The Truth

What is the truth?
A perception
A feeling
A created reality
The space that exists
Between you and me
You say I’m toxic
I think I’m healthy
Which one of us can’t see?

Is truth what exists
When there is silence
When the mind is quiet
If the mind is ever quiet
How can we find it

Our truths are not the same
One persons truth
Is anothers pain
Is there one truth?
Is there one right way?

Sometimes I think I know
Other times it’s grey
So many stories
So many lives
The mind is powerful
But sometimes it lies

Have you ever been lost
In your own mind?
Maybe I create my truth
It may bend a little to connect
With you
The more I experience
The more I question what’s true
It feels like questioning
Is the right thing to do

I decide
What’s right
But I can always change my mind
Perhaps the truth doesn’t exist
Or maybe it’s just hard to find

We are all living separate truths
In our own lives
The writers of history
The makers of time
But what is mine?

Beirut

A city of beauty and destruction, humor and sadness, growth and stagnation. Where green and red lights mean maybe, and the only thing needed to cross the street is confidence. I’ll admit it, I was afraid of you at first. Fear dissipates with experience, familiarity.

Continue reading “Beirut”

Kingston

Cars speed past me, I stumble on the rocky resemblance of a sidewalk as I navigate my way through Kingston. Keep your bag close I’m told. “Hey Princess”, a guy calls to me, where are you from? He grabs my hand, kisses it, and I walk on. Sweat. Sweat is dripping down my face. I’ve not stop sweating since I arrived nearly a week ago. Jamaica is hot, Kingston is intense, smoldering, crowded; absolutely opposite of the remote Long Bay beach town I came from. I wanted to see Kingston, it’s just that I don’t know what to do with myself in this unwalkable, dusty madness. Continue reading “Kingston”

I Think I Can

What did I get myself into? How did I end up here? Providence, Rhode Island. Brown. Reoccurring thoughts cart-wheel through my busy mind as I kick up crispy orange/yellow leaves scattered about the old New England campus. The truth is – it’s hard. I’m struggling. When I’m having a hard time, I don’t write. Because what if you knew that I doubted myself? That I questioned if I’m smart enough and capable enough to be here? Maybe I am if I believe I am. Some days I do and others I don’t, but I show up anyway. Continue reading “I Think I Can”

Vipassana

Vipassana – to see things as they really are.

I sit on a cushion in a low lit room with my eyes closed. My whole body tingles and I am weightless, completely unaware of the outside world, and even the other 30 something people sitting around me. What am I feeling? Change. Everything changes, constantly. I feel the particles my body is made up of change every second, my thoughts change, my feelings change. Non attachment and equanimity is what I’m seeking. Equanimity with every sensation I feel, not attaching to it, not avoiding it. Continue reading “Vipassana”

Silence

Yes, I know, I stopped writing. I’ve started countless posts that I’ve abandoned halfway through. I went to Greece with the passionate intention to write about my experience, it’s just that, I’m not sure how to verbalize it, how to share it. I arrived in Leros and jumped into an exciting, emotional, overwhelming, and sad tornado that consumed me until the moment I boarded a tiny plane back to Athens. It’s taken me a few weeks of aimlessly wandering around Europe to sort it all out. Continue reading “Silence”

Barbed Wire

Barbed WIre

Barbed wire. Fences and barbed wire. A cement court surrounded by imposing fences and barbed wire. A policed metal gate opens up to gravel, concrete, metal containers and barbed wire. A military truck dumps crates of bread on the slab of concrete surrounded by barbed wire – breakfast. Children run around on the gravel, playing on rocks in the confined, fenced-in camp. All I see is barbed wire. Surely this is a prison. No? A refugee camp you call it. Hotspot, a prison to some – Syrians, Kurds, Palestinians, Iranians, Pakistanis a refugee camp to others. A border, separation.  Continue reading “Barbed Wire”

Queen of the Castle

Sunday morning I wake up with a busy mind and a desire to get lost. I grab a cappuccino freddo and set out on foot towards a distant castle, somewhere on the island. Dodging motorbikes, I ascend a road along the edge of a cliff, looking down at the maze of houses below, stretching out to the ocean. Indeed I get lost, looking for a path that will lead me to the castle. After making countless wrong turns, I realize the path I’m looking for isn’t a road, but a narrow staircase pathway. What seemingly is an entrance to a house is really a secret stairway leading to a quaint village on a beach. Continue reading “Queen of the Castle”

POC, Refugee, Resident

Seemingly, everyone I’ve met since landing in Athens has an opinion about the refugee crisis in Greece – locals, Uber drivers, NGO’s, police, and refugees themselves. Opinions are freely shared with me once I disclose what I’m doing here (teaching yoga in a refugee camp) and I listen, hesitating to form an opinion until I’ve had my own experience on the island of Leros, my home for the next month or so. Continue reading “POC, Refugee, Resident”

Hats Off, Zimbabwe

My midwestern friendliness betrays me sometimes. I’m sitting at dinner in Zim with my nomad family, watching a group of guys wearing beads & animal print cloths dance, when I’m pretty sure one of them (the falsetto) points directly at me. Uhh, I naturally smile in response (was he pointing at me?) but I do not get a smile in return- instead he walks over and crowns me with a Springbok headdress. What just happened? I’m not quite sure what to do, so I sit there awkwardly for what feels like forever (maybe 5 minutes), until someone tells me I’m supposed to get up and dance with him. Continue reading “Hats Off, Zimbabwe”

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