Silent All These Years

Every girl who ever worked is processing these days. Rivaling the death of Petty, or even fires raging, the demise of Harvey changes everything…a dramatic end, to a new beginning—of brave sisters vowing truth.

And I wonder what else we’ve been silent about all these years? What behaviors, which relationships have we stood by to keep life same. Are we ready for revolution, wild for the rebirth, because a change is gonna’ come…

Learning to shift 3rd into 4th gear on New Mexico State Hwy 14, seduced by autumn and mountains… I felt a revving of spirit that can no longer be anything—but bold.


Happy Hauntings,


Times Like These

Stumbling to a friend’s bathroom last month before dawn, I stopped—read the sticker across his iPad; “Warning: We’re All One.” I used to complain late nineties NYC, that our generation had nothing to stand for, that nothing happened…

Now, I teach class post school shootings and hate gatherings. Some days, I have no words… So, thank God for music and the magic of creating a playlist to move, and feel, and release to. Thank God for rest and silence, where I can breathe again, sit with people in union—call it love.

It sucks, I know. The practice is rough these days, and that warning haunts me…


Stay Woke,


For Whom Life Tolls

The cathedral bells have been stirring me. Early morning and hot, summer nights I hear their tolls arriving by breeze… Funny, how romantic a town can be. Just when you dismiss it, my desert relationship takes a magical turn I never knew existed.

Even routine walking down my street from the church today, birds flocked over the plaza as a sign. Or maybe just, good morning—like, hey there—human walking down the street, I’m living fully—you?

Because the love affair is with life… If summer teaches you anything, take your clothes off, and go dipping. There’s a hummingbird at the feeder, and the most amazing sunset, and a picnic, with jazz on the lawn…


Dig It,


Lesson on the Back Road

I recently got lost on the Back Road in Madrid, New Mexico. Near midnight and pitch black, I sort of knew the way… But wished I’d took down my friend’s landline when he offered it, because now the only option was to stop, and breathe, and wait—for some sort of a feeling or sign, to try a new direction.

Walking the pup I was sitting for next morning past the very point I was disoriented the night before, made me laugh out loud. There was a tree that forks the road, and a simple veer to the right, not left, connected me home.

Such is life, huh? The panic of losing our center can be replaced by a pause, and slight step to the side to find your way, again. Maybe we should get lost more. Just to remind us—we’re never really far from home.


Happy Summer,


Our Dying Days

Not sure about you, but things have been trying in my world. Yes, it’s beautiful and abundant, and in many ways, incredibly privileged. I get that. But, I’m here to report, some days…man, it ain’t easy.

Because it takes a certain skin to be able to stick your ideas so far out there, aching of vulnerability and exposure… There are days I’m a ninja slayer. I’m one hundred percent behind myself and handle it all. The other days—are days I suspect you have, too.

Days where I cry over nothing, or feel so alien in my own skin that crawling out of it seems the only sane option. The famed writer, Bukowski says, “Find what you love, and let it kill you.” It certainly feels the world as we know it, is ending…


Cheers to you out there—going for the kill,


Go To The Poets

I recently saw a stage production of George Orwell’s, “1984.” The New York Times hails it the number one book you should read in 2017. Written nearly seventy years ago, it is freakishly topical. I squirmed in my seat all the way through the second act wanting to flee, the theatre and this tone altogether.

I have been begging you to go to the poets. In classes, reminding anxious students that music saves you. That literature, and sound therapy, and keeping up with beauty inspires and feeds you. Fighting the good fight, in these divided times.

We have to rise up as a people, and not by posting opinions on social media, but by feeding your insides. “Feed your head,” as the Jefferson Airplane lyrics go. Nurture intimate relationships more. Pick up that novel you’ve wanted to read. Write that blog you’ve been tossing around, because the way to fight oppression is through expression. And we need loads of it to remind us what we’re fighting for.



Yoga & The Revolution

When a girlfriend noted what was happening in my classes by allowing eighteen and under free to join us, it took awhile to stand back and see it. It’s true the six month old was melting faces faster than I could with even the best vinyasa sequence to music. All she had to do was coo, and the room settled. It’s also true that when you place people in a more communal vibe there’s no room for pretension.

Such has been my transition to teaching independent of a ‘yoga studio,’ and growing clearer about what I offer that others don’t. I don’t care if you drank too much tequila the night before, or frankly hate the thought of yoga, I just want you to come hang, breathe with us, and sing…

Because it helps us all if we feel accepted and part of something. This showing up with our life authentically despite self-restrictions needs to be shared. So I’m asking Santa Feans to submit to a new web series I’m creating about yoga, life, and everything in between. I aim to shine truth out into this darkness, to make yoga and transformation accessible to everyone who thought they never would.

(See casting notice here)

Happy Spring!


Baby, Just Roll…

The pulse of Manhattan—my feet so comfy below 2nd Ave, East Village escapes me now walking in heels up the narrow stairway to the balcony of the famous Spotted Cat on Frenchman.

My New Orleans jazz guitarist, leading us during set break to watch the start of Carnival brewing alongside full moon magic. It really is the juxtaposition of travel, the astral projection into something new.

Experience keeps us awake, alive to the humanity around us, urging us to pay way more attention. To be free, and roll with it, baby, just roll…

Don’t Let ‘Em Bring You Down.



The Truth About Girls

I cried after watching the first episode of HBO’s GIRLS. I cried because it was so fucking beautiful, and so the show I’d want to watch, but even more—the show I should have made. That was the depth of my tears, with absolute happiness, honestly for Lena Dunham, I had personally, dropped the ball.

I did write a spec script for the show that’s been a nice calling card through it’s six year run. I date Adam’s. I memorize life, like Lena does…like Hannah, standing outside the Brooklyn bar watching him fall in love with someone else. I struggle with success and sexuality and being feminist, just like her.

That’s what TV does, especially half-hour—it gives you this precious slice of the heart we all come from. It reminds us, we’re not that different. We’re not separate. In fact, we love each other, flaws and all.

Thank you Lena, for writing the best show ever. And reminding me how badly we deserve more like them, and that when you speak your real, authentic truth—everyone listens.


Here’s To One Last Season,


Holiday Heartache

I’d be fine tossing 2016 as far away from memory as possible. Tested by heartache after heartache, and now so many neighbors disconnected. Yet, my job remains to sell peace, to inspire through art, how to be authentic and free…

Just, what to do about the sadness? The hopelessness this winter of our discontent. Christmas a classic downer, but this trimming the tree unbearable, all sparkling lights and little faith left to hang the angel.

Be with your pain. Be the waves of sadness and strange twists of pure love. Because haven’t we also experienced this year—some of the most beautiful and poignant times of our life? Haven’t we lit the candle, in spite of it all… And believed.


Peace On Earth,