Eyes Open

As a writer, I’ve always been an observer. I can sit on a park bench in Central Park and people watch for hours. It’s fun to play “tourist” or “New Yorker”. I make up stories as to who they are, where they live, and what they do (like a covert spy hired by the Almond industry. They’re concerned about an increase in the number of walnuts being purchased. It’s crazy I tell you.) I stare at trees and can both see and feel the spirit inside and I’m in awe of architecture – the lines, curves, textures, and history.

Sometimes I’m so inside of my head that the very thing I use to observe the actions and settings around me, my eyes, aren’t open to what the universe is putting right in front of me. Frankly, there are times I’m sure my subconscious is aware but my conscious mind would rather do the ostrich in the sand trick. Why focus on yourself and taking care of what needs to be taken care of and growing, when it’s so much easier to focus on someone else?

Last October, a very wise spiritual guide taught me the importance of animal totems. We were on a three hour hike through a beautiful cavern, half of which we got to hike barefoot (a dream come true to feel the textures of the earth squish between your toes), and prior to beginning, I was told to be aware of the animals that crossed my path. Sounds good to me. Considering I was in the middle of nature and nature means flying things and crawling things and swimming things, I saw only one type of animal – the blue jay. And what was interesting is I didn’t just see a blue jay once during the three hour hike, but seven times. I wondered if it was the same one or different ones. Actually, the remainder of my trip was filled with blue jays. The blue jay represents the proper use of power. In learning more about it, I realized with what was going on in my personal life at the time, the blue jay was a welcomed sight.

While I’ve tried to maintain consistency in keeping my eyes open, some days are easier than others. When I got home last night, a couple of things happened that made me need fresh air. I love long walks to clear my head and help bring clarity, and last night, my inner voice (the good one and not the other one) told me to walk through the park. There wasn’t a whole lot of light left and normally I would just stay on the outside of the park once it gets dark, but I knew I needed to get inside – to walk through Boys Gate (entrance at 100th Street).

The last couple of days I’ve had a surge of energy and a flood of ideas and sensations. I knew I’d get a hold of them and what they all mean if I were patient (ha!) and kept my eyes and mind open. The park was magical. The sky was a cobalt blue with wisps of white clouds and speckles of tiny stars. The air was crisp and new – Spring. During my walk I encountered a pudgy Robin, an elegant Mama Goose with her fuzzy, chute (chute = cute, work with me!) baby geese, and a family of Raccoons. One of which was so close to me I could have extended my arm to touch him/her.

My very own animal kingdom didn’t rush past me. The pudgy Robin was blocking my path and staring up at me, twitchy, and started to sing the song they sing. He hopped along for a bit and flew around and he went away as soon as Mama Goose and chute baby geese showed up. I swear they flew so close I could feel the wings. Mama Goose stared at me for a long time but not in a don’t mess with my chute baby geese, but more familiar and warm. There’s a neat, old bench made out of giant wood slabs and, to me, it looks like a face. I sat on it and faced the lake and listened to music but didn’t listen to the words. I was thankful for being alive and living in New York City and for my friends and for my creativity and for the very park that always brings me solace. And then comes the Raccoon family. One of which tried to balance on it’s hind legs on top of a very flimsy fence and toppled over backwards. Poor thing. I can relate!

To know me, is to know I love knowledge and learning. I researched the totems and any anxiety I had been feeling, any doubt that was lingering, left. I felt good and whole. The way the Robin, Geese and Raccoon are all connected and how it relates to me – well, I didn’t fall asleep until 5 am. I’ve had two hours of sleep, but those two hours and the dreams that came brought a lot of clarity. I feel like I could run a marathon – okay, walk a marathon!

Peace, Love & Chubby, Fluffy Baby Animals,

~me

P.S. I didn’t share the totem information… And I’m sure ya’ll wanted to know! I’ll just give you the keynotes. :-*

Robin – Spread of New Growth
Goose – The Call of the Quest and Travels to Legendary Places (ENOUGH ALREADY I KNOW I’M BEHIND ON MY CHILDREN’S NOVEL! )
Raccoon – Dexterity and Disguise

A Whole Lot of Thank You’s

Thank you God for the powerful dream last night that shook me up and woke me into an unsettled state.
Thank you universe for the swirls of snow that stuck to my eyelashes and hair and tickled my nose this morning
Thank you to the little boy on the subway who scooched up next to me on the bench, leaned into my arm, looked up at me and said… “It’s going to be a good day. I can count to 10.”
Thank you to the young woman who looked behind her to see if anyone was going into the cafe and held the door open for me as she was leaving.
Thank you to the man behind the counter at the cafe who made me a breakfast wrap after I told him that I couldn’t have a toasted bagel with peanut butter because apparently peanut butter has been killing people off and I didn’t want to die today and he said well I wouldn’t want that face to die either and then he juggled eggs and sang a song in Italian while making my wrap.
Thank you for the fat sparrow that hopped me through Madison Square Park on my way to my client and paused every now and again to chirp at me.
Thank you to Chad for coming up and saying you look like you need a hug while I cried and said I had a nightmare and I couldn’t get a bagel with peanut butter because peanut butter is killing people and he said well, I have no idea what that means but I’ll hug you anyway.
Thank you Sean for asking me why in the hell wasn’t I more excited about the meaning behind my nightmare which was hardly a nightmare at all but a beautiful insight into what is coming toward me.
And Thank you Tye for never letting me get away with a damn thing. :-*

My Love Affair with NYC

Eleven years ago tonight I arrived in New York City from Providence, RI not knowing a single soul. I didn’t care. I was living out a dream I had since I was 18 years old, to one day live and work in Manhattan.

I arrived via train to Penn Station with bags in tow. My furniture would arrive much later after I found an apartment. I was lucky that the consulting firm which hired me was putting me up for a month. I “hailed” a cab (by waving and saying hi) and gave him the address for the brownstown located in midtown east; however, due to a water main break, I couldn’t get to the actual location with ease. The cab driver was annoyed by the inconvenience, I thought wow.. a water main break.. how cool! I had him drop me off at the Empire State Building and I went to the top and hung out for an hour or so. I walked around and around recognizing maybe two or three buildings. I mean come on, who doesn’t know the Chrysler Building? Have we all not seen Annie? Have you ever had so much happiness inside of you that you just wanted to burst? I thought I was going to explode! I walked up to perfect strangers telling them “I live here now!” “Um, yes, this is my city!” “Yes, I live in Manhattan!” I had no clue as to neighborhood names – upper where? lower what? I was home and I could feel I was home. I was in love and we had just met.

There were many people – friends and family – that didn’t want me to move here. The city would change me and not in a good way. I’d get mugged. The people of New York are hard. The city is unforgiving.

Well, it’s 11 years later and I can tell you that all of the people who didn’t want me to move here visit me often, the city has not changed me but helped me to grow, I’ve not gotten mugged, the friends I met here are friendships that will last lifetimes, and MY CITY is giving.

I still wake up early so I can watch the sun warm the brick buildings outside of my window. I walk out of my building grinning from ear to ear with the knowledge that this is my home and with the same energy I felt on top of the Empire State Building my first night.

Happy Anniversary New York! And to my beloved ESB, I’ll see you later tonight.

Peace, Love & My Never Ending Adoration,

~me

It’s all about the “-”

When we take our last breath and transition to heaven or into our next life, more than likely we will be remembered with some sort of monument. It could be a headstone, an urn, or a plaque. Our full names will be spelled out (something usually reserved for birth certificates, driver’s licenses or when we were in trouble growing up), there might be a loving phrase, and then our time spent in this life. Mine will read July 9, 1968 – Month Day, 2072. (Yes, I already know I will be living to 104, so the day will be anytime from July 9 – December 31. LOL.)

So what happens between the day we are born and the day we leave? It’s all about the “-”. The dash that many of us see as all the time in the world to achieve goals and dreams. The dash that many of us use to procrastinate, to hold onto grudges, to hold onto negative forces in our life because there is always tomorrow to let go.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the dash represented passion and breathing and living life, of reaching farther than we ever even contemplated dreaming, of believing in Santa Claus for just one more year, of remembering our friends and loved ones every day, of giving of ourselves to a stranger, of making a difference, of living in present.

There’s a little girl who is five years old and her doctor’s have told her parents this past week that she has maybe two more months to live. She has been battling leukemia since she was two and it would appear it’s time for her to stop fighting. I’ve known her personally for the last couple of years, but since she was born from friends of her parents.

When I was first going to meet her, I expected to find someone who might be a little shy, maybe awkward, and maybe timid. After all, it had been two years of hospitals, surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy. I’m sure we’ve all met grown ups who whine when they have a cold or a bad ear ache (Raise your hand if you’re guilty. I would, but I’m typing.) Instead, I met this child who radiated beauty, energy, love and spirit from the inside out. Her eyes were dazzling and I don’t think her feet could keep up with the boundless force that was running through her body. She jumped onto a tire swing and wanted to be pushed hard and fast so she was swinging into the sky. Fearless. At times, I couldn’t watch.

I had a lot of anger inside of me this week because quite frankly I’m pissed off. She’s five and why take someone with such an amazing spirit from a world that truly needs more of her. I mean the man who kidnapped those two boys in Missouri is alive! As articulate as I can be, the most I could come up with when talking about her to friends is “fucking sucks” or “fucking pissed off”. I’m brilliant.

And while I may not get why this is happening, I do believe that she was brought into this world for a purpose. If you knew her parents, especially her father, she taught unconditional love, pure love, and passion. She taught all of us who know her, and even those who only knew of her, strength, heart, and living in the moment.

This little girl truly knew that it is all about the “-”. It’s amazing what we can learn from a child.

One Man’s Chaise Lounge is Another Man’s Bed

I had spent seven hours straight working on a short story. It’s the kind of short story that exhausts you from the inside out. I wrote and I wrote until my muse requested rest until the next day.

I needed to escape as well, or at least get some fresh air. My favorite escape is to my little corner of Central Park at the 100th Street entrance. Over the last year, it has become a fantasy world filled with talking blades of grass (one in particular has a serious chip on his shoulder), his sweet dandelion wife, a screaming hawk with hearing issues (unfortunate bubble gum incident) and least we forget an inventor who lives inside of the stone bridge. There are spirits within every tree and numerous images and faces. My octopus tree… ah… such a great place to read a book.

Now before you send the men in white coats, I promise I’m sane – relatively speaking. It’s just the children’s novel I’m working on and the energy and comfort and laughter it brings is a welcome distraction from the twisted grown up stuff I wrote about this weekend.

I walked around the lake and loved that everyone was out. As I rounded the bend, close to the wood slated bridge that crosses right before the waterfall, there were two benches less than three feet from one another.

The first bench was inhabited by a man in his mid-50s I would say. (And if he’s younger, my apologies.) He was relishing the last few moments of the warm red glow of the dusk sky to read his book before he would have to return home to his artificial light. He was stretched out on his side and comfortable. His leather messenger bag was under his head and used as a pillow. His designer jeans and sweater were clean. His smile seemed to extend past his ears and the rest of us sharing his immediate space were non-existent.

The next bench was inhabited by a man, of that I’m certain. Of course, I couldn’t see his face, and when I say I’m certain, it’s not because he was expressing himself in a lewd manner. He was sprawled on his back, with his right arm slumped over his eyes and nose. There was no smile. A worn, faded, checkered blanket was under his head as a pillow and the remainder of his belongings were in a laundry cart at his feet. His clothes were old, with tears and holes. His big toe on his left foot could be seen through his converse shoe. He was waiting for black to overtake the sky and allow sleep to come easier, as those of us who were invading his immediate space would be going home to the comfort of our beds to sleep and not be staring at his.

The image before me was hard to walk away from. Two simple benches of same size and shape served their temporary masters in much different ways. And instead of being exhausted from the inside out, I found myself exhausted from the outside in.

The Altered Serenity Prayer

During today’s Unity service, there was a very uplifting sermon about New Beginnings. What I enjoy about Unity is it removes the politics and hypocrisy and focuses on spirituality. As a recovering Cathoholic, it’s wonderful to leave a service filled with lightness, energy and happiness.

During the sermon, the minister (the ever beautiful Carlos W. Anderson) mentioned an Altered Serenity Prayer that his sister shared with his congregation back in Massachusetts. At some point in our lives, we’ve all been guilty of focusing attention on other people when we should be looking at ourselves. However, it’s so much more fun when you are fixing someone else, or thinking you can, because it keeps the focus off of your own challenges.

Here’s what Carlos shared….

God grant me the serenity to
ACCEPT the PEOPLE I CANNOT CHANGE;
the COURAGE to CHANGE who I CAN;
and the WISDOM to know the WHO is ME.

Reflection

I had never worked on the anniversary of 9/11 until yesterday. In past years, I’ve split my time between being glued to the TV (wishing I had a wall of tubes with each news station on it) and paying my respects at Ground Zero. This anniversary was different for many reasons and would be the first time I’d be paying my respects downtown alone – or so I thought.

Friends and family called to check on me throughout the day and many questioned my need to watch the news reports and to go to Ground Zero all together. The easiest and most succinct explanation I offered was “I can’t do or be anywhere else.”

Five years ago, I lived a block away and after evacuating wasn’t able to return home for two weeks. Rage shook me to the core, anger fueled my body, and revenge filled my heart. When I was able to return to my home, I found vendors selling pictures of the tragedy – including those who took their own lives before the towers collapsed. I snapped. I didn’t recognize my reflection in the mirror. No one understood my pain. I hated answering questions on what it was like and I hated that my family kept asking me to come home or to move away or to leave the city if only for a few weeks. I was not going to leave. I had a city to protect. Me and me alone.

The first anniversary I was angry at the onlookers – the gawkers. I was never angry at those paying their respects – the survivors. I saw adults smiling and getting their pictures taken. What was their to smile about? And why are you posing in front of twisted steel?
Each anniversary, I’ve become less angry at the crowds of people I thought didn’t belong. I realized I was being selfish and thinking I owned the market on grief.

Yesterday, my day started with exiting the subway station at 23rd/5th to the smell of smoke and screaming sirens. Ten of us were walking up the stairs, and as I felt my flesh raise and the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, I realized that we had all huddled around each other. All of us, perfect strangers, touching and looking around trying to figure out what was going on. Within a few minutes, we realized it was a fire a couple of blocks away. We all nodded at each other and smiled those smiles when you don’t know what else to say. But for a moment, we were protecting each other.

When it came time for me to go to Ground Zero last night, I was anxious. I would be going alone. I brought my new camera with me and took the train to City Hall. I decided to zig zag my way through my old neighborhood before arriving at Ground Zero. The memorial lights were on and the sky was a swirl of red, orange and midnight blue. I thought about how gorgeous the weather seems to always be on 9/11. I remembered the first anniversary. I was downtown and the wind was whirling – convincing me that the souls returned to embrace the survivors.

I found my old apartment building, my old diner, OTB was still there… John Street hadn’t changed much, but I had. I was smiling. I was happy to see that folks were still living downtown. I was happy that people hadn’t stopped remembering and were still walking around talking and hugging and singing and honoring.

I crossed Broadway and walked west on Dey street. I stopped and found an amazing picture. The World Financial Center was in a perfect frame with the American Flag as its centerpiece. I took several pictures and the playlist I created for the day filled my ears.

A gentleman taped me on the shoulder and asked me what picture I had just taken. I didn’t expect to have to talk to anyone. And I have to say at that moment, I was afraid to open my mouth for fear my voice would crack and tears would flow. After what appeared in my mind to be several minutes of internal dialogue as to why I should just suck it up and open my mouth and who cares if you cry, I showed him what I had taken so far. He had a digital camera and was frustrated at the quality of his pictures and what he was trying to capture. I showed him how to turn off his flash and took some pictures for him and with him.

We talked about where we each were from, where we both lived now – me, UWS after 9/11, 17 John Street prior to 9/11; he, UES prior to 9/11, 39 John Street after 9/11. I told him I wished I’d been strong enough to stay downtown but I couldn’t handle all the people and the death I smelled. It seemed it would never leave me. He told me he wished he could articulate grief or let it out. We began to part with the usual pleasantries – thanks for talking, take care of yourself, etc. Then, what began as a handshake, turned into a hug. Tears flowed freely from both of us. At the same time, we whispered, never forget and stay strong. We eventually let go and said goodbye. He walked back home and I continued onto Ground Zero. Two strangers. I still don’t know his name and he doesn’t know mine.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle being alone downtown last night. I didn’t believe I would be strong enough. But as I sat on the steps in front of Brooks Brothers and talked to strangers and thought about who I was five years ago and who I am now, I knew that while I was forever changed, I was not forever broken.

(Photograph courtesy of Alex Dominguez)