tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64334803159475101382024-03-05T15:37:50.080-05:00Blackberries to ApplesMeghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.comBlogger383125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-54839356454237570992012-01-31T10:26:00.000-05:002012-01-31T10:26:27.702-05:00new blog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Hey y'all. The time has come. Now announcing my new blog. I am <a href="http://thefashionyogi.tumblr.com/">The Fashion Yogi</a>. Please check it out + follow me if you like what you see! I'll be updating it regularly; my love of fashion and yoga are lifelong. I'm married to these shits. Hope you like!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-D04EKIyXCgvFWnZUlG9WI4LV5ogIh4ss3URdBw0pIniiO9xnx7YHwJ2BJPlL5SN527oodnbHnrsQuaguHyNQ0g5-lgKN75S0FtB1l_ri0eDdBHSLaF0-Xg7FJTvkYjt76jsJV1LUy1tu/s1600/c96c20de4c1e11e180c9123138016265_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-D04EKIyXCgvFWnZUlG9WI4LV5ogIh4ss3URdBw0pIniiO9xnx7YHwJ2BJPlL5SN527oodnbHnrsQuaguHyNQ0g5-lgKN75S0FtB1l_ri0eDdBHSLaF0-Xg7FJTvkYjt76jsJV1LUy1tu/s320/c96c20de4c1e11e180c9123138016265_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-70497223361636106532011-12-12T11:03:00.002-05:002011-12-12T11:05:24.076-05:00new beginnings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">This blog is now just over three years old - I started it on Nov. 30, 2008, when I bought my <a href="http://blackberriestoapples.blogspot.com/2008_11_01_archive.html">one-way ticket</a> to New York. It has been there every step of the way, documenting many of the funny, ridiculous, unbelievable, awful, painful, heartbreaking, heartwarming and otherwise necessary events that have brought me from being a 22-year-old girl to a woman of (nearly) 26. This year especially has been an incredible journey, from my discovering yoga to completing 200 hours of yoga teacher training, opening my heart and finally facing the wounds of my past while envisioning the future I want to create. I'm still very much on the path, not at all sure of where I'm heading, but very much sure that if I believe hard enough and visualize hard enough, I can co-create what I want for my life; namely, to inspire others with my journey, using whatever tools I have available to me. <br />
<br />
A good first step, I think, is creating a space where I can express myself in a beautiful, streamlined format. So I've used Cargo Collective to set up <a href="http://meghanblalock.com/">my very own site</a>. This blog will remain active, but I may not update it as much. Please check out the new space and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading and hangin' tough with me. Love.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh64m8dq_VPvdXwBl5yr49MO2PZziU9JLMjx7Kj9wB3wKgFGJ6pnwWDduwouvBgaq48TAfXx2UX0L9ABpnPZFp_L_sDGJapoJ9TpV_SKmUIIaegMQHRyHMPQMuuUlT5UCSvMZ9IvTwQXzfa/s1600/Meghan+Blalock+Full+Pigeon+Small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh64m8dq_VPvdXwBl5yr49MO2PZziU9JLMjx7Kj9wB3wKgFGJ6pnwWDduwouvBgaq48TAfXx2UX0L9ABpnPZFp_L_sDGJapoJ9TpV_SKmUIIaegMQHRyHMPQMuuUlT5UCSvMZ9IvTwQXzfa/s640/Meghan+Blalock+Full+Pigeon+Small.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">"Respond to every call that excites your spirit." -Rumi</span></span></i></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-8194509652520401672011-11-16T10:19:00.000-05:002011-11-16T10:19:28.842-05:00with love, will oldham<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6593lDAblLQesLPrEmxUF_jlmS_Ts0ce2jMSqOC8iCaTkDTYbCDA-ejWMkenRHFu-eZQDJr_l96ppRj-bF2fkVVtTcWus8RhNNGf_6arwYACh49gVR4HBFsmDRbtNB0nytRfabkUynQr/s1600/9ede2294100111e180c9123138016265_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6593lDAblLQesLPrEmxUF_jlmS_Ts0ce2jMSqOC8iCaTkDTYbCDA-ejWMkenRHFu-eZQDJr_l96ppRj-bF2fkVVtTcWus8RhNNGf_6arwYACh49gVR4HBFsmDRbtNB0nytRfabkUynQr/s400/9ede2294100111e180c9123138016265_7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody">The most important experiences we can have are those that take us to the very limit. That is the only way we learn, because it requires all our courage. - Paulo Coelho</span></span></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-2374263246435268992011-11-15T15:35:00.000-05:002011-11-15T15:35:10.760-05:00if only we could see<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">We are all<i> </i><a href="http://www.matterdaily.org/music/5-interview-with-will-oldham-qbonnie-prince-billyq.html">family</a>.<br />
<br />
"There’s a writer named Robert Johnson – he has no relation to the musician. His autobiography, I think it’s called <i>Balancing Heaven and Earth</i>. In it he describes, he had not much of a family structure growing up. And then as an adult he decided, 'Because I wasn’t given a family by birth doesn’t mean I can’t have one.' And so he began to nominally create his family and say, 'This person is my grandfather, this person is my uncle, this person is my brother,' with the idea being that these people, your family, are the unconditional ones. The ones that even when they do wrong, that’s when the rules go out the window. That’s when you embrace that person, even if that person has done what you might not accept in a friend or in a colleague. That you continue to support and, ideally, be supported by those people ... Because it does feel like when everything else falls apart that those relationships will be there and that they will stand tests of endurance that other relationships will not."<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;">- Bonnie Prince Billy </div><br />
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</div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-72346075105758665332011-11-13T21:28:00.004-05:002011-11-13T21:29:45.096-05:00on patience<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><h6 style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: small;">Stalactites hang from the ceiling. Stalagmites grow from the floor. All are fragile crystals, born from the sweat of rocks in the depth of caves etched into the mountains by water and time. Stalactites and stalagmites spend thousands of years reaching down or reaching up, drop by drop, searching for each other in the darkness. It takes some of them a million years to touch. </span></h6><h6 style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: small;">They are in no hurry.<br />
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-Edwardo Galeano</span></h6></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-65877068953316271692011-11-11T10:38:00.000-05:002011-11-11T10:38:51.674-05:00everything i know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I learned it from Bey.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/tKTCNnTULBk" width="420"></iframe><br />
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</div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-636646101146581262011-11-10T12:37:00.001-05:002011-11-10T12:39:16.225-05:00two nights, one city<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Sunday night I saw Jay-Z and Kanye at the Izod Center just over the state line in New Jersey. My dear friend Susan and I were in literally the last row of the arena. We got to our seats early and were like, this is fine! There was a little platform right behind our seats and we discussed our obvious plan to spend the entire concert dancing on it instead of remaining seated. We sat down and munched on some shitty concession stand food and were talking about art and life and stuff. I saw one of the arena's employees climbing the stairs toward us and I wondered why he was up so high. He approached us and asked how many people were in our group. We both said, just the two of us. He said, here you go. He handed us two floor seat tickets and told us to take the stairs down down down. I asked him why. He said, because I'm a nice guy. Sus and I just looked at each other in disbelief, then climbed down to our new seats, about 50 feet from the main stage and 30 feet from the stage in the audience. We discussed how the universe rewards being chill - how this never would have happened if we had been somehow unsatisfied with our nosebleed seats. To me, it was more a thrilling and poignant example of how the universe rewards gratitude with abundance. It was also appropriate because I feel that Jay-Z himself is a living, breathing example of what God can do. He is so inspiring to me. From selling crack in Harlem to selling out huge arenas - because of poetry. It was a religious experience for me. Forgive the wobbliness. I was dancing my ass off.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/fN4lDu9k15M" width="420"></iframe></div></div><br />
Then, the next night, I saw <a href="http://www.brandicarlile.com/">Brandi Carlile</a> at The Town Hall on 43rd street. It could not have been more opposite from the <i>Watch The Throne</i> show from the night before. The Town Hall is a fairly small venue, it was a solo acoustic show, just a woman with a guitar and an incredible voice. <a href="http://www.secretsistersband.com/">Two sisters</a> from Muscle Shoals, Alabama opened up for her. They did a song they wrote while they were on tour in Australia when the tornadoes destroyed so many lives in our home state, in April of this year. I started crying and I'm pretty sure I didn't stop for the rest of the show. This is the second time I've seen Brandi - she likes to do this thing on one of her songs where she divides the audience into three sections and we all sing a three-part harmony along with her. It's so beautiful. I recorded some of it with my phone.<br />
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</div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/KPzU2seZChU" width="420"></iframe></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-47888202472971078742011-11-08T18:05:00.002-05:002011-11-08T18:05:27.070-05:00unlock the cage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/mmWZOsVtqR0" width="420"></iframe></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-80118478902458736582011-11-04T15:08:00.002-04:002011-11-04T15:11:03.171-04:00life is beautiful<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Last week a good friend of mine sent me <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/06/08/090608po_poem_dunn">this poem</a>, which appeared in <i>The</i> <i>New Yorker </i>in June 2009. I loved it so much that I decided to send the author, <a href="http://www.stephendunnpoet.com/home.htm">Stephen Dunn</a>, a Pulitzer prize winner, a letter in the mail. I told him I had recently been introduced to his work and that I love his poem and told him thank you for writing it. My friend also sent a letter, separately. And today, we received his response!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_d2dKz-ji6Sdnj-3FS-n7jDuIfN9hCzSR-gtY4tpZBNNAjUVeuekJSS_kZld9d1tM15f3j_LM59JjHawt_2Kh4AmGtERhNgGhB2CyXyEb1fV7yqGJSOk63uQ2NlRsntorEB5nKVF1mnM/s1600/stephen+dunn+letter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_d2dKz-ji6Sdnj-3FS-n7jDuIfN9hCzSR-gtY4tpZBNNAjUVeuekJSS_kZld9d1tM15f3j_LM59JjHawt_2Kh4AmGtERhNgGhB2CyXyEb1fV7yqGJSOk63uQ2NlRsntorEB5nKVF1mnM/s400/stephen+dunn+letter.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Dear Chris + Meghan,</i><br />
<i>Very sweet of both of you to write to me about my work. Know that it matters to me, and that I'm grateful.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Sincerely,</i><br />
<i>Stephen Dunn</i></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-70539838909964584322011-10-25T11:57:00.001-04:002011-10-25T11:58:14.112-04:00God is Love, and Love is God<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">This is hard to watch. But it's beautiful and I think it is very insightful about Love - the real kind, the Divine kind, the unconditional kind. Can we learn to love each other like our dogs love us? Can we learn to accept our pasts, forgive all those versions of our Selves that betrayed us, and bathe in the light of Love?<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/8191217?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="400"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/8191217">Last Minutes with ODEN</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user814889">phos pictures</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">"That guy that was in prison - it's been ten years - I don't really even know who he was. To tell you the truth, I don't even think like him. I look back and think of the guy that was - it was just some poor, pathetic guy. He wasn't even really tough or crazy, just some pathetic guy who made a lot of decisions based on fear. A whole life based on fear, and smoke and screens - it was a real dark time in my life. I wasn't taking care of myself spiritually at the time. I really couldn't, I don't think, I wasn't willing to. I don't know if I was able to. I needed to go through what I needed to go through, and [Oden] was there the whole way through me, man. From the beginning to end, completely unjudgmental. He would just lay next to me like it was another day. And he knew when I was hurtin'.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">He showed me through his example how to Love, and I Loved him. I don't think I showed him how to Love, I think he showed me how to Love. It may sound crazy, but it was like some universal job; God gave him some job to do here, to take care of people. "</div></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-78166817622912081172011-10-25T10:51:00.003-04:002011-10-25T12:46:03.549-04:00birdhouse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.5027483859013032" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Hush, restless heart.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Quiet down, reckless heart.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Still the flapping of your wild wings,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">and rest a moment in my hand,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">so I may tend your wounds with my grace and forgiveness.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">For I know you have sinned,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">and I know your desperation. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I know your rooms filled with longing,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">and then your rooms filled with dust,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">and especially I know</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">those brimming with Love and Sorrow.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But for now I’m interested in the rooms I don’t know at all,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">those with locked doors and shuttered windows.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Invisible to everyone and to me,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">they open as I sleep</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">and close up again when I awake.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">So hush now, careless heart,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">and be still -</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I’m after</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">a lock </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">that turns.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-446689157206471902011-10-22T21:17:00.002-04:002011-10-22T21:27:04.872-04:00on Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyEzIAV799k0ZBum8iOWhDLJXouAI5MjXW6Pz3YIvNRUtZZ_W62MPIoFDJDYx-diSuh60SgClT06-msCxtf9bRUNCxU2Qg8aIV8VbyXSN08AuAdrpbo_x-DNstR0MJHa9aF1WYJYVjngv2/s1600/FredTomaselli%252BExpecting%252Bto%252BFly%252B2002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia,' Times New Roman',' Times',' serif';"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,Palatino;">If you want a loving relationship in your life and can't figure out why one is eluding you, remember this: you can either choose Love or choose fear. When you choose Love your options <i>narrow</i> because you have chosen to walk a narrower path of trusting your intuition and feelings over the five senses ... And if you have Love this means you must give it away with no expectation of return. Any expectation of return is not love, but the fear of not having love creeping back in ... Trust that you are perfect Love in this moment and only allow in a person that resonates on this vibration. <br />
<br />
The Truth is that finding True Love is effortless for those who sit in Trust that they already have everything that could ever be sought after. This Trust will attract a person who is equally fulfilled; <i> </i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia,' Times New Roman',' Times',' serif';"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,Palatino;"><i>this is the only type of person capable of Love, one who has Love to give away.</i></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia,' Times New Roman',' Times',' serif';"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,Palatino;">- Jackson Kiddard </span></span></span></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-64766401471436288062011-10-18T23:27:00.002-04:002011-10-18T23:28:39.125-04:00well this really drives it home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I hate when people ask what a book is about. People who read for plot, people who suck out the story like the cream filling in an Oreo, should stick to comic strips and soap operas . . . </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Every book worth a damn is about emotions and love and death and pain. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It's about words. It's about a man dealing with life. Okay?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>- J.R. Moehringer</i></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-16156191226505354532011-10-18T12:08:00.000-04:002011-10-18T12:08:55.485-04:00my little rainy mornin prayer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">May I always believe in magic and miracles and God's grace, until my last breath. If I ever stop believing in these things in the core of my Self, may I die soon thereafter, for life will no longer be worth living. May I then be granted a fresh go at it. May I remember that I will die, and may this recollection give me Courage. May I release the physicality of things so that even when it appears that my beloveds are absent, I may know that they are on their way to me, or - when I am mindful enough to pay attention - already abiding in my heart. May I be ever compassionate and kind toward others, no matter how difficult I find it to overcome my own suffering. May I recognize that every other creature is also suffering and striving for happiness, and may I reach beyond my pain to try to help others overcome theirs. May I always live in Love and may my heart never become bitter or angry. May I always be able to laugh at myself. May I always acknowledge the universe's abundance and be grateful. May my Love always conquer my Fear. May I always keep the Faith. May I wish all of this not just for myself but for all living beings. Amen.</div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-69085949223648241442011-10-16T10:00:00.003-04:002011-10-16T10:00:03.526-04:00share this with someone you love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/va1t6a0zCkQ" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
the laughing heart<br />
<br />
<i>your life is your life<br />
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.<br />
be on the watch.<br />
there are ways out.<br />
there is a light somewhere.<br />
it may not be much light but<br />
it beats the darkness.<br />
be on the watch.<br />
the gods will offer you chances.<br />
know them.<br />
take them.<br />
you can’t beat death but<br />
you can beat death in life, sometimes.<br />
and the more often you learn to do it,<br />
the more light there will be.<br />
your life is your life.<br />
know it while you have it.<br />
you are marvelous<br />
the gods wait to delight<br />
in you.</i><br />
<br />
- charles bukowski <i></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
PS <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKSJEv5wRF8&feature=related">this one</a> is also incredible.<i><br />
</i></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-35708534490657861002011-10-13T10:01:00.001-04:002011-10-13T10:01:47.598-04:00truth + light<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="color: black; font-family: Times-New-Roman; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><i><i>Too often we do not say what we are feeling in our hearts and we hold back our true words of love, courage and compassion that should be said. When you become courageous enough to express the Truth of how you are really feeling, you set yourself free and align with the vibration of your Truth. This is when miracles, synchronicities and amazing things begin to happen. </i></i></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times-New-Roman; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times-New-Roman; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><i><i>At first it might be a little rough, because you are clearing out everything that isn't true for you. But it's my promise to you, dear friend, that once you've reached a clean slate, your Truth will set you free, your Truth will make you happy and your Truth will always provide for you. My biggest promise to you is that your Truth will deliver a life greater than you have imagined. All you have to do is let go of what is not true for you and let in what is.</i></i></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times-New-Roman; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times-New-Roman; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">-Jackson Kiddard, yogi+writer+lover </span></div><div></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times-New-Roman; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times-New-Roman; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times-New-Roman; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I really need to just get a tumblr. Mostly now I just re-post others' words + insights. As of late I'm struggling with organizing my own.</span></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-36679745285481394792011-10-03T10:30:00.001-04:002011-10-03T12:55:49.327-04:00still amazed i didn't lose it<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">My eyes fell on the colorful copy of <i>Love in the Time of Cholera</i> as if it were the only book on the table. I was on St. Mark's and it was raining. This old man had set up his table of books under an awning. I saw the book, passed it by and made it about 10 feet before I turned around and walked back.<br />
<br />
I picked it up and turned it over in my hands, feeling the gloss of the cover slide against my damp skin and allowing the pages to pour one by one across my fingertips. I asked the old man how much it was, and he said seven dollars. I told him I had six, and a $20 bill, hoping he would read between the lines and give me the book for $6. Instead he took my $20 and gave me $3 in return. He still owed me $10, but he only had two $20 bills left in his wallet and he said, wait here, I'll go get your change. He handed me the book and told me to stand by the table, and that if I sold anything he would take a dollar off the price of my book. As he walked away I felt a little uneasy twinge in my stomach, a pang from my past self, the fear that maybe this stranger would take my $20 and never return with my change. But as I stood there alone with my half-purchased book, I looked out over the piles of paperbacks and realized he had just left a wanderer with his entire table of wares. Trust is funny that way: it's only hard when you look at it as a one-sided thing. Which it never is.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>When he returned with my money, he thanked me and called me beautiful, shook my hand and asked me my name. He said, I'm Marshall and I'm here every Saturday. I said, only Saturday? He said, Saturday's about all I can take.<br />
<br />
He said, let me know what you think of the book, I think you'll really like it, it's wonderful.</div><div></div><div><br />
I said, I will.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div></div><div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="25" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/rUJCMJk6qws" width="560"></iframe></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-30038006170566369142011-09-29T11:41:00.000-04:002011-09-29T11:41:28.233-04:00the possible meaning of 42<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Thanks, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/13676928110297819368">Chuck</a>.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"There are three totally different kinds of humans on the Earth, meaning that they perceive the One reality in three different ways, interpreted differently. The first kind of human has a chromosome composition of <b> 42+2</b>. They comprise a unity consciousness that does not see anything outside themselves as being separate from themselves. To them, there is only one energy - one life, one beingness that moves everywhere. Anything happening anywhere is within them, as well. They are like cells in the body. They are all connected to a single consciousness that moves through all of them. These are the aboriginals in Australia. There might be a few African tribes left like this. Then, there is our level, comprising 44+2 chromosomes. We are a disharmonic level of consciousness that is used as a steppingstone from the 42+2 level to the next level, 46+2 ... These two additional chromosomes change everything... The main change will be a shift to the "unity consciousness". Every cell in your body has its own consciousness and memory. You, the higher being that occupies your body, make the millions of different consciousnesses in your body work together as one being ... Think of yourself as a cell and the grid as the higher being. We will still have individual consciousness, but will be united in the form of a higher being in order to work as one entity." - <a href="http://www.v-j-enterprises.com/drunledg.html">Drunvalo Melchizadek</a></i><i> </i></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-61343539538496980402011-09-28T17:51:00.001-04:002011-09-28T17:53:50.347-04:00the number 42 is haunting me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzCU1xGgk9zSbZf7oQlkAqmZNgpRWCwWPIvRU0_mdnAP1rJ8q2ypcTOZcv9k4EJqNpuTZKpwupiKgpvz-bO_m4EpRJN2E_C7ShHd-zXLgirvlpmTuLgI2vYhjuxWnIfKDH4qsO_4J8PaLQ/s1600/Picture+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzCU1xGgk9zSbZf7oQlkAqmZNgpRWCwWPIvRU0_mdnAP1rJ8q2ypcTOZcv9k4EJqNpuTZKpwupiKgpvz-bO_m4EpRJN2E_C7ShHd-zXLgirvlpmTuLgI2vYhjuxWnIfKDH4qsO_4J8PaLQ/s640/Picture+4.png" width="420" /></a></div><br />
I see it everywhere/all the time here recently. I look at the clock at exactly :42. It's (seemingly) randomly included in Facebook comments directed at me without the commenter's knowledge of my relationship with this number. It pops up on website error messages, in flight itineraries, in phone numbers. What does it mean? Also, I just learned <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/7283155.stm">this</a> last week. Weird.</div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-67971722249377404862011-09-27T11:10:00.001-04:002011-09-27T11:29:15.348-04:00fall beginnings: a mood board<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/62VEFgV92GE" width="560"></iframe></div><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWwyG47TzVvtwc2AAsBZqhG-DR9NqEdzwTqLDuj7zWLiwKLQCt1lSl7BaNy7vfyL6SW3dhEqo9NfOPmfFT-3HnSRge3DiUx5AFgshNlYRJ-kRcZ3k2o85cz5mbDLNtDJN5MhYfT2N8Ybq3/s1600/ham+sa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWwyG47TzVvtwc2AAsBZqhG-DR9NqEdzwTqLDuj7zWLiwKLQCt1lSl7BaNy7vfyL6SW3dhEqo9NfOPmfFT-3HnSRge3DiUx5AFgshNlYRJ-kRcZ3k2o85cz5mbDLNtDJN5MhYfT2N8Ybq3/s400/ham+sa.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>I wrote this in my journal in 2009, way before I ever did yoga.</i></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-0qbzyK_eBOG0sCJp6N97ptNbyR70vvMA7o263tsQb8PaGIJ4rbmUlNHNfI07yuWw61AkAYtoordzRJyH_i_DC4q42W0h4aYmA-Z2dwg9SrkeqV11ppsNLabOio3dZmH5aKkXZqL7yTS/s1600/back.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-0qbzyK_eBOG0sCJp6N97ptNbyR70vvMA7o263tsQb8PaGIJ4rbmUlNHNfI07yuWw61AkAYtoordzRJyH_i_DC4q42W0h4aYmA-Z2dwg9SrkeqV11ppsNLabOio3dZmH5aKkXZqL7yTS/s400/back.JPG" width="296" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoa0PNxXMW6QOOnAA-8NWh0IXIgQI-SQGwLdKLVIwXf8INc3HtZaNXlpRSLpYRj-3kkEnCRGZFM2VeLgGnn-ZwBS-unww-JKk5TyGG3l8oKZP_Imu9APFvDSxGpTvAKjrPJBrUXz0th8q4/s1600/enjoy+life.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoa0PNxXMW6QOOnAA-8NWh0IXIgQI-SQGwLdKLVIwXf8INc3HtZaNXlpRSLpYRj-3kkEnCRGZFM2VeLgGnn-ZwBS-unww-JKk5TyGG3l8oKZP_Imu9APFvDSxGpTvAKjrPJBrUXz0th8q4/s400/enjoy+life.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzOZmwpV05W8vEeQb36aTOiKAH6L7BEcNTy8SpZW-HavHzZ66JOin_mJ9sUJ-3fffqsSdCc-s5FRXB0zgtHPDmaZQUkV3Wngga_d01HnvInpyl_WwfFlrFAY2FZBDkA0XY-yqysxG_A8hv/s1600/boots+are+important.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzOZmwpV05W8vEeQb36aTOiKAH6L7BEcNTy8SpZW-HavHzZ66JOin_mJ9sUJ-3fffqsSdCc-s5FRXB0zgtHPDmaZQUkV3Wngga_d01HnvInpyl_WwfFlrFAY2FZBDkA0XY-yqysxG_A8hv/s400/boots+are+important.JPG" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>these boots are my soulmates.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qpnMxDNMBRQuM40qayBZ4AFwSv_oDZakT87QP4CCqUNucm0uAMA47miR48a2u8d8h3VFOceBs98obcpPOaMIsllTmSx8chuPgJW9e7WMld42-HzzFC7Sfhn-5xMg0vzdhDYaHY2kVS6B/s1600/moral+absolutism.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qpnMxDNMBRQuM40qayBZ4AFwSv_oDZakT87QP4CCqUNucm0uAMA47miR48a2u8d8h3VFOceBs98obcpPOaMIsllTmSx8chuPgJW9e7WMld42-HzzFC7Sfhn-5xMg0vzdhDYaHY2kVS6B/s400/moral+absolutism.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlffb3nkwxrb_sdJURkBmTss6WANzubx7JPvkbu9vSE_AbQOexE41ukUydw1Z_KosY15Zbmm94ML3i8sEf8Zfek4cL8qZWv_ih3_2fJmoYktsHgJcE9xXZ-NxnZmUPQb1KnT1GjqPq98M/s1600/tangled+up+in+blue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlffb3nkwxrb_sdJURkBmTss6WANzubx7JPvkbu9vSE_AbQOexE41ukUydw1Z_KosY15Zbmm94ML3i8sEf8Zfek4cL8qZWv_ih3_2fJmoYktsHgJcE9xXZ-NxnZmUPQb1KnT1GjqPq98M/s400/tangled+up+in+blue.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8Nj2UrFbX3DMgeoPDbVurc4m3fP7zgi_vCWKCXVUrlHc-WAYRBHni2Z0C9fOw24CssbRJd5z8CLUFOjQXVdE_bXwL07bHmVEMycFAE00_1pxEEgi1IcgpzqVfGfdTYH3koiD-QVmujDa/s1600/bruce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8Nj2UrFbX3DMgeoPDbVurc4m3fP7zgi_vCWKCXVUrlHc-WAYRBHni2Z0C9fOw24CssbRJd5z8CLUFOjQXVdE_bXwL07bHmVEMycFAE00_1pxEEgi1IcgpzqVfGfdTYH3koiD-QVmujDa/s400/bruce.jpg" width="300" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>I’ve learned to ask myself one question when I’m trying to decide whether or not I should take a role. Because I’ve come to learn that the decisions that I sweat over, that I labor over, and that I ask everybody’s opinions and I make lists, positive and negative - the answer in that situation should always be no. I’ve learned to make a decision by asking myself one question: <b>What does my heart yearn for?</b> It’s simplified my life in a way I can’t describe. I think that’s the single best piece of advice I’ve ever had in my life. Because your head can be your own worst enemy.</i></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4wPA3TMK_w4yJ6B4uiO13tIa-DrdRcaUy0w_JA2fTo5CUwXiq_nA1qZ-UvQuil3Nhxl-9w7rfw1dlWly1iCnj_0Zqfn6W5Kmzzim_ZpBHX0K3lu6MFoUuAHr8x23V9vod8afYp7r_WC14/s1600/me+on+a+wood+fence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4wPA3TMK_w4yJ6B4uiO13tIa-DrdRcaUy0w_JA2fTo5CUwXiq_nA1qZ-UvQuil3Nhxl-9w7rfw1dlWly1iCnj_0Zqfn6W5Kmzzim_ZpBHX0K3lu6MFoUuAHr8x23V9vod8afYp7r_WC14/s1600/me+on+a+wood+fence.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwdlQdyNhIg-88VyGfvlVzm-872sW-nP4qoQzTy3GRMvIWd6aGoiBG5x8ymlJzLxX2XOgfczRNvtBWp8uUOujjMgU0Nt-9oFPkvuuDyiYBnScpAwj27WPR72HVcPT-PQfZevxKkdxci77M/s1600/me+smelling+the+flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwdlQdyNhIg-88VyGfvlVzm-872sW-nP4qoQzTy3GRMvIWd6aGoiBG5x8ymlJzLxX2XOgfczRNvtBWp8uUOujjMgU0Nt-9oFPkvuuDyiYBnScpAwj27WPR72HVcPT-PQfZevxKkdxci77M/s1600/me+smelling+the+flowers.jpg" /></a> </div></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-49362823379145290002011-09-26T10:30:00.000-04:002011-09-26T10:30:00.738-04:00on yoga<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The big thing with me lately is that the past is present as I'm working to manifest my future. I've always thought of the past as the past and the present as the present and the future as the future, but I'm learning that things aren't often as simple as that. This straight line of chronology through which we all think we move is not so straight at times - it bouncily doubles over on itself like a seat in a movie theater, it loops around and sometimes it pauses in a space that feels like it's outside of time altogether. I suppose I've always "known" my past experiences are part of my present, because they've led me to this moment - but never in my life has my past been such a tangible presence. Never has my own understanding confused me so much.<br />
<br />
It seems that my yoga studio - or, more likely, the yoga itself - is a wormhole to the past. Near the end of my training as a teacher, with my heart as wide open as it had been since before I moved to New York, I thought about A, in passing. (<a href="http://blackberriestoapples.blogspot.com/search/label/A">Remember</a>?) It was a Saturday evening. I was walking from the studio in the East Village to meet a friend for drinks in the West Village. I thought, "I wonder what I would do if I ran into A in the city." I watched myself have the thought, wistfully interested in why I was thinking about this man who (I thought) broke my heart, and whom I had not even passively considered in more than a year's time. I also asked myself why I was thinking <i>that</i> thought specifically, when (at least as far as I knew) he doesn't live in New York. Piggybacking on that thought, more thoughts bubbled to the surface, and memories from the time we shared together, and then I found myself thrashing at my covers, trying to shake him out, wondering why the fuck all these images still live within me when I so unequivocally banished them.<br />
<br />
A sort of bizarre sequence of events led to us having a conversation, A and I. He told me he had been in the city the day I thought of him. I had no way of knowing he was here that day, nor did I have a reason to think what I thought. He also told me he thought the same thing about me when he was here, what he would do if he ran into me. Synchronicity. Since that conversation there has been a revolution in my heart, a sort of open-chest surgery I'm performing on myself, blindfolded.<br />
<br />
Then the other day, I taught class at the studio. After class a student approached me. She said I looked very familiar to her and asked me where I'm from. I told her Birmingham, Alabama. She said her too. She asked me my name. I told her, and as my name escaped my lips, I recognized in her a glimmer of a young face I once knew. I said her name as she told it to me. She went to my middle and high school. She was a grade above me, and we were never close friends, but I remember her because she was always performing and singing at school concerts and plays. We talked for a while and she told me she moved to the city just two days after me, on Jan. 1, 2009, to pursue a career in theater. She told me she had also just done a show down in Virginia. I befriended her on the book of faces, and learned that she is friends with another actor friend of mine who I just visited in Virginia last weekend. And so the past folds in on itself, and that fold folds in on itself again, like one of those wooden Chinese toys where you hold the end of a chain of blocks that tumble over each other repeatedly in an irrational way, clink clink clink clink clink.<br />
<br />
For the past year or so my actions have largely been fueled by the belief that a higher power is guiding me to a destiny of its design, but lately I'm considering the possibility that I was born, that we are all born, to find and courageously follow our own hearts - that our hearts <i>are </i>our destinies. For me, yoga is a portal to my heart. Everything that comes along with that - past, present, and future - all present themselves to me, in ways I never conceived. Yoga helps me harness the power to transform all three, however I see fit.<br />
<br />
Today I practiced yoga and the woman next to me in class had a tattoo on her forearm that read, "You have everything you need." And I think it's true. <br />
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</div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-2294868957408313162011-09-21T10:11:00.001-04:002011-09-21T10:14:06.790-04:00on my heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcRIZ8dWtiKok5k5jKFcdHdbBBILkY_4FyQXLl1__Lm6GjEkreMGODk0WHXY97llEhqn5Wa_PyjeI_wA801ub09MGz-IWRbsfLfa0HgZ4IMYguMq0TGNKTey70qMPTk2S8Z52GD0w9VYD/s1600/ceb0b6aea47548a3b1fde599a10aa073_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcRIZ8dWtiKok5k5jKFcdHdbBBILkY_4FyQXLl1__Lm6GjEkreMGODk0WHXY97llEhqn5Wa_PyjeI_wA801ub09MGz-IWRbsfLfa0HgZ4IMYguMq0TGNKTey70qMPTk2S8Z52GD0w9VYD/s400/ceb0b6aea47548a3b1fde599a10aa073_7.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.11277339266033182" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The thing about the human heart is that, like the earth, it is much deeper than most of us immediately give it credit for. Sometimes we plant seeds in its soil, and the stems grow, and the flowers blossom for a time, and then the winter freeze rolls in and we know that those tender petals we once caressed to life are dead and gone. We imagine them reabsorbed into our very being to be re-distributed for another use, another season, galvanizing us against the next winter, whenever it may come. And then a strange turn of events can reveal to us, still </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.11277339266033182" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">swaying in the wind and reaching for the sun, </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.11277339266033182" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">the garden we long took for dead.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The discovery can be so shocking that it casts a new light on everything that’s happened in our lives since we first thought we laid our garden to rest. Maybe everything we’ve done since that moment has led us to this singular re-discovery. Maybe all the work, all the growth, all the choices, the mistakes - maybe it was all some cosmic plan to till the soil of our hearts, to ready us for the season of harvest. It's been said that an insight the size of a mustard seed can bring down a mountain-sized illusion that's holding our lives together. It’s at this point that maybe the anger comes, the protest - we thought we knew ourselves so well. We thought we had sufficiently healed the heartbreak that came when we turned our backs on those blooms, casting them in a shadow to ensure their demise. How dare they continue to thrive in the darkness, and how dare they reveal themselves to us again, now.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s not like we’ve been miserable. We’ve been the opposite of miserable - we’ve discovered levels of joy and exhilaration beyond what we believed possible. We’ve gotten to know ourselves better than ever before, we’ve grown to love ourselves more than we ever considered permissible. We’ve been so happy we cried and cried so much we laughed. We’ve gotten healthier, we’ve gotten stronger, we've gained understanding. We’ve learned, we've loved. Which is why this discovery is all the more unsettling. How could we, </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> in our happiness, </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">have been so unaware of the truth? Where was our secret garden this whole time?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">So the problem becomes what we do with what we’ve found. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Do we simply sit and observe for a while? </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Do we pick the buds and string them purposefully through our hair as it grows long? Do we water them, thereby encouraging them to grow taller? Do we one-by-one yank them out by their roots, painstakingly making room for some new breed to grow in their place? The whole venture becomes increasingly absurd and unreasonable - we begin to legitimately question our sanity, and we feel so painfully alone, as if we're sure that no one else in the history of the world has ever felt this way - it's too foreign, too strange. None of it makes any sense. We might ask ourselves, we might ask the universe, we might ask God: what is this trickery? What is going on? We feel like an old piece of rock being polished - run through a spinning buffer and then tossed around in a river with no banks in sight. But why? What is this strange alchemy? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The answer, of course, is Love. The answer is always Love. And if Love isn’t the answer, we’re probably not asking the right questions. Love isn’t black and white, it isn’t linear. It doesn’t fit inside any </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">chronological</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> framework we’ve created to interpret the events of our lives. It doesn’t adhere to the rules we’ve written for ourselves, nor does it acknowledge the density of the walls we've built. It doesn’t implore us to focus on the bad times, only on the good. Or, rather, it humbly turns our attention to all times equally. Winter, spring, summer, and fall are all the same in the eyes of Love. A field of flowers is the same as a field blanketed in the thickest snow.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Someone planted in me the seeds of Love long ago, and it took learning this lesson for me to finally see them begin to mature: in loving others, </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">I am actually loving parts of my own heart, a perennial garden of buds only beginning to break through the ice of a long and stealthy frost. The polishing continues. </span></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-24936927713934837372011-09-20T07:00:00.000-04:002011-09-20T07:00:10.318-04:00the original you and i<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMShkzfqwNKsisgjFuH4eh-HoEaeOJr53quGuIqj6uVZdlLAX2txefsrU50wne20_VUnwadoTWKx-wzmUpECyJtQ2CPJRIgnNUMwmcec60Bh5xo_JmGvwwUdR5edvmf6xoYxcd-RT4w2W8/s1600/6140023302_fc2041be84_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMShkzfqwNKsisgjFuH4eh-HoEaeOJr53quGuIqj6uVZdlLAX2txefsrU50wne20_VUnwadoTWKx-wzmUpECyJtQ2CPJRIgnNUMwmcec60Bh5xo_JmGvwwUdR5edvmf6xoYxcd-RT4w2W8/s640/6140023302_fc2041be84_o.jpg" width="444" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What June did for me was post signs along the way, lift me when I was weak, encourage me when I was discouraged, and love me when I was alone and felt unlovable. She is the greatest woman I have ever known. Nobody else, except my mother, comes close. <span class="quote">June said she knew me – knew the kernel of me, deep inside, beneath the drugs and deceit and despair and anger and selfishness, and knew my loneliness. She said she could help me. She said we were soulmates, she and I, and that she would fight for me with all her might, however she could. She did that by being my companion, friend, and lover, and by praying for me. June is a prayer warrior like none I’ve known.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i>We connect somewhere between here and heaven.</i></i></div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-11496725417423139882011-09-11T18:13:00.001-04:002011-09-11T22:38:49.928-04:00in memoriam<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I walked from the East Village to Bryant Park today, where <a href="http://blog.bryantpark.org/2011/09/from-archive-911-revisited.html"><i>A Tribute 9/11</i></a> has been set up for the past few days. There are 2,753 empty chairs on the lawn, one to represent each person killed on 9/11. It is quite eerie and beautiful.<br />
<br />
An interactive public art project called <i>Collective Memory </i>included<i> </i>a pool of typists set up at a table each day from 12:30 to 2:30, recording people's responses to the question, <i>What would you like the world to remember about 9/11?</i> I didn't get to the park until around 4 today, so I missed the typists, but there was one lone typewriter still there, and I sat down to write. Someone is collecting the writings and will eventually display some of them at the 9/11 Memorial and Museum. You can also see them <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bryantpark/sets/72157627616789514/">here</a>. <br />
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</div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6433480315947510138.post-447887038045094822011-09-06T12:35:00.000-04:002011-09-06T12:35:28.839-04:00on 91st street<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div></div>All the leaves said,<div>"Just wait."</div><div>I felt you push the wind </div><div>through them </div><div>as they trembled.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So I will wait</div><div>under their gentle cover,</div><div>allowing the sun to warm my skin</div><div>and the rain to bathe it,</div><div> </div><div>season after season,</div><div>until the snow comes.</div><div><br />
</div></div>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041411520313369470noreply@blogger.com0