There is a room I imagine with Stargazer Lilies on a table. With a love seat, a futon, perhaps a bean bag, plenty of pillows, a rug---heck, a porch swing, I don't care---just as long as they are comfortable.
There might be cathedral ceilings and sprung wood floors. If this is my fantasy, then by all means, why not have the skylight and trap door while we're at it. Why not have potted ivy hanging in every corner.
It does not matter if this room is in a hotel in Anaheim, a warehouse in San Francisco, or a castle in Ireland. It does not matter if it is only a grassy clearing in the middle of the woods. It does not matter about the room in fact at all.
You see, I have traveled all over this country and lived in many cities. I have witnessed bizarre events and have instigated mayhem. I have performed with the famous and sipped chamomile with the nameless. I have met many, many people and have learned to recognize quickly the extraordinary minds, the shining talents, the golden hearts of a rare, but plentiful few.
The musician, the photographer, the percussionist, the rock-climber, the mother, the fighter, the student and the gypsy. The romantic, the dreamer, the dancer, the story-teller, the philosopher, the ritualist, the seeker and the pacifist...The Artist.
These are the people whom I keep in my life. These are the people I go to great lengths to stay in communication with. These are the people I must someday assemble, for a purpose grander than even I can imagine, in One Room with pastel pink wall paper and a broken rocking chair, perhaps. It doesn't much matter.
All I know is that when the combination is right, I will be able to die right there on the spot, my purpose fulfilled. I will have brought them together and set something powerful into motion.
Until then I will be loyal with friendship and appreciation. Until then I can hope only that these brilliant souls find a reason to remain in my life long enough to someday accept the invitation to One Room, with a motionless grandfather clock and one of Grandma's afghans.
Which of course does not matter. Until then.
One Room Theory
July 31, 2003
No Rest For...
July 27, 2003
Another sunrise from the wrong side of day. The sixth in ten.
I wish I could say it was another extravagant late nite of conversation, company and wine, but closer to the truth is that I’ve been lying in bed again, sober and alone, for four hours to no avail. If sleep has not come by now, it isn’t coming. I feel defeated. I am in another world. Aches and pains reserved solely for the sleep deprived, a constant headache that accompanies only severe unrest, and a reality light years away from care-free smiles or laughter. No, things are not always peachy in Happydale.
What day is what, who is a friend, which is the dream when it comes to insomnia?
I wish I could say it was another extravagant late nite of conversation, company and wine, but closer to the truth is that I’ve been lying in bed again, sober and alone, for four hours to no avail. If sleep has not come by now, it isn’t coming. I feel defeated. I am in another world. Aches and pains reserved solely for the sleep deprived, a constant headache that accompanies only severe unrest, and a reality light years away from care-free smiles or laughter. No, things are not always peachy in Happydale.
What day is what, who is a friend, which is the dream when it comes to insomnia?
Balance
July 23, 2003
Peaceful balance comes from sitting in the center and not moving too far either way.
Chaotic balance comes from visiting the extremes regularly, in constant motion, trusting in your inevitable return.
Chaotic balance comes from visiting the extremes regularly, in constant motion, trusting in your inevitable return.
Stand on Imagination
July 21, 2003
It’s just me and the Air up here. The purest Air I think I have ever taken in. Was that spruce, sunshine, and snow all in one breath? Should I use it sparingly since it seems so rare? Should I keep it a secret lest the profiteers and doctors try to bottle it, give it a prescription name and market it in brightly colored wrappers with my very own face in the commercial?
Don’t be silly!...I should inhale deeply, turn around and yell to the tallest mountain that “I did it. I did it!”.
I climbed all the way to the top, hanging on by will power and a fingernail. A new friend gave Khalid, Elizabeth and I a proper introduction to the Garden of the Gods State Park at the base of the Rocky Mountains by supplying climbing gear and acting as patient coach as we scaled our first cliff. Before this day I had worn a harness only to do freefalls in De La Guarda or drum suspension in STOMP (oh, and that one recreational time we won’t mention---that’s a different website). But today, I strapped down, clipped in and found myself creating footholds out of crevices and finger anchors out of dust. My gorgeous rock-climbing friend Heidi quotes a favorite, “when you can’t find anything to stand on, stand on imagination.” That is exactly how I made it to the top of this living wall---on the imagination of some kind of tree frog.
“I did it!”, I hollered to Pike’s Peek in the near distance, as a crowd of gathered tourists applauded and cheered. Yea, that’s right, people. I climbed right up the side of a rock today. And from here, I don’t notice any of the birds gasping for Air. Which is funny because at 6,000 feet above sea level, the STOMPers sure were. Opening nite, five minutes into the show, the respiratory rate of we cast members sounded less like eight lean stage athletes’ and more like the “international percussion sensation’s” geriatric revival. The profiteers and doctors really made out on us, with their oxygen tanks strategically located backstage and frequently used in between scenes. John will be the spokesperson getting residuals for that endorsement.
“Whether You Are on Top of a Mountain or Center Stage---Colorado Springs Air....You Just Can’t Get Enough of It.”
Don’t be silly!...I should inhale deeply, turn around and yell to the tallest mountain that “I did it. I did it!”.
I climbed all the way to the top, hanging on by will power and a fingernail. A new friend gave Khalid, Elizabeth and I a proper introduction to the Garden of the Gods State Park at the base of the Rocky Mountains by supplying climbing gear and acting as patient coach as we scaled our first cliff. Before this day I had worn a harness only to do freefalls in De La Guarda or drum suspension in STOMP (oh, and that one recreational time we won’t mention---that’s a different website). But today, I strapped down, clipped in and found myself creating footholds out of crevices and finger anchors out of dust. My gorgeous rock-climbing friend Heidi quotes a favorite, “when you can’t find anything to stand on, stand on imagination.” That is exactly how I made it to the top of this living wall---on the imagination of some kind of tree frog.
“I did it!”, I hollered to Pike’s Peek in the near distance, as a crowd of gathered tourists applauded and cheered. Yea, that’s right, people. I climbed right up the side of a rock today. And from here, I don’t notice any of the birds gasping for Air. Which is funny because at 6,000 feet above sea level, the STOMPers sure were. Opening nite, five minutes into the show, the respiratory rate of we cast members sounded less like eight lean stage athletes’ and more like the “international percussion sensation’s” geriatric revival. The profiteers and doctors really made out on us, with their oxygen tanks strategically located backstage and frequently used in between scenes. John will be the spokesperson getting residuals for that endorsement.
“Whether You Are on Top of a Mountain or Center Stage---Colorado Springs Air....You Just Can’t Get Enough of It.”
Do What'cha Like
July 17, 2003
I've got a theory---only do things that make you happy.
Life is a process after all. If it weren't then the only goal we can all ultimately strive for is Death. I believe---no, I know---there is part of me that will continue after this body has had enough. I know also that the only separation from the Other World and this, is the physical form I am blessed with for a mere one hundred years. The purpose of life is to experience that physical form to its fullest, living self-expressed in every moment, and hopefully discovering Love to be the epitome of that expression.
Don't worry about Death. It will come.
If you spend your time doing only things that bring you pleasure, or learning how to take pleasure from everything you do, then you will find yourself naturally on the right path, enjoying the process, doing only things that you like. It's as simple as that. Any deviation is counter to your true nature, a threat to full self-expression and a contradiction to the entire life experience.
The responsibility is yours. An it harm none....live!
Life is a process after all. If it weren't then the only goal we can all ultimately strive for is Death. I believe---no, I know---there is part of me that will continue after this body has had enough. I know also that the only separation from the Other World and this, is the physical form I am blessed with for a mere one hundred years. The purpose of life is to experience that physical form to its fullest, living self-expressed in every moment, and hopefully discovering Love to be the epitome of that expression.
Don't worry about Death. It will come.
If you spend your time doing only things that bring you pleasure, or learning how to take pleasure from everything you do, then you will find yourself naturally on the right path, enjoying the process, doing only things that you like. It's as simple as that. Any deviation is counter to your true nature, a threat to full self-expression and a contradiction to the entire life experience.
The responsibility is yours. An it harm none....live!
Four Raw Foodists Walk Into a Bar...
July 15, 2003
The more I travel, the more I realize I am normal.
Sometimes as a raw foodist I have doubts. I see Starbucks on every corner as I hunt for organic blueberries. I am lovingly called a rabbit by my cast mates who still offer me pasta. I work out at gyms that sell Creatine drinks as a post-workout health enhancer.
But then I arrive in Phoenix, Arizona and in one weeks time, realize that there are many of us out there, we are easy to find, and our chosen raw lifestyle not only predates pizza, antibiotics and chicken pox, but is completely natural, rational and....normal.
I was lucky enough to again be a part of yet another raw food restaurant’s opening, this time at the sunny Rawsome! Café. Charles Mort, director of the said café and leader of Phoenix’s raw movement, knew me from online correspondences only, yet in true raw foodist fashion, welcomed me with open arms. When I expressed interest in Rawsome! Café, Charles set me up with a ride to and from, allowed me to sit in on food preparation and converse with chef, Jim, and kitchen staff, Allan and Daniel (also all raw foodists).
Rawsome! Café, part of Phoenix’s only co-op health food store, Gentle Strength, is like a breath of life giving air. Natural sunlight and live guitar melodies flood the seven-table space, decorated with hand painted murals of fields, rivers and human kindness. Charles, himself, takes orders from behind the open counter, smiling and greeting almost everyone by name.
It was refreshing to dine in a raw restaurant that kept things simple and affordable. Rawsome!’s entrées use minimal spices to allow the wholesome flavor of the fresh living foods to come out. I myself enjoyed a flavorful celery soup with the most amazing nut cheese I have ever tasted on the side. As an entrée, I chose the sampler which included No-Bean Humus (made from zucchini), Dos Tacos (romaine lettuce filled with avocado and sun-dried tomato) and my favorite, two Teriyaki Nori Wraps (sunflower pate, cucumbers, sprouts and carrots wrapped in live nori seaweed), all on a generous bed of greens. My cast mates requested treats from Rawsome! Café, and it was a proud moment indeed watching the STOMPers savor the Not-Peanut Butter Pie (filled with bananas, topped with pumpkin seed butter, on a date-nut crust)---who knew rabbits enjoyed such decadence?!
Phoenix’s fun did not stop there however. The next day I found myself and twenty other raw foodists at a raw potluck/pool party, and later that weekend five of my new friends came to see me in STOMP. After the show a few of us decided to grab a glass of wine at a near by restaurant. Imagine four grown adults sitting down and ordering a plate of carrot sticks, celery, gucamole and lettuce.
Yes, the raw food lifestyle is completely natural, rational and normal. Now if somebody could just try explaining that to the Hooters waitress for me...
Sometimes as a raw foodist I have doubts. I see Starbucks on every corner as I hunt for organic blueberries. I am lovingly called a rabbit by my cast mates who still offer me pasta. I work out at gyms that sell Creatine drinks as a post-workout health enhancer.
But then I arrive in Phoenix, Arizona and in one weeks time, realize that there are many of us out there, we are easy to find, and our chosen raw lifestyle not only predates pizza, antibiotics and chicken pox, but is completely natural, rational and....normal.
I was lucky enough to again be a part of yet another raw food restaurant’s opening, this time at the sunny Rawsome! Café. Charles Mort, director of the said café and leader of Phoenix’s raw movement, knew me from online correspondences only, yet in true raw foodist fashion, welcomed me with open arms. When I expressed interest in Rawsome! Café, Charles set me up with a ride to and from, allowed me to sit in on food preparation and converse with chef, Jim, and kitchen staff, Allan and Daniel (also all raw foodists).
Rawsome! Café, part of Phoenix’s only co-op health food store, Gentle Strength, is like a breath of life giving air. Natural sunlight and live guitar melodies flood the seven-table space, decorated with hand painted murals of fields, rivers and human kindness. Charles, himself, takes orders from behind the open counter, smiling and greeting almost everyone by name.
It was refreshing to dine in a raw restaurant that kept things simple and affordable. Rawsome!’s entrées use minimal spices to allow the wholesome flavor of the fresh living foods to come out. I myself enjoyed a flavorful celery soup with the most amazing nut cheese I have ever tasted on the side. As an entrée, I chose the sampler which included No-Bean Humus (made from zucchini), Dos Tacos (romaine lettuce filled with avocado and sun-dried tomato) and my favorite, two Teriyaki Nori Wraps (sunflower pate, cucumbers, sprouts and carrots wrapped in live nori seaweed), all on a generous bed of greens. My cast mates requested treats from Rawsome! Café, and it was a proud moment indeed watching the STOMPers savor the Not-Peanut Butter Pie (filled with bananas, topped with pumpkin seed butter, on a date-nut crust)---who knew rabbits enjoyed such decadence?!
Phoenix’s fun did not stop there however. The next day I found myself and twenty other raw foodists at a raw potluck/pool party, and later that weekend five of my new friends came to see me in STOMP. After the show a few of us decided to grab a glass of wine at a near by restaurant. Imagine four grown adults sitting down and ordering a plate of carrot sticks, celery, gucamole and lettuce.
Yes, the raw food lifestyle is completely natural, rational and normal. Now if somebody could just try explaining that to the Hooters waitress for me...
Tea Party
July 12, 2003
Phoenix Fire
July 11, 2003
I was alone once in the middle of the desert. I was thirsty all the time, could drink no wine. Earth tones for breakfast, dry mouth for lunch, I knew of the danger when a bath cracked the skin.
I was thinking about transformation in the middle of the desert. How Fire devours fuel---a log becomes light. And heat.
How impatient, unpredictable, insatiable and wholly, this destruction/creation---in the name of transformation.
I was inspired to delirium in the middle of the desert. 115 at midday and turning to dust. Tucson in the south, burning like Summer. I danced when I learned to love like Fire.
I was thinking about transformation in the middle of the desert. How Fire devours fuel---a log becomes light. And heat.
How impatient, unpredictable, insatiable and wholly, this destruction/creation---in the name of transformation.
I was inspired to delirium in the middle of the desert. 115 at midday and turning to dust. Tucson in the south, burning like Summer. I danced when I learned to love like Fire.
A Week of Culture
July 10, 2003
A week of culture in NYC can change your life forever. Here are some of the events and people that changed mine.
- Not a class went by with Max Stone that I did not literally weep for the sheer joy of my chosen art form. Stone reminded me exactly why it is I dance, how good it feels to be in this body, and that I am not the only one who experiences the world this way. He teaches a mystical combination of modern and jazz to the unconventional sounds of Massive Attack, Dead Can Dance and the Deftones, at the very studio I was awarded the first ever Tap Scholarship from two years ago, STEPS on Broadway.
- All I could think of while watching Pilobolus Dance Theatre perform at the Joyce Theatre is how badly I wanted to be a part of this dangerously athletic and emotional work. Weight-sharing partnering is the defining element to this established 33 year old company’s choreography, complimented by an out-of-this-world original score of tribal ambient music. My next dream gig.
- Jen Webber is the artistic director of the all-woman hip-hop theatre company, Deca Dance Theatre, and just so happens to be one of my best friends. I stayed with Jen in her Brooklyn loft/dance studio/rehearsal space and had the pleasure of viewing her new project, Behind the Beat, and trading choreographic expertise. With pillows in tact, Jen schooled me on the fundamental break dance freezes (Headstands 101), and later on her roof top I shared some fire spinning basics---a truly artistic Brooklyn experience.
- Quintessence, Manhattan’s only exclusively raw vegan restaurant confirms that I am on the forefront of revolution, and not just another social misfit.
- My talented and extraordinarily handsome friend, Watt White, leads the metal/punk quartet, The SmashUp. Having never seen Watt live before, I paid The SmashUp a surprise visit at the Continental this week. In turn, The SmashUp surprised me by being one of those rare bands who are as at home in front of an audience as they are behind their instruments.
- High Vibe - It is important to support businesses you believe in. On all levels, let this be one.
- And of course, let’s not forget the most experimental of experiments, the most free of the liberated, the most kick-ass of companies and human beings ever, my NYC STOMPer friends!!! Richard, Raymond, Stephanie, Camille, Tomas, Marivaldo, and Dan performed last Sunday at the high-energy show I attended. How beautifully different the 350 seat house in the East Village is from the usual 2,000 seat houses on tour. How touching it is to see each and every audience members face, in awed rapture, so clearly. How meaningful even one drop of sweat becomes in a theatre that size. How special to feel that my friends were performing just for me.
We all, one family. Thank you, NYC.
- Not a class went by with Max Stone that I did not literally weep for the sheer joy of my chosen art form. Stone reminded me exactly why it is I dance, how good it feels to be in this body, and that I am not the only one who experiences the world this way. He teaches a mystical combination of modern and jazz to the unconventional sounds of Massive Attack, Dead Can Dance and the Deftones, at the very studio I was awarded the first ever Tap Scholarship from two years ago, STEPS on Broadway.
- All I could think of while watching Pilobolus Dance Theatre perform at the Joyce Theatre is how badly I wanted to be a part of this dangerously athletic and emotional work. Weight-sharing partnering is the defining element to this established 33 year old company’s choreography, complimented by an out-of-this-world original score of tribal ambient music. My next dream gig.
- Jen Webber is the artistic director of the all-woman hip-hop theatre company, Deca Dance Theatre, and just so happens to be one of my best friends. I stayed with Jen in her Brooklyn loft/dance studio/rehearsal space and had the pleasure of viewing her new project, Behind the Beat, and trading choreographic expertise. With pillows in tact, Jen schooled me on the fundamental break dance freezes (Headstands 101), and later on her roof top I shared some fire spinning basics---a truly artistic Brooklyn experience.
- Quintessence, Manhattan’s only exclusively raw vegan restaurant confirms that I am on the forefront of revolution, and not just another social misfit.
- My talented and extraordinarily handsome friend, Watt White, leads the metal/punk quartet, The SmashUp. Having never seen Watt live before, I paid The SmashUp a surprise visit at the Continental this week. In turn, The SmashUp surprised me by being one of those rare bands who are as at home in front of an audience as they are behind their instruments.
- High Vibe - It is important to support businesses you believe in. On all levels, let this be one.
- And of course, let’s not forget the most experimental of experiments, the most free of the liberated, the most kick-ass of companies and human beings ever, my NYC STOMPer friends!!! Richard, Raymond, Stephanie, Camille, Tomas, Marivaldo, and Dan performed last Sunday at the high-energy show I attended. How beautifully different the 350 seat house in the East Village is from the usual 2,000 seat houses on tour. How touching it is to see each and every audience members face, in awed rapture, so clearly. How meaningful even one drop of sweat becomes in a theatre that size. How special to feel that my friends were performing just for me.
We all, one family. Thank you, NYC.
Raw NYC
July 02, 2003
New York City.
How’s that for an opening? Here, I’ll try it again for emphasis (like the movies).
New York, New York.
Ahhh...
With a population of 8 million, no matter how elite, perverted or underground your interest, you will find others of like mind here. To my delight, I found myself twenty. Twenty east coast raw foodists sitting in a circle discussing their experiences and opinions about our shared lifestyle. The Caravan of Dreams in the East Village hosts a raw support group every Monday and I luckily found myself in the center of it my very first nite of lay-off. Mothers raising raw children (or not), overeating raw (is there such a thing?), and unsupportive social structures were just a few topics of open conversation. I met Donna, a beautiful raw woman who dehydrates live snacks for sale in her own New York kitchen, Roger, a vibrant man with many great perspectives on success, and was invited to a raw Cocoa party/ritual on Sunday by a raw tarot reader. Imagine my rapture.
Staying late to dine, may I just say what an exquisite job Caravan of Dreams is doing catering to their new clientele. With living appetizers, salads, entrées, smoothies and desserts, this otherwise vegan restaurant spoiled me with huge portions. I indulged in a gorgeous salad of dark greens with one open-face banana, two summer ripe tomato slices with live pesto, three dehydrated crackers with taco pate and no room for dessert. Caravan’s aged wood plank floors, dark bohemian décor and live pianist were only outdone by the intriguing company.
Today I enjoyed another raw first---New York City’s only entirely living cuisine restaurant, Quintessence. With three locations, I walked into the Upper West Side spot, being only blocks away from my old dance studio, STEPS on Broadway. Fresh marigolds on every table and a library of raw books available for reading, Quintessence’s prices are wonderfully affordable and the drinking water room temperature. A simple, clean, artistic atmosphere enhances one’s feeling of lightness, and if sea weed salad is any way to judge a restaurant (and I think it is), then Quintessence exceeds my expectations with their wakame in sesame sauce. My friend Brian’s raw Indian mali kotta was out of the ball park, but the organic fruit bowl glistening with blueberries, raspberries, mangos, apples, pears, strawberries and walnuts in a live vanilla crème was my personal favorite, warranting a seated "I Love Food" wiggle (you know what I am talking about).
With the exception of Mayor Bloomberg annihilating the city’s once innovative recycling program, New York City is ironically the most environmentally responsible community I have lived in. The produce may be imported, but there is no lack of high quality selection. The subway may be disgusting, but it saves thousands of tons of carbon monoxide from the air each year. Housing may be expensive and spaces small, but skyscrapers definitely aren’t suburban sprawl.
And tell me, what raw foodist wouldn’t love being in the center of any Big Apple?
How’s that for an opening? Here, I’ll try it again for emphasis (like the movies).
New York, New York.
Ahhh...
With a population of 8 million, no matter how elite, perverted or underground your interest, you will find others of like mind here. To my delight, I found myself twenty. Twenty east coast raw foodists sitting in a circle discussing their experiences and opinions about our shared lifestyle. The Caravan of Dreams in the East Village hosts a raw support group every Monday and I luckily found myself in the center of it my very first nite of lay-off. Mothers raising raw children (or not), overeating raw (is there such a thing?), and unsupportive social structures were just a few topics of open conversation. I met Donna, a beautiful raw woman who dehydrates live snacks for sale in her own New York kitchen, Roger, a vibrant man with many great perspectives on success, and was invited to a raw Cocoa party/ritual on Sunday by a raw tarot reader. Imagine my rapture.
Staying late to dine, may I just say what an exquisite job Caravan of Dreams is doing catering to their new clientele. With living appetizers, salads, entrées, smoothies and desserts, this otherwise vegan restaurant spoiled me with huge portions. I indulged in a gorgeous salad of dark greens with one open-face banana, two summer ripe tomato slices with live pesto, three dehydrated crackers with taco pate and no room for dessert. Caravan’s aged wood plank floors, dark bohemian décor and live pianist were only outdone by the intriguing company.
Today I enjoyed another raw first---New York City’s only entirely living cuisine restaurant, Quintessence. With three locations, I walked into the Upper West Side spot, being only blocks away from my old dance studio, STEPS on Broadway. Fresh marigolds on every table and a library of raw books available for reading, Quintessence’s prices are wonderfully affordable and the drinking water room temperature. A simple, clean, artistic atmosphere enhances one’s feeling of lightness, and if sea weed salad is any way to judge a restaurant (and I think it is), then Quintessence exceeds my expectations with their wakame in sesame sauce. My friend Brian’s raw Indian mali kotta was out of the ball park, but the organic fruit bowl glistening with blueberries, raspberries, mangos, apples, pears, strawberries and walnuts in a live vanilla crème was my personal favorite, warranting a seated "I Love Food" wiggle (you know what I am talking about).
With the exception of Mayor Bloomberg annihilating the city’s once innovative recycling program, New York City is ironically the most environmentally responsible community I have lived in. The produce may be imported, but there is no lack of high quality selection. The subway may be disgusting, but it saves thousands of tons of carbon monoxide from the air each year. Housing may be expensive and spaces small, but skyscrapers definitely aren’t suburban sprawl.
And tell me, what raw foodist wouldn’t love being in the center of any Big Apple?
