Front row of economy class, sitting with extra leg room in a metal tube, flying west.
Walking the streets and avenues of the city I know so well, observing the people, the greatest gift of NY; such a marvel of demographics, of color and accents. I watch as the moda of the 80’s creeps as zippers on jackets, as scarves, big necklaces and sunglasses adorn skin and clothes, adding accents, color, and design to already somewhat bright colors.
Leggings are everywhere, covered by tight super short skirts or dresses, like a stretched long T-shirt, paired with a pair of boots that either fold down as an accordion without sound, or have an extra long flashy zipper from bottom to top, like a seem on a hosiery on the back of the leg
Seems like so many have a fashion statement of a sort. Most women are wearing boots and heels, leaving me a sense of joy and glory at the beauty of the legs. Being a teenage in the 80’s I cannot help but be nostalgic. I admit it looks much sexier at my age and without adding the 80’s hairdo much prettier.
Like my artwork, like my life, this trip unfolded as an exploration of body and mind.
Silence and concentration as a young handsome man does a one-hand handstand on a little pole, splitting his legs apart, to the joy of the crowd. He wears little and white, exposing skin that is being stretched by muscle work and veins.
A hula-hoop master feels like Betty Boop, and a blond and a brunette fly up high in the open space of the striped blue and yellow tent flexing hips and extending legs, flying in coordination. The beautiful tan long legged brunette hanging off the bent leg of the petite blond. Living life to its fullest, flying with no security net.
Desir, a show at south street seaport hosts an exposition of body possibilities. Physic and concentration make this a Cirque de soleil wanna be.
Saturday at the Zen temple, sitting silently doing nothing. Breathing happens. Feels like home, so many familiar faces. Sharing lunch, I meet smiling faces that were in residence with me either at the temple or the monastery. The still body, the tired body from not sleeping much, the joyful mind, the space, the…
Halloween night (yes, this is not in order…) is a night of covering up, of new identity, a night to wear another layer of masks, to make believe, to bring desires to life, or hide. A night to allow one to be free from social codes, or is it?
As Lisa says: “A time to let what needs to die –die, and a chance to recreate that which has died and needs a rebirth.”
No masks for me, just a layer of urban elegance to cover up, as I join Tamar for a quiet night at BLT fish, a beautiful gourmet fish restaurant. Outside the remaining of the parade is still walking around, 5th avenue moves slowly. The Tuna tartar arrives on ice, with home made chips. Good touch of lemon. My swordfish was marinated in curry and then topped of with salsa, light with hint of spice, leaving the swordfish to still have presence. We sit at a corner table right by the open kitchen.
The wine is smooth, red, with fruit and a medium body. Enough to leave legs on the glass, but light enough to match the fish. “Should we drink White” Tamar asked.
I realize I have no more “shoulds” in life. Only being honest and sincere with what feels right. And red felt right in the cold NY eve.
The cab ride home flowed slowly through the busy east village, where the land of dress up seemed to be most at play. At this hour it was like a wax museum of humans standing at the curbs, freezing…waiting.
I could not help but notice that most female costumes, no matter what they were, were very sexy and seductive. Nurses with tiny little white outfits and large red crosses, super woman in a super short mini skirt, cats and cat women, being more like sex kitties, angels, fire women, sexy devils…or is it just my perception?
I smiled, enjoyed and watched, like swimming in a moving yellow aquarium with windows. Noticing how at every red light, people intoxicated leaning, falling, fighting for the impossible cab.
Being in NY as a visitor has such beauty and freedom. Apart from dropping off an art piece at a gallery in the lower east side for a show in December, all else was open. I realized that my favorite things to do are wonder the streets, watch people and flirt with some fashion stores, taste new flavors, do Yoga and see a few friends. Only what time allows. Staying with Jen in Carol Gardens opened a whole new flavor of NY to me. The larger homes and smaller buildings, the trees and little gardens, the sidewalks that have room to walk, and invite a slower pace.
Brooklyn is rich in many little moms and pops shops and restaurants, a delight of creativity, a feeling of a neighborhood and friendships.
I went to a variety of Yoga studios n the City. All ones I’ve never practiced at before. I attended Kirtan at Jivamhukti and Dharma Mitra Yoga, but have not practiced Asana there.
It was a delight to taste new flavors, Practice with new teachers, and reaffirm that the way I teach feels right for me, and is surely my way. A unique way, that stands on the shoulders of my teachers. Inspired by many great, and synthesized into a truth that flows through me, like many rivers into an ocean, where the drops no longer belong to anyone.
I practiced at Eddie Stern’s studio in the Soho, and got to see some friends from NY and from Mysore, India. The Ashtanga community is a small one, where a similar face always appears.
Yoga Sutra, on 5th and 42nd, across from the NY public library, and half a block form my old office at Tahari, is a whole floor of 3 yoga studios. It is sweet to see how NY is now floured with Yoga on every corner, the need to balance the work life with some peace.
I must say though, that most classes I’ve taken have felt to me as creating more Vata imbalance
(Vata being the air and space element, the movement aspect in Ayurveda), strong classes for A type people, Lots of distraction, music, words, fast pace…I always leave a Yoga class feeling good because of the body work, but only sometimes do I leave levitating thanks to a graceful teacher allowing space for grounding, for connecting with the breath, permitting surrender and letting go.
Wearing my new black hoody with extra silver zippers cutting the cotton in an angle, I leave NY. I feel gratitude for the entire people roaming this city. For all those that shared moments with me (even if I have not mentioned their names here), for the generosity of my host, and for random encounters that make NY such a fabulous place.
