I question the ‘Why?’

Tonight, I feel soft.
Feminine, in my curves and my tears and my whispering voice.
Tender, and a tad alone.

Not lonely.
Alone.

A few close friends have left tonight.
… always the hardest part of being on the road—the goodbyes to your new chosen family members, which are, as heartbreaking as it may sound, often (and for me usually) harder than the sustained goodbyes to your long-established blood family at home (they’re always there, as we’d like to believe at least, and we’ll know it’s “when” I’ll see them again, rather then “if” as it comes to pass with the heart tribe of a backpacking clan…).

The sky has been raining for over 24 hours straight.
And I’m living in a cloud, that I can touch, for once.

I’ve just watched a movie set in my beloved northwest.
… my most recent chosen ‘home’ in the ‘home’land, that was my original ‘home’ in the ‘home’land, that I still feel more amazed by and intrigued with than all the latter ‘homes’ that have found space in my heart. (although, that one resembling a mitten and full of magical creatures with flesh and fur and fallen leaves makes me lose my breath, and pause my beating heart, I know, when I visit her in my mind…)

My face is scabbed from the thorny tree limb that violently ripped flesh while I flattened myself atop Marie, the albino quarter horse mix , who perhaps wanted me off her back just as badly as I wanted to remain on hers. forever.

Messages from a confused friend land in my inbox. One. Another. Another…And I move them to the Keepsakes/Loves Lost folder. For safe keeping. And indefinite ignoring.

And here I am.
Alone.
With the memories.
The motives.
The longing.
The sadness.

Tonight, joy isn’t at my side.
She’s succumbed to an emotion greater and grander, in all its glory-filled richness, which casts depth, dark shadows, on the fantasy feelings I oft choose to cling to.

Joy is resting, soon to return.
…she always does, that rascal, in her own due time, which is always surprising yet expected, and most times welcome. because what child doesn’t like the light?

But what I feel is beautiful.

What I feel is painful.

And what I feel is real.

It’s the emotion under the others.
The emotion that’s silent, and still.
Waiting for my moments to settle.
For my mind to stop, to stay in.
For my heart to welcome her power.

Alone.

At 30 years old, with a warrior for a body and a gypsy for a spirit and a ballerina philosophizing poet for a mind, I question myself: ‘Why?’

Why must I continue onward, down this path of unknown tomorrows?
Why must I make things difficult for the child inside who craves to know who her friends will be the tomorrow ten days from now?
Why must I walk farther and farther away from love, into the arms of impatience?
Why must I chase adventure, adrenaline, and awe, instead of sweet surrender into the soft stillness of a simple home and a simple life?
Why must I open my heart to strangers, shielding my soul from the souls I want to choose?
Why must I insist on a planless plan, without promises, or purchased plane tickets?
Why must I fight the soft girl within who wants to say ‘I really just don’t know…’ to everything, because she doesn’t, with too-cool confidence and capability and sass-filled sarcasm and smarts?
Why must I keep leaving, arriving, leaving, and let those who love me never know how long I’ll be around?

And…

Why must I carry my sword?
For which battle am I fighting?
For whom?

Self-inquiring, I ask, ‘Are you sure you’re not running from something?’ and ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing for you?’ and ‘Are you sure you couldn’t be living a life just as full and just as fitting, across the oceans and in the pines, with your dog and your car and your practice and your art and your music and your smoothies and your … home?’

The answer I give others is ‘Yes, I’m sure.’
in not so many words.

But the real answer,
the one that persists if I let myself be honest with myself,
is ‘no.’

No.

‘No, I’m not sure.’

I like to believe I’m living what I’m creating, what I’m designing, from my unmanifest dreams.

But that wouldn’t be entirely truthful.

My dream life is much like this life, but it’s also like that other life I lived once, and the one before that, and before that… And it’s got so many bits included from the lives I’ve yet to live but that I’ve imagined, I’ve prayed for, I’ve called out to God for while lying face down in the dirt, tears inside my eyes, and while lying face up in the grass, eyes locked inside the eyes of a lover.

Do I know what I am doing? No.
Would I say that this life, with all its beautiful blessings, is worth the possibility that the dream life I write romance novels and fairy tales in my mind about, that I tell travelers and soul sisters about, that I cry about, on planes on buses and in burly bear-man arms, won’t ever be, because maybe I won’t ever find myself in one place long enough to establish this vision, or let the Universe meticulously compose the bits, one by one, so that it grows into something greater than I could ever have conceived? No. Could I fathom that this life, my moment to moment now, is evolving and transforming into that dream life? Not really.

But I do know there is no certainty.
And I do know that I trust, deeply, in life.
And I do know that I am living the only life I could really ever live.
And that all the pieces are coming together, or falling apart, exactly as they should, simply because they are… and so it is…

But I am alone.
And I am ok with that
tonight.
And I am ok to still be asking ‘Why?’ after all these years.
And I am ok holding my shield, my weapons, my books.

And I am ok
also
throwing them into the pyre.

When it’s time, take me.
Lift me up and show me what’s next.
For my life. for this life. for…

And I will be ready.

Until then, I rest my head upon a community pillow
used before by believers, businessmen, runners, space-holders, stamp-chasers.
And I’ll eat pancakes in the morning.
With Turkish coffee and turmeric.
And I’ll write a story, on the art of doing nothing,
and the magic that creates.

And I’ll live myself into yet another tomorrow ten days from now
and see who shows up to be friends with the child inside
and see for whom I’ll measure the weight and worth of my shield
and see if the question remains
but I know, I believe,
it will.

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“Be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given because you would not be able to live them. And that is the point, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

The charm of Florentin

It’s hard to leave a place, a people, you enjoy…

Even if it’s just been a week, I really have fallen for this sliver of life and community in Florentin — super hip neighborhood in Tel Aviv — but now, I head north. …

Goodbyes suck. So much. But they’re also part of the beauty of being human, and being a girl on the go.

I’ll be seeing you again Miss Loca, you beautiful puppy sister soul and soft body to hold, and I’ll be seeing your family again. And your English graffiti-covered fashion boutiques, and full-body pillow stores, and way too bright lighting stores, and furniture construction shops blowing sawdust in my face, and knockoff Havaianas selling for $11 a pair, and street corners blocked by mountains of cardboard boxes, and mini supermarkets filled with food packed in Hebrew-laden plastic that I purchase without knowing what I’m buying because I suppose that’s half the fun, and the Italian restaurant on the corner that served me mozzarella and lemon shrimp, and the coffee kiosk of which I’m a regular already, and the fine AF Mohawked men, and the curly girls who look like me but never say please or thank you, and the electronica in the pharmacy staffed by gay Israelis too-cool to show me where the earplugs are, and the charm… The charm of Florentin.

Mmmmmwah! I’ll be seeing you again.

Sharing: Aliveness and Serenity in the buzz -jerusalem-

Keeping it real. This moment. Sharing: I’m really fucking happy right now. Cheesy pop plugged into my ears, fellow travelers bumping elbows and pint glasses with my own, a jam session about to begin on the stage before me… I sit here with a smile, a sigh, and a head shake of pure ‘what the hell is this beautiful life?!’
 
I’m reflecting and integrating, finally, the glorious mess and hella beautiful madness of the last two weeks… (Goodbye Michigan and Michigan loves, hello and goodbye San Francisco and Emerging Women, Path of Love — whhhhaaatt???!!!, a ‘work’week in Tel Aviv, the weekend of wonderful and sweet what-the-fuck?, and now Jerusalem.)
It’s just beautiful, this thing, this life. The ups, the downs, the what-the-hell-am-i-doing, and the what-the-hell-just-happened… All of it.
 
Starting and ending each day in gratitude, in raw gratitude, helps make my moments a bit more powerful. I realize, again, that life really is a game. The one I’m – you’re – living is, is just one option… There’s always another option. And another. And another… Say yes to that fella with the pomegranate juice? Another. Say no to that tour of Tel Aviv? Another. Say yes to your family’s holiday proposition? Another. Say no? Say yes? So not now? Say not ever? All options… You’ll – I’ll – never know what’s ‘best’ and truthfully I don’t want to know. I just want to keep riding the train and seeing what’s around the bend…
Meeting an intimidating artist gypsy from Berlin and a pair of far-too-handsome but far-too-shy Swedish fellas and an aging redheaded Norwegian sister soul help me connect more deeply to my own heart, my own triggers, my own ‘flaws’, my own values, my self…
I am SO honored to be in this human experience right now. I recognize the trip I’m on — the highs, oh the HIGHS (that are so very far from the lows so close I can feel them creeping up on me many a moments…) with their bliss and their enchanted bewilderment. I feel my own energy, the oft-frenzied movement within my mind — ‘Can I lie here a moment longer? Linger, last, just love this second? mmmm No, I cannot… there is a day to seize and a body built to move and a city and sensation to experience. I move… Not sure where to go, but knowing a move must be made. Start with a toe… An ankle… A calf dance… Then, I’m up and asking God for the gift of another day. — and I feel the burning on my tongue seeking a taste of passion and passionfruit and pissed off rage exploding from within… The back and forth and in and out, and the artist inside saying ‘I’m done giving a fuck if I’m crazy, the most crazy, or sane, the most sane in this bunch of crazies’ and the practical/fearful adult inside saying ‘Hey sweet girl… Calm it down, and take a rest, there’s too much here, now, and you’re going to break if you run so far, so fast…’
 
It’s all there. All of it. I feel it all.
 
Yet, this game of life gives us a choice. And, gosh… At this moment, I choose to LIVE in the most YES way I can. There is a fire inside me, that was put there for some reason, OR that lives there without reason at all, but I love it. I do. And I am SO grateful for the moments in my life where I really experience the depth of MY experience. I remember the gray days, I remember the hours spent hiding in fear — so recent, just a handful of months ago — taking a xanax at 8, and another at noon, and another at 3 or 4… just to get the courage to share space with those who have loved me since birth… I remember the terror I felt, the freezing terror that overcame my physical body and hollowed my mind, when I realized I hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days but felt, deep within my core, that I couldn’t attempt to eat a single thing. I remember trying, sitting at a diner with my father, to stomach a soft omelette with my favorite vegetables, and having to spit out the chewed protein into a napkin just so I wouldn’t uncontrollably vomit on the table… (I reflect now, WHO WAS THIS? I realize, THIS WAS ME. This is me when things are out of alignment, when I have denied the power of love and respect of intuition and divine guidance for far too long…)
 
So, I am in a high moment right now. And I am respectful and honoring of life’s flow that, for me, can be just as terribly painful as it is ecstatically beautiful. And for some humans here, I realize that the lows are not worth the highs. But, for me, I suppose I’ll take the gray days that god has for me, knowing it means I get to also experience the psychedelic richness and depth of emotion that I am experiencing now.
And in my body? Tight belly that is riveted with excitement. Arms and fingers full of energy, ready to do work (and put them to work, I am — writing writing writing away). Head that is a little busy and dizzy (mucho movement in this day and lots to do and take care of in the coming days). And a heart that is full (holding space, for others, creating space, for my own). Some loving souls, with truly my best interests at heart, may say ‘feel what you’re feeling, but bring it back to this moment…’ And to that, I say, ‘This moment is all things. Madness. Softness. Serenity in the buzz…’

It’s all good. Fucking a’ man, it’s all good.

God. Thank you.
 

Kichari on the Go! Ghee it, girrrrl… [recipe]

Most of you know how much I love good food — I geek out in produce aisles, I pause my entire day to make huge lunches for me and my family, and I spend most of my paychecks at co-ops and restaurants and never think twice about whether that farm-fresh butter is worth the price or if I’ll be ordering an appetizer at a new restaurant…

But cooking… Cooking! Dreamworld. If I’m living in a space with a kitchen (which, ha!, truth be told is a rarity in the last several months), I destress and delight myself as turmeric-stained fingers hold a chef’s knife and the fridge overfills with kale and beets, parsley and cilantro… I. Love. To. Cook.

One of the things I miss most about being ‘home’ is just that… The chopping, the experimenting, the feeling of sitting down before a meal that my hands helped to create (with the help of the divine of course, for providing the ingredients/the tools/the ideas… all of everything that ever was or ever will be, seriously).

But now? I’m traveling — in Israel — and I’ll be on the road at least another few weeks but most likely longer. So how can I get a cooking fix, nourish my body, and save on my budget while bouncing around hostels? Kitchari.

KITCHARI!!!! 

This is a staple food for yogis — Ayurvedic food for the soul — which is a perfect protein, is easy to make and to digest, and tastes delicious. It’s a warm porridge-like concoction filled with Ayurvedic spices to pacify the doshas (lord knows Vata gets a bit cray cray when you’re on the move like I am) and to create a nourishing healing space within the body and mind. And, let’s be real, it is something I can chow down on without guilt that doesn’t make my body feel disgusting after (because I’ve grown up. Done with that nonsense. I’m almost 30. I’ve had enough bread and nutella on my travels before to know the gut rot that comes from eating just cheap carbs and chocolate nut spread…).

So, here is my quick and easy kitchari recipe that you can make anywhere! If you need to, you could do this with one pot, one spoon, and a hotplate. (I hear Shiva Rae packs her tools in a suitcase so she can always get a kitchari fix.)

Quick and Easy Quinoa Kitchari Recipe

Two servings:
– Begin with equal parts quinoa and split mung beans (could use red lentils of regular lentils or whichever kind if you don’t have split mung beans — they are the easiest to digest however and don’t aggravate vata dosha as all other lentils/beans do). About 2/3 cup each, maybe more 😉

Combine quinoa and beans, and rinse thoroughly 3 times until water drains clear.

Add mixture to pot, add around 4 cups water, bring to boil stirring gently (I added some salt and some dried ginger to water — optional). Once it boils, cover and bring to low simmer and let cook until quinoa is soft (these mung beans will pretty much dissolve into the mixture, but if using other lentils make sure they’re very soft).

– As that cooks, heat 2-3 tbsp (or more) ghee in skillet/frying pan on medium high heat until it melts.
Add 1/2 tsp+ cumin seeds until they sizzle (don’t burn them).
Add 1/2 tsp fenugreek seeds.
Add 1/2 tsp mustard seeds.
Add 1+ tsp minced raw ginger.

Cook and blend about 1 minute.

Add 1/2 tsp turmeric powder.
Add 1/2 tsp curry powder.
Add 1/2 tsp coriander powder.
Add 1/4 tsp (or less) ground black pepper.

Stir and heat until thoroughly blended and set aside until quinoa/lentils are complete.

– Drain the quinoa/lentils, leaving some of the water.

Add quinoa/lentils to spice mixture and mix thoroughly.

Add pink salt/sea salt to taste, and add more ginger and black pepper as you like.

All done! Makes two pretty hearty portions.

Yummmmm…. 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Adjust the spice amounts as needed 😘

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Beckons from above: airplane prayers

Yes sweety, push your face into that double-paned plastic glass and see the world out there!

Watch your body fly by the planet at 350 miles per hour and watch the bodies below rest and wait for something to change that never will change.

Let yourself marvel, and wonder, because that’s you baby girl.

Your heart wants to see — always has and always will — so let your eyes feast in the now and never regret a moment of being “that girl” who is almost 30 and laughs like a toddler and wonders like a mystic and dances like a harlot.

Do you — ALWAYS — because the you YOU are is the YOU the universe meant for YOU to be, and the YOU you are has a specific and perfect role to play.

So be you, please, I pray, no matter if you’re met with wide sideways snears and upturned noses, what-the-fucks from friends near or far, or complete disregard from professionals or peers in your field.

I beg you, go to bed with a head upon a heavenly pillow that beckons your rest in a state of ease and contentment, settling in the inner knowing you’ve lived and loved another day for you.

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The buzz the buzz the buzz of life at Midway… [Airport Flowetry Poetry]

I love airports, but more so I love watching people and the whole human experience play out in these buildings built for movement and transition.

I love watching a full-grown man make FaceTime or snapchat faces into his phone to a child or wife or mistress on the side…

I love watching new friends become new friends over a burger and a brew without ever exchanging names.

I love watching the business travels unwind, a woman hanging a stiletto from her toe while the heel bounces and her heart races in the presence of a well-dressed man with two hours to kill in flirtation.

I love watching the littles trail behind their parents who carry pillow pets and mini pink plastic backpacks and creased lines on their foreheads.

I love watching the international first-timers, often paralyzed with fear, as their first experience of Americans startle and shock their more simple knowings, and I wonder if they regret the leap of faith they must have taken to cross the waters and land in this land.

I love watching myself open, gaze, settle, surrender into the flow of movement and momentum and only chances as I ask for what I want and put it all on the line with a one-time encounter with a woman I admire or a man I’m instantly infatuated with.

I love watching life unfold within the glass and steel and marble and plastic and invisible technology waves beaming through the air…

I love watching.

Because I love being watched.

I love being a part of the whole.

As I, so very much, am a necessary part of the whole of this crazy beautiful life on earth right now.

So are you.

Come fly with me?

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What the fuck… Is this what it feels like?

I’m at work. And I should be working. It’s a deadline day and I’m full of angst and anxiety as I try and imagine how the hell I’ll ever get everything done.

But, I’m feeling something in me that I haven’t felt in a really really long time.

And I’m terrified.

And I feel like I could vomit. And cry. And scream. And run.

And turn to mush.

Tears are coming as I type, and I’ll sacrifice sleep later to finish my work… Because right now, this is my work.

To feel. This.

At the risk of being too open, too vulnerable, and utterly ridiculous in the eyes of anyone who knows me (or doesn’t), here I go.

I don’t want to fall in love.

I don’t want to risk saying goodbye to the fire in my heart, to the dancing queen in my soul, to the get-up-and-go that makes me who I am. I don’t want to leave behind all the things that make me the me I love the most. Free spirit. Artist. Unconventional bohemian babe who teaches yoga and heals with her hands, and also swears like a badass sailor bitch with a shot of Jameson, another of Patrón, and a sweating Busch light on the bar before me. I want to climb those trees in the furry-filled fuzzy Northwest, and those mountain peaks in the sacred Himalayas.

I don’t want to make decisions using my left brain.

I don’t want to say I’m sorry, and really mean it, when I realize I was less than considerate of the man waiting in the truck.

I don’t want to cry when we’re an hour away from our departure point.

I don’t want to have nausea, those fucking butterflies that come, or the weight gain or weight loss that accompanies an emotional experience us humans aren’t blessed to have enough to make sense of within our minds.

I don’t want to fall. Fuck. I don’t want to fall.

I’ve been running and running and running, with fear of falling, and I don’t want to stop.

Because stopping hurts.

Really. Really bad.

Because stopping means staying.

And that’s not my style. Or hasn’t been, on a heart-level, for 6 years since my heart last broke, which broke bigger and bolder than I’d hope any heart could break.

I want to cling to my path, one that has no rules, that believes everything is gray — never black and white, ever — but is a foggy gray filled with regular doses of tye-dye and psychedelic hippies and EDM. A path that sings to Bieber and Johnny Cash. That is full of naked swims at sunrise in the Sawtooth mountains, and naked golden-hour dips amongst canoers and fallen birch trees in the Upper Peninsula. It’s a path that lights my life up bigger and bolder than any path I’ve tried ever could…

But damn it. DAMN IT. Damn it.

“What’s the worse thing that could happen?” he asks.

I roll my eyes, and laugh at how silly it sounds, but I tell the truth…

“For me, honestly… fuck… The worst thing that could happen is he could be my forever person and I could change course and get married and have some babies and live in the woods amongst the fawns and fairies…” I laugh. I cry. So does he.

So while I sit here, typing away, and the texts and messages from the other fellas greet my morning, I cringe… Oh but, them… I like them too, don’t I?

But they don’t make me slow my roll and cool my jets.

I’ve feelings to feel, that I’m feeling, that I haven’t felt in a very very long time.

This hurts, so I know it’s not a crush.

This hurts, which tells me if I want to see what this life thing is all about, in a way that may satisfy the dreamer in me, maybe it’s worth looking at a bit longer…

This hurts, because it’s so not me.

I’m not vulnerable. I’m strong. I’m willful. I’m free.

And, if I’m being honest, I know the reason I’m most terrified is because this is truly uncharted territory. So much so, I’ve no clue how to put one foot in front of the other.

How does one do this, really do this? How do you just be, without a heady head spinning and swirling with option and adventure? How do you just let go of any agenda, any roles, and not keep one foot out the door?…

You just be, I suppose.

And let life happen, I suppose.

And feel the feelings, I suppose.

And cry and vomit and let yourself be sick.

In love.

Damnit.


“To know Godliness one has to be defenseless…, one has to drop all armor; one has to be vulnerable. And it is not only the condition to know Godliness; it is the condition to know all that is beautiful, all that is poetic, all that is musical, all that is  contained in the word “love”. ” -Osho