Sweat Lodge in the Poconos

It was a perfect weekend. Tranquil lake, morning dew, warm fire and spiritual beings gathering for an experience. It was different from the one I partook in last year. The one that changed my life. This one was lead by Lunging Bear. Tall, gentle voice, and blue-eyed leader. He was having problems with his prostrate. TMI? Well, that's what he shared.

His goal was to take us in and out. One swift motion. He smudged half-heartedly and recited none of the rituals. A cd played in his S.U.V. and the hypnotic voice instructed that if a woman was on her moon cycle, to be sure to share this with the chief. I did as instructed.

Lunging Bear looked at me with dismay. His blue eyes widened and he whispered, "You will have to do a separate sweat. Otherwise, you will drain me of my energy. You see?" I was a little annoyed. It wasn't just that I would have to paddle back to the other side of the lake and wait an hour or so, it was that so many people were turned off to this sweat because he was a man that preferred to have the women dressed in long gowns upon entering the wee-pee (or tee pee, as it is more commonly known). Time. Patience. The bane of my existence, really.

The long hour passed, and I watched the sun move from the sparkling angle of the trees, to the shining kisses on the waters' edge. They shone like diamonds. The ripples calmed down to a faint murmuring reflection. I was calm. I was ready.

I entered in the wee-pee. Fully ready to disclose my intention. Lunging Bear sat outside and smoked his Marlboro reds. "Go in," he said. "Don't I have to re-smudge?" I asked. "No. You're fine," he answered cavalierly. I was ready. I was waiting for an awakening. I went in the wee-pee and only about 5 people (from the 35) remained. Some where lounging in bikinis, some were in full gear. I sat close to the rocks and breathed in serenity and centeredness.

There is a tradition among the Indigo people whereupon women in their moon cycles are asked specifically to sit on the Earth and feed it with the milk of human suffering. It reminds nature to awaken and protect, as it had so many centuries ago. With mindfulness, I let the drops kiss the Earth. I let go.

Lunging Bear entered the wee-pee, and when the panels closed, we were cloaked in darkness. He went through the ritual. "What are your concerns?" he asked. In a round-robin fashion, people shared their most intimate worries. He spoke beautifully. He called in all the spirits of healing. A calm swept over our little clan.

"What are you grateful for?," Lunging Bear then asked. I could hear some people hyperventilating and weeping. So much had been revealed, so many wounds were exposed. Three people expressed their gratitude. So many more sat in silence. Lunging Bear retreated. I was anticipated the four directions, and found myself caring for two spirits, like wounded fawn. I gave reiki to those remaining. I called healing and pure energy and spirit to come and infuse this wee-pee. When I retreated, the sun was setting. I felt the trees call to me and awaken an appreciation for having fed them with the milk of human kindness. I was no longer afraid of the woods. I was no longer afraid of the Earth. I had transformed in a different way. Thank you Mother Earth!!! Abundance is my birthright, and you have shown me the way.

Labels: Native American, reiki, Rumi, serenity, sobriety, Sweatlodge

80s Night

Dressed from head to toe in sequins and tafetta, I hurredly made my way down the street. It was one of those rare occassions where I bumped in to numerous people I knew. One man in particular got out of his seat at a cafe, and came to kiss me hello. I think it was the first time he had ever seen me in anything other than moisterizer, lip gloss and black cotton clothing. The tingling in my mind from the excitement was enough to take my breath away. I raised the hem of my skirt and rushed away, feeling a little like a prom queen.

High school was a foible I rarely think about. Many students, aeons older and more cultured, barely looked my way when making plans. I had always thought it was a cultural divide or perhaps a blue-blood "you weren't on the boat/had to be there" sort of thing. It always left me with the stain of disappointment. Here, however, was a way to revisit that in another decade, at another place, with different people. What was different?

For starters, I was happy to be taking part of this exciting evening. My girlfriend is getting married in a castle, and for fun, her bachelorette party was held at an interactive show in the old Webster Hall. That alone was a receipe for disaster, I thought. When I arrived, they were all gathered on the stage with images of Billy Idol, the B-52's and other classics on the jumbo-tron video screen. Instantly, I was brought up to the stage and a party ensued. The circular, tribal mandala of young souls screaming their faces off and letting loose was the closest carnage of souls exchanging joy, that I'd experienced since sweat lodge.

When playing dress up, surrounded by actors and great friends, it's even greater to do it in the context of what might have been. Ain't sobriety grand?

Labels: awesome 80s, bachelorette, prom, Rumi, sobriety, Sweatlodge

Fringe, newbie style

I walked out of the theater. Barely able to remember why I'd gone. "Oh, yea," I thought duly, I owed the guy a favor. It was one of those storylines that I really can't stand. Apocalyptic propaganda. Between the over acting on behalf of the leads, and the rambling script, I could think of another exciting way to spend my evening...namely, in bed watching the paint from my ceiling curl forward.

I wish I'd discovered this blog in advance, http://newbienyc.blogspot.com. It actually gives a really comprehensive run down of the fringe festival, and actually, everything high culture. Alas, I was left to my own discoveries, and really, I was doing a favor for my friend. He was actually stellar, and I really wished he had more dialogue. The endless rambling of the monologue-driven piece was mind numbing.

I ambled about like a blinded deer. Seeing other dazed and confused theatre goers crowding around a plume of smoke, I walked over to see if anyone was willing to share their cancer with me. In typical smoker's camaraderie, numerous packed were extended to me. Variety is, after all, the spice of life. I chose a peppermint patty flavored smoke, and found a bench to sit on and wonder if it was worse to kill myself SLOWLY with a cigarette, or put a gun to my pounding temples.

"That bad, huh?" said a fellow smoker. I smiled, weakly, and looked at him and said, "I guess I've seen worse. When I was high." We both laughed. "At least we have the huddle of misery to gravitate to after, I suppose," I added. "It would be nice to have a peace pipe, I guess. Or peyote," he said.

It was the magic word. I heard myself tell him that he should try out a sweat lodge then. "Sweat lodge?" he asked, bewildered by that phrase. "Oh! I didn't make up the word. It's a real thing. A Native American ritual that takes place every Fall." Before I knew it, I spent the next 10 minutes talking to him about sweat lodge. The leather tee-pee on the side of the hill in the Catskills, surrounded by wildlife and white-tailed deer, the smudging ceremony before entering, the intention given to the head honcho, the four directions, the camaraderie. He looked at me as if I had suddenly shown him a magic doorway to an emerald city. It is possible to find a silver lining in everything. Magic doors and ‘what can I learn and give today’ thinking. I walked away from the smoky theater, having bid adieu to the fascinated stranger, and off I went, like some type of satirical highlander, to spread knowledge of parallel realities. Gosh I’m full of it.

Labels: festivals, fringe, Rumi, Sweatlodge

Chick Support on the Side

Curiouser and curiouser...
A few posts back, I was smack-talking about women recently. 'Why don't they have your back like men have for one another?' 'Is it really a chest-smacking caveman support, or are women really more of the quiet steady types?' Then it happened.

I was sitting in a meeting, baring my soul. It was one of those gut-wrenching, 'here is my heart and all of the blackness it contains' soul-ripping/gut wrenching/purging-type of shares that was laden with fear, tinged with self-pity and aching with vulnerability. Who IS this, and where did you put my social mask? The verbal diaherrea poured out with little control:

"I had a show last night and it was great. I feel so empty though. I made mistakes. I promoted another show at this one, and the club owner warned that I would be cut from that club. He looked at me like I was a calculating parasite. Oh my God! I wasn't even trying to do that. I didn't KNOW!!! And then, the famous comic from the long running and popular t.v. show(anonymity intended) came up to me and was hugging and kissing me. It made other comics come up to me and treat me as if I were somehow able to give them something. The booker asked me how I knew him, and I think thought we were sleeping together. And thennnn...I inadvertantly insulted an executive at HBO, thinking he was a comic and making fun of his moustache (my way of flirting), only later to find out that not only was he married, but he was an executive at a television station I've been courting all summer!" On and on this rambling fear spewed. Down, down, down the rabbitt hole of despair.

It was during this display of demons that my power possee of pretties took me out for some tea and sympathy. We gathered around the table and after our orders were secured, bared our souls to one another, collecting the consciousness of love, as only spiritual beings are capable. It was during that time that something magic appeared. The inner glow that had drawn me to these beings began to beam like a bright star on a dark winter's night. All of our lights shone as one.

I mentioned it again. "Sweat lodge is coming up this Fall." There was another woman at the table who shared her excitement and encouraged her participation this season. As I looked around, self-consciously hoping I didn't sound like a Geico commercial-with some gimmicky attempt at slickness for sales for personal gain, I couldn't help but to remember that this is what life was like before t.v. Human connection. Looking at my life from this perspective, their souls shone like a campfire, and mixed opinions were shared and polished like precious gems. "This is what it must have been like before Starbucks!" I thought. Sitting around, enjoying one another's company, sharing new passions and building additional ones, the activity of new plans bubbled up. “Count me in!” “Yea, give me more info!” “I’d love to do sweat lodge.” “Wait. Didn’t you lose your mind last year doing that, and haven’t shut up about it? I think I’ll go.”

When the night drew to a close, I took a deep satisfying breath and gathered my things. As I walked past the Carlye, I remembered the numerous evenings of pretense. A child in an adult world, really, observing cultural norms of a world that I once would have raped and pillaged to be a part of. As I contemplated my satisfaction at exposing the Queen card and all of the Queen's men, as it were, I thought about the relief that comes from playing it straight. No games, no control, no struggle to maintain order in any court or any form of beheading...just satisfaction at knowing that women really do have your back on the sideline. Acceptance, progress not perfection and girlfriends!

Labels: Rumi, sobriety, Sweatlodge, women

I hugged the sun yesterday

I got derailed on blogging on account of a hug.
Let me explain. Three years ago, as I was glowing at a Spa downtown when a man who looked like Jesus (only sexy and in a speedo. Ok. Imagine speedos were sexy…then J.C. with more muscle mass…then…roll!)

So, he told me that he loved the beads I was wearing. I looked at him, and thought him to be as wholesome as an apple beggin to be taken a bite out of. I listened some more to what he had to say. He told me that if I enjoyed yoga, then I would have to see Amma Chi. Who IS this? He said, ‘the hugging saint.’ Thus began a quest to see her.

I’m not going to get in to the dirty details, just suffice it to say that I finally FINALLY saw her yesterday. Here are the points I wanted to outline:

1. I remembered my intention to honor the mother, and Amma is doing Mother Earth’s work. I honored the memory of that and all of the women who occupy this Earth, taking on causes greater than themselves, finding the courage somehow to forge through and bringing joy to the world in some form.

2. it was a really long day (2 hours sleep the night before-BIG MISTAKE) getting all sorts of miscommunication and FINALLY getting my hug 13 hours later.)

3. the build up to the hug reached mythic proportions...but ultimately, I think it was a sound idea NOT to film the actual hug (that private moment was bliss!)

4. I was probably the biggest freak show on the way up to see her because I couldn't stop crying and I was having heart palpitations

5. One of the ushers gave me reiki, and I chillaxed a bit

6. When I was one person away from her, I swear it felt like I was Icarus approaching the sun

7. I gave her the headband I designed that day (as people typically give offerings)

8. She was stunned (as evidenced in her eyes). She looked to her ushers, and the ushers looked it over (as it was not the usual offering)

meanwhile...

9. I entered her embrace, and it felt like I felt just before I entered that tee-pee, just before sweat lodge (which I did after my 5th step)...like she was channeling EARTH MOTHER and I was channeling CHILD

10. My heart will never be the same again.

Labels: healing, hugs, reiki, Rumi, Sober Travels, Sweatlodge

Drums along the Hudson

It was a simple Sunday, like most others. I awoke with the streams of the morning sun dappled along my face. Would I carpe diem, or carpe sleepum? That was the question.

In a fit of adrenaline-slash-guilt from pissing away the week, I quickly put together a coordinated designer outfit. If I was going to schlep around the tip of Manhattan, I was going to do it in style. Without even second-guessing, I hailed a cab. It was only after the driver pointed out that it was kind of ironic to take a cab to go hiking, that I even dared look at the impropriety of it all.

I was going to hike at Inwood Park, and then check out Drums Along the Hudson.

What followed once I arrived can only be described as magical. The sun was just making it above the ridge of clouds, and the dew was magically placed along the moss-yes, folks, moss along the granite boulders. Hiking shoes leading the way, I melted as I saw a brook make its way along the rocks and roots. Many trees were falling from the attachment of poison oak vines that were sapping its vitality. My goal was to make it up the mountain, along the terrain and back down before my coffee was digested.

I had a black out. That's the only way I could describe it. Miles away from any car or exhaust, hearing only the sweet chirping of chickadees, woodpeckers and bluebirds, as only a natural symphony could be composed, I found myself seduced by the sounds of this elegant bird score. I looked in wonder, as I heard the whistling of baby hawks, making their way to their nests. I sat on a collapsed tree trunk, with gruel in my hands, in utter amazement. This was still Manhattan. I was deep in nature, surrounded by oaks, cherry blossoms and white birch. My jaw dropped and I was humbled as a cardinal swooped down and took a kernel from my hand.

Hours later, I made my way out of the forest, and yes--I could see the trees--and just as I went to leave this paradise, the scent hit me. It was the smell of sweet sage which I had discovered during sweat lodge. My nose followed the murky sweet smell. This was a renaissance. The rebirth of connection.

Making my way to the origin of the sage, there were a line of women singing tribal songs with melodic drums beating in union. The songs were familiar from that day in sweat lodge that changed my life. Upon halting, I looked around and it was a greater circle than I had ever imagined. My feet were firmly planted on the ground as I watched Native American children playing with Aryan families, dogs rushing under alpaca wool, and glimpses of feathers and fur peaking beneath headdresses’. The familiarity of the music and the large circle took me back.

Transported to the tee-pee once again, I remembered my vow, "I have come to honor the mother" I said. As we faced the North door of the journey, I ran out of the tee-pee in a full sweat. Everything had become light. The thoughts and visions of my colleagues played out in their chakras like cartoons. Kneeling and panting before the burning oak, I knelt carefully and purged my inner demons, "Bring us back to nature! Remind us of our connection to the divine source!" I uttered, as the tears flowed from my sweaty face.

Picking myself up off of the ground, I wearily made my way back in. Seeing the shining faces in the dark, I knew my prayer had been for them all. It had also been for my home.

Although this event may not be repeated in this area, it jump-started a reminder: there are many events like this that celebrate nature and Native Americans. The realization of this, the serendipity of being at this event without warning and the smell of sweet sage, cleansing my aura yet again, played out like a distant dream, trying to find a voice. Our little island is jam-packed with surprises, isn't it?

Labels: festivals, Native American, Rumi, sobriety, Sweatlodge

Four Directions...never lost

I had exactly 20 minutes to get to the Warehouse in Jersey. It would be a feat in and of itself to get there and be able to put on the show of my life. I ran through Times Square, seeing flashing lights off in the distance and breathing hard to catch my breath after many start and stop again sprints. It was time to make a good impression, but I knew I was cutting it close. In my frenzy, though, I had a yogic chant blaring in my ear.

ganesha sharanam, sharanam ganesha; ganesha sharanam, sharanam ganesha

It felt like the first time I had ever really seen Times Square. Off in the distance, the blaring horns of the cabs, the homeless men begging for cigarettes, the bright lights and excitement of the Madam Tussad's, Olive Garden and Cold Stone all in a row waiting for tourist patronage. Feeling beads of perspiration, I tried to ignore the fact that my coat was too heavy for this time of year. It was a gorgeous, yet chilly Spring day. Then, it happened, the combination of the chanting, my racing heart and a tree that I had never noticed before, slowed the shutter of my mind down to simple photos. The bloom of the tree took me back somewhere magical. It was as if I had taken a quantum tranquilizer, and everything progressed like slow moving images. There, plain as day, were the inner lights of humanity on display. Some where dim, some were brightly light with excitement and hope and still others were extinguishing at a rapid rate. Auras on display. The sadness of the human condition was extinguished by the popcorn blossoms in the distance. How long had it been since I watched a tree bloom?

ganesha sharanam, sharanam ganesha!

The chant promised the removal of obstacles, and here was this bright sun and life, as I had never noticed it before, coming towards me. The sadness in the face of some was too much to bear. As I slowly turned, internally, there was a compass that was leading me to the gate I would have to go out of. Everything seemed slower. Even now, the cursor and my typing seem to crash down at an almost stopped rate. I had to hurry, I had to make my bus, I had to run!!!

In the corners of my mind, I remembered how often I would laugh at people who had travel anxiety. This was not an anxiety to leave the City, although I do admit to suffer from separation anxiety when I pack my bags and watch my loved City disappear in the distance. No, this was a community. This was my family, as I had seen them on display in the streets, so asleep, yet so much a part of my experience. I stood in the Port Authority, with the chain stores each beckoning my attention, and the stress of so many faces on parade. That is when it appeared. The knowledge of the four directions that I had brought with me from sweat lodge.

The chief had sprinkled bear claw shavings in the hearth, and said, "Migwich" to the buff, scantily clad farmer boy who carried the molten rocks in. I surpressed my sexual urges and tuned in. She began the ceremony by making a cross with her hand. She began to chant in a native language, which strangely seemed familiar to me. She spoke to us in the darkness of the tent, and all that was seen was burning embers of the bear claw residue. "There was a time when this motion meant the four directions. It was not what was taken from us. It was not symbolic of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. It was the four directions. Mental, physical, spiritual and emotional compasses that provide inner guidance. You can never be lost again, for this will be your compass." Yet, here I was, in the middle of Port Authority with no clue as to where I would go next.

The sweat began to pour down my face. Asking numerous "authorities", I was sent in four directions. Each door I went out of, I would feel the steamy stench of asbestos hit my senses like a truck. Retreating back in the depressed artificial lighting, I remembered that day, that spiritual experience, and the reason that even this 'stress' did not penetrate the way it once would have. "I have to get to Jersey in 20 minutes. I have no idea where I'm going. I will be okay, though," I soothingly said to myself. Mothers with babies ran by, everyone, it seemed expereriencing the confusion I felt. Then it happenened...an opening in the middle of the floor, like a compass. I could hear the explanations, North: giving it away; South: compassion and healing; East: the door to the direction you are headed; West: the door of intention. Intention...I looked at the rushing people, and felt a little less like a New York in that instant. Something greater than myself, spun my heel in a semi circle and I almost went skipping across the high gloss tile, down the escalator, gliding miraculously to my gate.

When my ticket was collected, the chant slowed down to a halt. Breathing heavily, I took a deep breath. Not sure of what had transpired, and lost in thought, the bus slowly pulled out of the gate. We were in the sunlight once again, and I could see the stadium off in the distance. "How long had I had this compass?" I wondered, as the last beads of sweat formed on my brow. Time. The human construct, yet necessary barometer of measurement, had been on my side this time. Perhaps I was leaving the tribal beats of the City drum, but for a brief moment, I was connected by something greater than myself, and I found the direction within. The one that is infinitely connected to Source. For the first time in a long time, I felt lucky. I did.

Labels: New Jersey, Rumi, sobriety, spiritual, spring, Sweatlodge

Losing my religion

Labels: Enlightenment, friendships, love, Rumi, sobriety, Sweatlodge

Good vibrations

What do you get when you combine two of the hottest guys in Soho (my opinion, of course) turning 30, with another smokin’ 28 year-old-guy telling you about it and yet annnnother hard-bodied Euro hottie with a KILLER bachelor pad in the East Village? Why, the greatest sober party EVVVER! In a luxury condominium building in the East Village, on a blustery Spring evening this weekend, no less than 300 attractive/hormone racing alcoholics gathered in a spacious 3,000 sq. foot space with one of Manhattan’s best dj’s and cases of Red Bull and Poland Spring. There were people of all ages, shapes, colors and sizes throwing down to some of the hottest beats I’ve jammed to in a while. Around the room, there were chaises, a large flat-screen t.v. showing sports, a fully stocked fridge with non alcoholic beverages and a pool table with a bevy of beauties and beaus in tow.

As the base pumped, I felt a throbbing in my heart. I looked above me, and the majestic chandelier streamed light, which at my dancing vibration, seemed to emit prisms of light. I spun around and felt my wild locks swirl like an oscillating fan. The still shots that my mind’s eye focused in on, captured an awkward 16 year-old in faded low rise Diesel’s shaking what her mama gave her. A 20 year-old who was a dead ringer for Brad Pitt’s lost younger twin (circa Kalifornia, 1993). An East Village celebrity (lead singer for a popular band), a recognizable model and Lindsay Lohan look-a-like circling around a graceful African dancer and far-out Bohemian. Light surrounded the dance floor. Votives were carefully placed around the room. Beads of perspiration made their way from my scalp to my forehead, to cascades down my back. I took a sharp breath in and felt as if I had come home for the first time ever. I exhaled so much love, that I felt dizzy after. This was no dream. This was the heightened state that I first experienced in the circumference of the leather tee-pee this Fall…

I was directed to sit in the back…behind the elder. The smell of bear claw and sweet sage filled my senses. An athletic, chiseled Aryan man wearing Levi’s 501’s and a smile, carried large, heated boulders in to the center, where a circle had been dug in the Earth. He gently placed the scalding granite in the hole, and sparks flew. The elder calmly said, “Migwich” and gave him tobacco. He bowed in appreciation and retreated beyond the light. The woman sitting to my left let out a sigh after the steam filled the room. The woman to my right began to tremble beneath her wool blanket. A strange light warmed my spine, and I reached my hand out in the darkness and held it 8” from her neck and cooed, “The light will heal you, let it in”.

The pulsating base from the speakers seemed to lift the room to a new level, and everything became alive again. Light streamed from each body before me. I felt a large palm touch the base of my spine. I turned to the left and there, in the room full of light, stood the man I had seen from afar as I had counted days a year ago. He said, “Do you feel the vibration?” and smiled his broad, caring grin. I felt myself melt for a minute, and reminded myself that he was just singing the refrain from the song. In that instant, my girls came racing towards me like the teammates do to a quarterback, and as I was taken away in a jumping screaming frenzy…I could honestly say, “It’s such a…good vib-ra-tion-huh, it’s such a-sweee-eet sen-sa-tion-huh!” Feel it, feel it!

Labels: Celebrity, parties, Rumi, sobriety, Sweatlodge

Dumbo isn't just an elephant

This has been the week of elephants. It started on March 27, 2007 when the elephants marched through the city, as part of the yearly ritual put forth by Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey circus. I’m not going to get in to the debate about cruelty to animals, or particularly my interpretation of the elephants walking in the dark, clinging in a troupe, trunk to tail, avoiding the sting of a tazer gun. It is interesting food for thought to consider that women have the following in common with elephants:

We are the most intelligent species, have complex emotions and vary individually in temperament. We can be trained to work and to perform-if you’re Catholic, this REALLY applies. We are not truly domesticated because we don’t breed well in captivity-and as long as we don’t have the right to choose, aren’t we in captivity??? Finally,we have been extensively hunted –as are hot women everywhere annnd they’re endangered, (but they are now afforded protection in certain areas-hence, the meatpacking district and velvet rope situations all over the City).

Well, imagine my resistance when I was invited to LEAVE the City and go to DUMBO. Now, for those of you who DON’T know, DUMBO is NOT the cute little elephant portrayed in Disney movies, but an acronym for "Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass". Now, how down under would I need to feel to make the trek on the most coveted evening of the week? Thursday nights are for the City. Simple as that.

How did I get roped in? I’ll tell you how. A friend of mine is hosting a new entertainment night out there, and since he’s from Wisconsin, I felt it would be cheesy NOT to go. (I’m really cracking myself up over that joke). It actually turned out to be a GREAT night. [if you're interested in getting a visual, click on the elephants]. There were really cute guys.
The first ones I saw were “artists” slash hipsters. They were deep in a discussion about the lameness of heavy metal these days. I took a long drag off of the cigarette I’d just bummed from the hot blonde one with the Iron Maiden decal ironed on to his thrift store blazer and too tight courderoys and I said, “Whoa! Didn’t realize I’d "happenstanced" upon a hipster convention” They both said, “I’m NOT a hipster!” -like that response shocked me. To be fair, they weren’t classic hipsters in that one of the criteria is to be able to wear the same size pants you did when you were 12. So, the "chubsters" (chubby hipsters, for you slow readers) went back in but before they did, they told me “You’re going to love it here, they have really strong beer.” Great! I thought. Something to look forward to. Double teamed by chubsters and smelly beer grungers in an elephant graveyard.

I made my way up the wide staircase and felt like I had crashed an old set of the t.v. show “Friends”. It was one coffee mug shy of having Joey, Phoebe, Jen and the gang scream, “Norm!” (oops 2 sitcoms there, folks!) The sofas were an assortment of pastel and brightly colored velvet couches of the Louis the XIV variety. There were a TON of cute boys. I was really surprised. "So THIS is where they've all been hiding!" They were neither desperate nor gay. There were even Euro trash. Shit! This was Manhattan--under the bridge!

The night was for a monthly comedy show that my friend is putting on called 80 minute abs, and the headline comic has been featured on Comedy Central AND VH1! I ordered my coffee, and kicked back. There,along the bar, amid the row of votives was a community. As the jokes turned into acoustic guitar strums and then jazz, I felt that I had found a beautifully nuanced night of fun with my girls and flirtation with cute boys and sensual music. Almost paradise!

My experience in sweat lodge was brought back in full force. We sat in a semi circle as the elders of entertainment for the evening provided laughs, cohesion and community. Food was shared, and the design of the loft was airy and open enough to accept all talking, laughing and soul searching with room to spare. Sometimes, I thought, it's not about getting laid...it's about opening yourself up to new expereinces and connecting on a human level.

I stayed four hours longer than I thought I would. Light bridged with laughter and jazz. It was better than any glass of Merlot I’d ever sipped and closer to the tee-pee than I'd felt in a while.

Labels: Celebrity, DUMBO, Enlightenment, Rumi, sobriety, Sweatlodge