Empowered Spirit

We cried a lot.  I cried a l ot. so I wrote a poem . -- I'm sitting in a park through one sun salutation  the breath of the sky turns gray and mother Earth sighs. T he year is 2080 - and I don't recognize you.  The bright oranges have dropped from the branches, decaying into the land. I firmly press my toes on the ground beneath my toes are rooted roots I sway, swaying slower while the green turns to brown turns to green. I invert, or the world is inverted?  sweet smooth faces shrivel,  and I touch the warm cheeks of a baby close to my heart.  I crossword, the fraying fingertips of my reality hold words. inhale, exhale. the vast blueness gleams with sunshine. The three bridges remain tucked behind the achy Oak tree. we share the quality of old growth as its branches start to sag. People move faster, yet I find solace cuddled into the hills with the frequent company over tea but rest es...

It's National Poetry Month! April 2016 so I wrote a little something. __ A little closer to the edge foggy tips sit on morning fingertips, goosebumps fill her olive arms in the Altamont Valley where green hills - actually green - coat the backdrop as if an Irish bar will be placed precariously at its base. But like most mornings, the haze will dissipate and the climate will fluctuate Philly sweats then wears two sweaters while Californians expect sunshine even when it's January, she saw cherry blossoms in February. Aching sounds, construction won't falter because change is on the horizon. we are on the horizon, the dogwood patches dance in April breeze but car engines proclaim, "dominance." we are constructed roads, build high rises - maybe she is stuck in urban America. the seasons bleed together like the Bay meeting the Pacific Ocean waters are indistinguishable. in all corners of land I want to know if this if this cata...

Like many fellow humans, I am not sure what to make of the recent attacks around the world. I know that I feel infinite gratitude for life, but I understand, too, that all our of lives are threatened. There is fear everywhere - whether is be by the American police or the growing group of the Islamic State. Or the fear that the media is perpetrating. I sit in Oakland and think about all the anger, unrest, uncertainty. How can we live in a state of such... in my backyard and across the sea. I find solace in the sunshine, my gentle community, and the opportunities I've had to succeed. People are being displaced. People have ALWAYS been displaced. Where is the (human) in humanity? Then again, I'm displacing. Young, white, educated female. Always trying to grasp my place in this colorful world, this maze of a place. At a quarter century, I'm grateful for life. I'm grateful that my parents, although unsure about the love that was built between them. They decid...

As children, our schedules are created for us. Maybe they're not even created intentionally. Our parents (or caregivers) guide us though the days - nursing us while we are young, swaddling us into cozy balls, introducing us to team sports, bringing us to school. This "regular" schedule (often based on the school day and even stretching as far as the school year schedule... why do people feel like they should work less come Summer? maybe it's all the sunshine...) is ingrained in the mind of a western individual. Now I am guilty of this sense of "normality" when it comes to a "job" (I think i'm quoting because I feel like these are constructs of society). Now, after being pushed and pulled through the academic system (for better or for worse), I feel unsettled with my lack of 9-5. I feel an intrinsic guilt when sitting in coffee shops mid-day, attending late morning yoga classes, or running along the Bay at any hour I please. Yes, I do have a j...

Are you a pusher or are you a puller? Bouncing around (t)here back to the Bay with the San Francisco lights burning across, lingering in the backdrop while buried in the hills of Berkeley. I pull the weight towards me. Dead weeds, sucked dry as we pass by without eyes. I drink another espresso and peddle forward. And I lack the zest of a lemon, looking forward. Stretching into my core, I release. With the songs in my head, seeking for what's next. Unless I have a woman pushing me.

Your CDs don't work, as I drive West. But the podcasts keep me company, as I peer out on the Minnesota land. The Mississippi River shines below, and South Dakota says hello. Great places, great faces - into an unknown abyss. Shiny purple rocks in Lake Superior, linger in my mind. The land of 10,000 lakes behind, I used my compass to guide me home. Your CDs don't work, but I can find more to consume. Sylvan Esso and the Shins, too. Mostly This American Life. Badlands and the Black Hills, a juxtaposed South Dakota scape. Blissed with cloud coverage, and sunsets on lakes. Coffee shops look all the same, all the different. Caffeine. Spearfish, where am I? Smiles fill the room, chatter. Your CDs don't work, and you push me away, and we argue and embrace. colors of my face. I continue West to the mountains, where I can get lost in the trees. alone, it feels good. so just let me be.

It wasn't until I hit the Canadian border that I realized I was actually entering another country. Oh yeah, roaming. Oh yeah, no USD.  Oh yeah, French street signs.  As I wondered to a free electric festival in downtown with some Quebecers, I realized how French of a provence Quebec is. However, once at the fest, there was a moment when I was in a circle with: a woman from Columbia, a woman from Jordan, many French dudes, a few Quebeccers, and a woman from LA. Then I see a man with a San Jose Sharks hat on, standing on a platform about 10 yards away. Soon after, I see he is wearing a Sharks sweatshirt too. He was asking for me to talk to him. I run up to him and ask him if he's from San Jose. "The East Bay," he responds. Small world. Francophone or Anglophone wasn't a concept I was too familiar with, although aware of its existence. Now I get it. I'm in awe of this scenic place, with a canal lined with greenery AND industrial derelick buildings. E...

A beautiful Vermont town,  tucked away near Lake Champlain. True to its name, a real Green state, With the most voluminous cumulus clouds. A multitude of brews,  Beers for days and bikes, too. A natural market like the rest and good-looking friendly folk. Ascent to Sterling Pond,  with Heady Topper on the mind and a cute Beagle to keep us company, then the rain appeared. Wet smells, fresh air -  and a surprise snake with a mouthful of frog. The view at the top, and cool water on my body. A simple rainbow,  a double one to grace our presence! Just appears, effortlessly.  Hello! I like this place.  It's like a lot of other progressive towns:  Santa Cruz, Madison, Portland.  People impress me. Saratoga Springs then here, then there. Many unknown stops, unfamiliar to familiar faces, August light.

And I'm not referencing the Lemony Snicket child book series. These last months have been tumultuous. Mostly the last couple weeks. Not in the worst kind of way, but just in a way of disarray and craziness. Throughout it all, I am: 1) grateful; 2) pleased; 3) looking forward; 4) scared shitless. I have thought about a million topics I wanted to write about. I have stretched, wrote poems, wrote about conflict, learning more about gender identity (or letting go of identity), friendship, lovers, adventure, and hardship. The hilarious 72-hour escapade: - locked my keys in my car in Island Beach State Park (where is my bottle opener? oh...no...) - got soaked in a wondrous humid thunderstorm on the beach, with my beautiful friend Arianna - ran to the car. disheveled, sand everywhere, partly dressed. - pulled over by the "Berkeley Township" police - barefoot. seriously, I was speeding through a state park. My bad. Got out with a city ordinance. thank you. -...

I can't identify my feelings. Why am I always aching to identify? To classify? To understand? To define? Recently, chaos has erupted in a more vivid light. Injustice has taken the ropes and we are left baffled by the corruption. What is it? Racism? Classism? Police brutality? A corrupt political system? Power system? Capitalism? Sexism? Everywhere. Ferguson, Baltimore... this is just the start. Catatonic creatures seeking justice, equality. "We are a culture that refuses to dance," - woman on the dance floor. "Yo, let's dance!" - I'm probing. Will we make changes? Can we rise up? Take the reigns? I feel lost, unsure of my place within the unrest, injustice, anger. Rekia Boyd was shot by a police officer in Chicago in 2012, and the officer was acquitted of the manslaughter of this unarmed woman. On the day that the hearing was released, about a dozen women were gathered at 30th Street Station. As I pulled up to the light, I was stopped by th...

Screaming, moaning for more. dancing at those tips, as the latissimus dorsi swells, and you thrust from the earth. I watch the beauty, the flawlessness, it's magic to my eyes -- rhythm, i ache. and the colors fill the the canvas. splayed, splashed, with brights and neutrals your brush, your stroke, creates an epic display my eyes dilate, pounding my corazón.  and crash! the cymbals, and the bass echoes  with a bead of sweat that falls,  your head, to the beat the set feeds, you feed the set. synergy.  an orchestra to the Soul. my right side is eager crying, desperate -- for more, for change. our destiny is in our hands, our souls. with movement, a stroke, a sound --  it's alive,  we're alive.

Maybe I'm in denial that I'm still living on the East Coast, so I decided to transition west -- to West Philadelphia. Moving out of a home with loving friends and a cozy feeling, stimulating conversation, and a communal presence was a tough decision. But with most other things in my life, I find myself bouncing when I get too comfortable. With the move came new thoughts around community, and more significantly what I want my community to hold. The importance of diversity, surrounding yourself with large trees, backyards, food variety, mixed peoples, and porches. As I am feeling accepted in a new place, as a white face, I see that my neighbors are different than they have ever been. Not only because of race but because of their ability to actually talk to each other. What a thought. Smiling faces and lots of "How are yas?" as you walk down the block, with kids all bundled ready to topple over into the brown snow. And this is in the winter! I can feel a difference ...

Wildlife in the Samaria Gorge National Park, Crete  My hiatus from Philadelphia ended a month ago, and I am once again questioning when I am at, which naturally leads me to a reflexion of where I have been. My writing has also been in a drought, so I am making moves to water it again. But first, I gotta quote Regina. Regina Spektors lyrics have always stuck with me: "And people are just people, they shouldn't make you nervous." ("...maybe you should kiss someone nice, or lick a rock, or both.") Transporting myself through the country of Israel, bouncing around a couple of Greek islands, and getting lost in the bustling city streets of Istanbul had its moments of wondering what it meant to be a part of this people .  Meeting peoples of different values allowed me to become evermore connected to my identify as a human, especially as a Jewish human. Israel greeted me with a bright light of welcoming presence, as I traveled from Tel Aviv, to Jerusal...

As I sit accompanied by boxes and scattered books and winter sweaters, I think about this ever fleeting moment, captured so well in Richard Linklater's new film, Boyhood .  The changing faces of Ellar Coltrane I got to Philadelphia on September 2nd, 2013 with not much of a clue of what my life would look like moving forward. And as my year reunion of residency in this beautiful, dirty, and historic city approaches, I am yet again jumping on a flight, east bound, to imbibe on more adventure. On the itinerary: Israel, Greece, Turkey. With my beautiful lady, Erica, and many strangers.  I couldn't be happier with what I have continued to learn, each day during this Philadelphian road, and I plan to continue being a part of this community come post-Columbus day. In the last scene of Boyhood , a now 19-year old Mason sits on a rock in the wilderness of Texas, with a newly found friend at college. They're talking about life.   "You know how everyone's always say...

As I admire my shiny cassette and newly wheeled hybrid bicycle, I think about mechanics. Much like the human body, when the parts of a bike are placed correctly, they function properly. However, when the system is not in place, conflict will arise. As a premed student, I was keen on following this western path into medical school and am now faced with an ultimatum. What do I really believe in... in regards to health, healing, and mechanics? And which path should I embark on? I'm a new doula, trained to support women emotionally and physically during pregnancy and during their labor. It's the most beautiful process I have been able to take part in, even as a bystander (birth coach aside!). But now that I get to take part with many women and families as an active assistant, I have become outwardly obsessive over this outrageously breathtaking process.  And as a stepping stone into my future as a health care provider, I have been playing around with the idea of my fut...

Besides this great landscape throughout the Ohio land and a great book by Ina May keeping me company, sadness on the bus lingers in the air. When a young boy asks his mom what cautious means - when she talks about her own mother discovering her birth control and cigarettes in her purse as a teenager. Discusses smoking at age 10 and how she can't wait to get off the bus to take a smoke. Little one proceeds to squeal with excitement to look at the lush green trees we pass and ma yells, "shut your ass up." No wonder our wonder dissipates as we age, curiosity continues to be suppressed. Still can't blame mom, but why do I feel so angry? 

My program is coming to a close, as this week marks the end of my service with Philly Health Corps.  Weird changes, bittersweet feelings.  I'm going to stay in Philly for a little longer. I am intrigued by the spirit of this city.  Things I thought were worth talking about at my last day at the health center:  1) I missed my surprise party. What can I say? I didn't know about it...  2) I learned about this fabulous artist  Fred Tomaselli .  3) There are cucumbers growing on the roof top garden!  I really want to expand, but my eyes feel heavy. 

I attended a yoga class earlier this week that had profound, yet simple, quote hanging in the bathroom. "Peace. It does does mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart." -Anonymous When I find myself sitting in silence - breathing, exercising, stretching - I notice myself trying to bring quietness, an element of peace, to the mind.  But maybe that is all wrong. I have encountered a similar sentiment with a Sensei in a Warrior Yoga class at Santa Cruz. He'd tell us to let the thought come to your mind, and allow it to sit with you. Like these feelings of "bad" emotions or negativity, we must allow it to be. We must allow it to be, for it to pass. This quote illuminates the significance of being self-centered, this concept of being calm while the world frantically carries on. It's so easy to wrapped up with the stress and enumerable tasks that consume a ...

So tell me... why we are always running?  Escaping this moment, seeking for more, gasping for air, a breath, when this moment is no more than right here, but ever gone. As   Millennials , we become caught up with the social pressures of dating, exploration, and movement. We are programmed to go to school, play sports, play video games and/or read a book (depending what child you are), go to bed, repeat. You graduate college, then what? No more guidance, no more school to keep you bound to the pages. You are now free to choose.  But now we don't want to commit, for we are an ever-fleeing generation.  This pertains to relationships, work, and home. I want to argue that this is a product of our society (don't think I'll meet much contention there), and possibly a product of our parents that rushed off to tie the knot. Why can't we appreciate, hold tight to this feeling of JOY, of love, appreciation, that faults us int...

Children, just want to play, to share, to explore to question, to know, to wonder, to color. let's dig, and discover! unfolding the worlds wonders or the dust that tickles your nose. the sweet flower thrives, trees present a polychromatic array to fill our eyes, our souls, our spirits! let's explore! ask, please ask - for you are their vehicle to wonder to curiosity read, hunt, cultivate life. Discover disappointment or tragedy and sit with it. Read together, harvest tomatoes! be full.