Reflections from Saratoga Springs

It is a rainy Sunday afternoon and I am glad that I can enjoy it with out having to go anywhere.  The first of two weeks of babysitting has been completed, and I have the day off.  The kid and his father have just returned from their day trip to fort Ticonderoga, and his mom is at Music Mountain Festival, playing with the Cassatt string quartet.
This morning I ventured down the road to go to church at the UU Congregation of Saratoga Springs.  I was

welcomed into the beautiful little church, and listened to a beautiful sermon about finding joy in a troubled world.  The sermon included a demonstration of the infectiousness of joy by singing "This Little light of mine while a group of congregants tried their best to hold onto anger.  Of course, by the end they all had smiles and were repressing laughs.  We were also asked to a neighbor and shared something we are grateful for. Apparently, the church is under transition and finding a new minister, so I wish them the best of luck.  I always love to explore the UU congregations in any town I visit.
After church I went into town and found a neat fair-trade store where I purchased a present for my sister's 10th birthday.  This butterfly must have liked the wares as much as I did!

This week I learned Tai Chi watched the NYC Ballet, baked cookies, went swimming, rode the old carousel, and ate lots of yummy ice cream.

Good Luck With That

So earlier today I wrote a post, and then I got bored and started fumbling around in blogger and deleting old half written blog drafts.  Unfortunately, I managed to inadvertently get rid of my newest addition, which makes me sad.  I will make my best attempt to replicate it here.
Yesterday, I attended service at the Unitarian Church of All Souls in the Upper East Side of Manhattan as I do most every Sunday.  Taryn Strauss, the director of religious education, was leading the service and gave a  sermon entitled "Rehearsing the Beloved Community".  Using rousing hymns not found in the standard Singing the Living Tradition hymnal and an acoustic guitar playing accompanist, the service was full of energy and life.
Taryn spoke of the value of a community which values togetherness and community among people of all ages , socio-economic and educational backgrounds, race/ethnicity, and goes out into the world and practices service as its prayer.  She recalled feeling totally and utterly supported by her home church in Chicago as a child, to the point that she was comfortable bursting into a lively dance in the center of a circle of coffee-hour activists ardently discussing the social action topic du jour.  She told us of the trip that she and a few other members embarked upon to Arizona for the "Justice GA", a gathering of UU's from all over the nation coalescing to speak up for the rights of the immigrants detained in inhumane holding camps without due process of law.  They had an emotional night which served to bring them closer together as among themselves and with the families and friends of those detainees.
Taryn's youthful exuberance and forward looking optimism inspired me.  I started to think about what I can do better- where I can put my efforts to extend the idea of a beloved community intimately and globally.  I thought, "I love her passion and her empowerment.  She is breaking up the service a bit, making it fresh and renewing a sense of joy."
Apparently, not everyone felt the same way about it.  After the service, I introduced myself to a gentleman holding a coffee mug and standing by himself.  The first steps of building connections between varying age groups.  I relay my joy over the service: "That was such a great sermon!" his expression darkened, and I caught on that perhaps he did not agree, so I rephrased my statement as a question: "Did you enjoy the service?"  His answer was not ambiguous: "No."  Slightly surprised by his bluntness, I went on to ask for clarification: "Oh, well, what about it did you not like?"  Without changing his expression, and with no hint of irony, he stated, "too impassioned, to empowered, and too much hoping for good things that will never happen."  What is there to say in response?  "Well, I think that hope can be a catalyst for change," I said, somewhat sheepishly.  "Good luck with that," he grumbled, and walked off.
Clearly some philosophies are not for all people.  This encounter speaks to me of the value of reaching out to people of all ages.  You never know what kind of response you will get, be it window into a vastly different perspective.  His opinion is, of course, valid.
As for me, I see hope as a powerful force, and believe that services like yesterday's are just what we need to keep walking towards peace and justice in the global community.

Good luck with that, indeed!

A home is what you make of it

Yesterday, at 8:30 in the morning, I looked at an apartment in Borough Park, Brooklyn.  I liked the neighborhood, the amount of space, the layout, the big kitchen.  I liked just about everything about it, especially the price, and the long commute doesn't really bother me because it means that I can come home to a quiet neighborhood.  So I made an executive decision then and there that I would take it.  Julia, the woman who is moving out and responsible for finding a new tenant for her room, said I seemed perfect, a great fit for the three other roommates.  However, she had one more person coming to look at the space today and she wanted to be fair and give them a chance.  I would be notified on Monday evening of the final decision.  So I thanked her and headed to church.  At coffee hour, which was about three hours later, I receive a text from her that if I could pay that evening, I could have the room.  I was so happy that I burst into a chant of "Yes! Yes! Yes!" in the middle of the fellowship hall, perhaps to the surprise of those around me.  My friend looked at me and said, "So I guess you got the apartment?"  Then we headed off to the beach for a proper send off of said friend, Maryah.
After the beach, which was all the way at the very top of the Bronx, I headed to the very bottom of Brooklyn to give Julia the check and get the keys.  Now it is official, and I am ready to start moving in tomorrow morning.
The following is a poem that I wrote in March, when I was living somewhere wholly unpleasant and looking for a new place to live.  I wanted to find a home that was more than a place to crash.  I wrote this poem as a meditation on what a home can be, what I should look for in a home.  I am publishing it here to remind myself to treat myself and my new home well.
                               _____________________

Walking through the concrete facade
of happy buyers buying and bristling off
on a street full of faces familiar and not,
without a plan in my head I meander
here and there until I can get my fix.
Something to hold me over,
to occupy my mind and hands
and force myself to believe that it's all real.
For a time I'm sedated, and the worries at bay
While I smile and play the part of happy customer
Eyes twinkling in anticipation and gratitude
A swipe of a card and a stroke of a pen.
Belly full and tongue sugar coated,
ashamed of my wasting, I step
out into the night, or maybe it's day,
and ask once again just where should I go?

If home were an option, I'd go there right now
I wouldn't waste time with these embarrassing games.
I'd enter my temple with serene jubilation
Massaging my soul with my passions and love.

_________________________________

Hopefully I like my roommates...

UPDATE!!!


The situation described in the above post turned out to be a scam.  Upon further reflection, some things about the situation were red flags.  For example, she said she did not have the contact information for the landlady or her son (who manages the property), she did not suggest that I meet the roommates, she told me to meet her at the apartment to exchange check for keys, but at the last minute, her "ride's tire broke" and we had to meet in a remote location.  Fortunately, I realized these things before she had tried to cash the checks, so I was able to cancel them.  Let the lesson be learned to take your time and really consider the merits of a situation.  Do not let them push you around, or scare you with competition.  If it is legit, you will not feel like you have been run through the mill, and there will not be a thousand things to "explain".  I consider myself quite lucky to have gone through this situation, and not to have lost my money in the lesson.  Remember to be careful!!!

The problem with boxes

There is chaos all around us at all times.  We see the elements of millions of lives scrape past us unpredictably as we go about our day.
To cope with this chaos, we tie up our time in tidy boxes of routines and habits.  We train ourselves to see the same sequence of events day after day, even as the landscape of faces on the subway changes in the passage of a moment.  Every day I take the same train, think variations of the same thoughts on the train and at work, and have the same lukewarm conversations with the same people... It goes on and on, to the point where I am fairly certain I can predict my day to a high degree of accuracy before I have even left my bed.
This isn't necessarily a bad thing.  Imagine every single action you take in a day. If you had to think about each one and decide when to do it, you would be paralyzed by the sheer enormity of the task.  Our brains developed so we could be more efficient in our lives, producing more without expanding too much energy.
Yet there may be a danger lurking in these boxes.    The corners we cut, without any acknowledgement, could hold possibilities beyond the imagination.  Are we giving up something profound by accepting humdrum?  Are we numb to the possibilities that could be held in that one smile?  Making a change, even the tiniest, seemingly invisible change can be scary, without a doubt.  The choice to look up, make eye contact and smile at whoever you pass.  The decision to think a kind thought about someone you normally hold in the shadows.  Choosing gratitude when you would normally ask for more.
The boxes we use to organize the closets of our minds might need dusted.  It just may be worth the effort to go through and look inside at the content, and not only the labels.

Give yourself an "A"- looking back a year from today- Inspired by Ben Zander

April 27, 2013

Dear Hannah,

A year has passed since you sat down and wrote this letter to yourself. Wondering what to write to encapsulate the thoughts that swirl around head and hardly make sense to yourself, let alone the people you try to explain yourself to. You are not in school anymore, so it's been a little while since you thought in terms of grades as a measure of worth. In fact, you say, grades never mattered that much anyways. But I'm here to say that over the course of this year, you have made so much progress in the way you live your life that you have earned an "A" in my grade book.

You have been navigating the waters of independence now for about three years, and this no longer frightens you.   You've learned to ask for help when you need it. All of the obstacles that have come your way and all of the people who have so generously offered their love and support have helped you realize that you're never alone. Inspired by the altruism and wisdom of so many kind souls, you have made it a priority in your life to love others. To find the good and embrace it. To humble yourself and listen even when you think you already understand what they are trying to say. To give with intention, and without expectation. To laugh, dance, and hug freely, and embrace the differences in individuals.

In embracing your spontaneous spirit of creativity, you have also come to see commitment as a vital ingredient in lasting change. The challenges that you so desperately tried to avoid previously have reared their heads and you have met them with confidence, knowing that they are the seeds of growth. Many of the problems and obstacles have been of your own making- caused by thought and behavior patterns which did not let you see the sun light. In simply realizing this fact, you have become more honest, more patient, and more accepting of your own short comings. Instead of the constant internal dialogue of self doubt, you have come to find more and more productive things to think about.

I don't know where you are living right now, or where you are working, whether you are dating anyone. All that I know for sure is that you are OK. You are standing on your own two feet, enjoying life, and finding ways to contribute to a better society. Instead of guilt, shame, or pity, you find empowerment.

With all the love in the world, and in gratitude for all of the work and challenges you have undertaken, I give you this outstanding grade. Here's to an eternity of good will!

Sincerely,

Me

Lost poem- found!

What a bus ride!  I believe I may have snagged about 4 hours of sleep... I listened to Brahm's German Requiem on my Walkman CD player, and it spoke to me to such a degree that I listened again, and again, and again.  There is something sublime about Requiems: they offer us the full scope of human emotions, and help us to see why we hold onto life.  There is a certain underlying calm, even during the moments of extreme passion in the chorus.  We can feel the agony and the ecstasy within ourselves, all the while bobbing peacefully in an ocean of sound.
Fittingly, I found a poem yesterday, which I must have written about two years ago.  Let me share it with you now.

For the joy of breath,
The tears of love
the hunger and the hatred,
Here's to life!
To all who lived but yesterday,
To all who live today
To all who yet live not but shall
    In just another day

The moment is but all that is,
And never stay it put,
for time is like the dough of bread,
the pacing of a foot.

Never do we know
The reason for which we've come,
But wonder this to pass the time
for mysteries are fun.

What difference would it make
If our purpose were outlined?
Would we live in any better way to know
That we could find
The things that we are searching for,
the truths that to us bind?

With doubt, I say,
for through all time
We've lived and not known why.


I don't remember why I wrote it, but I think it is a lovely reminder to let things happen as they do, and to not insist on having the answer.  I hope you enjoyed it!

A short but dynamic trip to Akron

Today is the last day of a three day visit home to Akron, Ohio.  In these three days, I have tried to fit in visits with the most important people of my life- grandparents, aunts, lifelong friends, mothers, fathers, and the most adorable, lovable piece of fur, my cat Askia.  Three days packed to the gills with meal upon meal, smile upon smile, one car ride after another.  As much as I love all of these wonderful people, and miss them terribly when I am away, the real reason I came home was to see the Akron Symphony Orchestra's 60th anniversary concert.
This might seem a bit strange if you don't know me. After all, I live in New York, where I could have my choice of  orchestra concerts on any given night.  That said, my family's deep connections to this ensemble, and my experiences playing in the Youth Symphony and the Symphony Chorus throughout middle and high school, give me reason to celebrate the history of an institution which, for many people defines my home town.
The concert, led by conductor Christopher Wilkins, begins with Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings- a tribute to Ping Yu, long time member of the violin section, who recently passed away.  The piece is pensive and probing.  Like a vision in the mist over a steamy lake it hangs gracefully over itself, revealing a piece of regret and longing in the heart of each musician and audience member alike.  We come next to Dave Brubeck's Ansel Adams: America.  The composer is an Akron native.  The piece accompanies a projection of Ansel Adams photographs which portray the agonizing beauty of the vast American West. After experiencing the grandest in nature, our focus is pulled homeward to travel a road not of place but of time.
Commissioned for this concert, Roger Zahab's Akron Chronogram is a deeply personal look back at the history and legacy of the sixty years worth unique individuals who, with their commitment and zeal, made the orchestra what it is today.  And who better to write such a piece? Roger is a native Akronite, a successful composer, conductor, teacher and violinist, who received his early exposure to symphonic music thanks to the ASO.  His work is always deeply personal, he explained in the pre-concert talk.  He associates music with specific people.  Chronogram takes the history of the orchestra and Roger's personal interactions with past and present members and directors, and weaves them together.  Above the orchestra is a projection of a video created by Laura Bidwell, showing her visions of Akron.  At the end of the piece, there is 60 seconds of "grand tuning" written into the score. The players are instructed to tune and play scales and difficult passages of the piece or other pieces.  This brings us squarely back to the present.  The players become once again themselves preparing for the next piece on the program, after inhabiting the souls of their forebears.  Akron Chronogram captures the imagination for those of us who never met the people described by the music.  We can wonder who they were, we can create our own stories of their lives.  I can't wait to hear it again when it is aired on WKSU.org in a couple of weeks.
After an intermission, we have are treated to Dvorak's 9th Symphony "From the New World" inspired by the composer's time in America.  There's nothing like a great and iconic symphony to send us out into the streets with gusto.
Thank you Maestro Wilkins, Roger Zahab, thanks to all of the musicians who played with their hearts on their sleeves, and to everyone who came before them.  It was a concert I will never forget.
Akron, it is good to see you.  To look out my living room window and see the same trees and the same roof tops that I looked at throughout my childhood.  I may have changed, but you are still here, holding the past.  Good luck, I'll be back soon.
Now to get ready for my 12 hour bus ride back to New York.  Yippee!

"Don't ask what the world needs...

What next?  
To build a life.  A beautiful life.  Full of joy, creative expression, passion.  Full of love and comfort.  Adventure and risk will be with me always.  
In all these considerations I have to make to figure out what I want to do, I have to remember these things.  And I suppose its not the end of the world that I am not a particularly picky person.  I am pretty much ok no matter what may come.   Even though I am not always confident in my own abilities, my parents seem to see something that I don’t.  And they love me despite everything.  
Really I suppose I am in an incredibly unique position.  I may be stressed by all the options out there, but hey- I’m free!!!
I’m ready for anything.  I can feel it in my veins that I am destined for incredible things.  Huge things--- changing the world!!! I can make a difference to one person’s life, I can make the world a better place.  I want to channel all the people who have meant something to me in my life.  Made it all the more beautiful for their gifts.
My blood- Dad, Elizabeth, MayaPapaya, Mom, Mama, Grandma, Mama, Kerry, Kirsty, Grandpa, Bobby, Ann.
Suzanne, Ann and Dick Winland, Abby Hillman.
Marsha, Roger, Sarah Adams, for bringing arts to my life, allowing me to see how I might live a more meaningful life. To Jim, Sue Wallin, Ron.  
All the Wallersteins.
All my teachers over the years and years.  Everyone who has encouraged my development.
My sweet old friends- Cesily, Monica, Katie, Carly
To my new-found friends, to my roommate Tiffany, and to the wonderfully ethereal community I find myself to be a part of in Green Point. To the people who have welcomed me here to New York, without any expectation of favors returned.  To the warmth and joy found at the church, and the feeling of possibilities and never ending energy. For the commitment to welcoming. All Souls is the the epitome of what I love about New York. And The main reason I choose to stay here.
To Tami Small for her love, to Rebecca Shapiro, Marguerite Rhodes, Peggy Crane, even Phyllis. Giving out of the goodness of their hearts to a young lady they hardly know, opening their homes and welcoming me.
Sometimes they love me more than I am willing to love myself.  Here is everyone in my heart, poking through.
It is so easy to take it all for granted and say I deserve more than what I have.  It is so easy to forget all of the wonderful, beautiful people and places I have met, all of the dances and songs I have learned, all of the poems and prayers that have been whispered in my presence.
It is so so so very easy to throw everything away and to hole up in my loneliness.  To try to be someone else.  To forget that my most valuable possession is my ability to see inside the heart of another human being and to hold that spirit.
I love you all. Now it is my turn to look inside my heart and see what I have to offer to you, and to offer my gratitude in a more tangible way.
Most of all I must say thank you to the earth. For sustaining me. For accepting me, and not spitting me out. Even though I am part of a system that doesn't acknowledge your beauty enough.


"...ask what makes you come alive, because what the world needs is more people who have come alive," Howard Thurman. 
Here's to joy, fulfillment, life, and love!

From Pain to Passion- an Exploration

A perfect summer sunset meets me as I step onto the roof of the industrial warehouse turned art gallery which I now call my home.  Blonde viola in left hand, carbon fiber bow in the other, tentatively I begin with tuning.  Out comes a timid sound,  maybe not more than a few choked vibrations, yet as I warm up with some simple three octave scales, something inside of me lightens up, and for a moment I am reminded of the feeling of passion.  In that moment I feel as though I alone hold the key to the universe, that I am sailing far above the plane of ordinary human thoughts.  It is a feeling that I have had many times before, that has been inspired by a handful of activities, a feeling that I treasure, but have not experienced in what feels like forever. While it may only have been a flicker, the feeling was so beautiful that I am determined to feel it again, to build on it, and to create something that inspires other people to feel the same way.
  The word passion is derived from the Greek "pashko" which means to suffer.  It is an intense emotion, compelling feeling, enthusiasm or desire for something, according to Wikipedia.  No wonder artists suffer so.  What comes out of them is of the purest joy, yet it must be extruded painstakingly with little regard for human needs in order to reach the highest peak of perfection.  But why do we need pain to feel this joy?  Why must we give everything of ourselves in order to ascend to a higher order?  When we are steeped in a consumerist mentality, which tends to be the norm, we are dependent on others to please our fancies.  Everyone but ourselves, own guts, know what is best for us.  And yet the small victories that greet us in that frame of mind, serve only to plant the next seed of want.  I suspect that pulling ourselves away from the treadmill of stuff is one of the most painful things a person can do, and it is something which can appear to alienate us from the world we  know.  Entitlement is the biggest blocker of fulfillment.  It is only when a person realizes that she alone is responsible for bringing joy into her life, and subsequently notices her power to help others, that she can transcend.
Many times in my life I have felt this flame to varying degrees.  Stepping out of a symphony concert or a particularly poignant sermon, dancing until I am wearing a soaked leotard and bloody pointe shoes, participating in a lively conversation, having an orgasm... They happen to the strongest degree if I take responsibility for my own pleasure, divorce myself from the expectations of others, and allow myself to suffer.
There is hardly a memory when it is over, and the more I try to explain to others, the more it dissipates.

Dancing for freedom

I work at a dance studio in Manhattan.  Most of my day is spent sitting behind the front desk doing menial tasks and looking at other people's posts on Facebook.  Sometimes it is not exactly an inspiring job.  However, sometimes there will be an occasion so wonderful, so beautiful that makes the waiting worth while, and redeems the occupation.  I am talking about human connections.  One on one conversation that let me see a little piece of another person's soul.  These are rare enough so I have to really treasure them when they come along.
Today proved to have one of these occasions when Nick, a regular in one of the classes, came in early.  After chatting aimlessly for a minute or two, he told me a story that I just can't get out of my head.  His son is in the Marines, on his first tour in Afghanistan.  With three years left of active duty, he is beginning to realize just how much of a commitment he has taken on.  There is no front over there, and they live in constant fear of the unknown.  Morale is not always great because the enemy is so intangible, it is hard for them to see that they are making any progress at all.  There is no way to know when you or someone in your squad will be killed.
All of these worries came into reality when Sgt William C Stacey, squadron commander of Nick's son's unit, but also his best friend, was killed by an explosion.  It is even more poignant because they had just switched places a couple of minutes prior.  Had they not made that last minute decision, Nick's son would have died instead. All the Marines keep in their pocket a letter of last words in case they die during a mission.  Sgt. Stacey's parents decided to have his beautiful letter published.  This is what he wrote: "My death did not change the world; it may be tough for you to justify its meaning at all. But there is a greater meaning to it. Perhaps I did not change the world. Perhaps there is still injustice in the world. But there will be a child who will live because men left the security they enjoyed in their home country to come to his. And this child will learn in the new schools that have been built. He will walk his streets not worried about whether or not his leader's henchmen are going to come and kidnap him. He will grow into a fine man who will pursue every opportunity his heart could desire. He will have the gift of freedom, which I have enjoyed for so long. If my life buys the safety of a child who will one day change this world, then I know that it was all worth it.

Semper Fidelis means always faithful. Always faithful to God, Country and Corps. Always faithful to the principles and beliefs that guided me into the service. And on that day in October when I placed my hand on a bible and swore to defend the constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic, I meant it."
Now, I don't believe in war.  I believe in peace, love, and understanding.  I believe that there are so many ways to solve problems, and that war only breeds more war.  It is difficult to reconcile my day to day difficulties with the sacrifices that people are making on the other side of the globe in the name of freedom.  But let's not get into politics just now.
I am a firm believer in the power of intention- holding love in your heart until it just seeps out and is available to everyone.  The power of believing that you can make a difference, and the wisdom that every choice you make will affect those around you.
When Nick's son went into the Marines, he found that he was also in the Marines by extension- experiencing the pangs of dread and fear for his son and all those around him.  And he told me that he comes to dance class every day because the children under the absolute authority of the Taliban are not allowed to dance.  He dances for those who cannot.
Let us keep this love alive and spread it.  Let every single action we do be an act of love and dedication for those who are not free.
This is story of true passion!

Inspired by the dream of Martin Luther King, Jr.

Withering flowers with fallen brown petals
Taken over by weeds rudely choking
The dry earth sharp sun beams like torches are burning
Wind ripping the life off my dreams

This once was a garden of flourishing dreams
With a harvest that nourished my soul
I'd bring a watering can everyday and feed gently
My dreams as they blossomed in full

There were daisies, pink roses, carrots and peaches
Peppers and squash near the fountain
Dreams of a future vivacious and plentiful
Overflowing in my garden of hope

But one day I ventured to water the garden
And saw for the first time only the weeds
Bitter and jagged, ugly and spiteful
All I could see was too many weeds.

I counted them, named them, I tried to ignore them
Thinking I'd prove to myself a great feat
But they pricked and they stung me, they tired me and jaded me
They told me to give up my dreams and go home

I feared I'd be lonely, I feared I'd go hungry
Braced myself for every fright you'd imagine
I saw all the reasons I shouldn't have dreams
And the reasons to keep them all disappeared

Seldom did I visit my garden thereafter
I shut it up tight with its mangle and mess
But a dread deep within me is swelling and bulging
And I refuse to believe this is it

Oh dreams, how I long for your sweet fragrance now
Oh, how I yearn for that blossom of hope
I tended you sweetly and you gave me light
Now into the darkness I grope

Dear reader, you too have a garden
I see in your eyes a subtle flash
And maybe like mine your dreams are untended
Overwhelmed by obstacles and fright

Let's imagine a world where our gardens are plentiful
Where you can smell hope everywhere.
Now I invite you to join as I kneel
And bring back my garden to life.