because you get past your 'mood' and feel energy on any and all levels. Ride it.

So, on nights like these, some songs get their shining moments to become 'that song', until the next one comes around...

Last night this played, and then 2:38 gets up in your face and says "HEY! HOLY @*#& aren't I good?"

At the end of a class today, while everyone was resting in their nice final relaxation corpse pose, their little cells running around to slow down and integrate what just happened, there came a slight noise from afar. A crash bang of sorts. Muffled and faraway though it was.

It set my mind off on a chain reaction; the shock of an unexpected noise to a freshly worked-out and now totally-relaxing person. And then I imagined what it would be like if I let out a blood curdling scream. Out of no where. While this room full of people were at complete, innocent rest. It took all I had not to burst out laughing. Not to snicker, even.

The little devil was dancing on my shoulder.

the way you close your eyes while brushing your teeth, tracing cleanliness like a sheet of paper pressed to a window, lighting the way over established lines
the morning you were alone and in a quiet way, witnessed a bird playing with a feather clasped in its beak, then released. the perfect turns in flight to swoop in sharply and catch it again. an engineer's precision.
the swell
knowing when to stop, when a work is finished
finding an ending opening into transition
the tug that always brings you back to it
like a person who can't be let go because
you could never have them, truly
the powerful motion backed by steadied breath and the sunlight breaks through the window onto only your mat. you don't have to you know you are connected, the fact is upon you
that quirky Rolodex you store in your head, facts and figures filed almost independently of your will
the sense of knowing when you've found something worth developing, an idea, a technique, a seed you've been looking to nourish
the pains, revealing
a joy in daring