I'M BACK

Hi all. Sorry i disappeared for a while. I am officially back in full effect, so get ready.

I realized that outside of my day job (meh), my entire life is consumed by my yoga. So this here blog might start reflecting that a little more closely.

I love you!

Another new cycle...

Hi pals,

This weekend I begin my first yoga teacher training with my dear teacher, Katchie Ananda (http://www.yogasangha.com/Yoga_Sangha/Home.html). It is going along swimmingly, and I dance between being devilishly excited, increasingly humbled, and absolutely terrified at the prospect of standing before a group of my peers with the intention of actually teaching them something...

For those of you who are interested, I am devoted to a practice of yoga called Anusara; it is a unique system because it weaves together community, philosophy, and strict alignment principles. This style of yoga appeals to me because it is rooted firmly in the "bigger picture;" that is, recognizing that although each of our individual experiences is unique, we are all connected via a power greater than ourselves, whatever name you might give it but which I will call "consciousness." I truly love this specific practice, because it is so much more than simply bending your body into crazy shapes or looking good in a pair of work out pants. If you follow all the principles laid out in this style, they will permeate your entire life and the way you greet each moment will shift.

I don't mean to get all hippy dippy on y'all, but I'm home alone on a Saturday night and my neighborhood buzzes around me as I try to process some of this mental energy flying around this space between my ears. It's been an intense couple of days. My teacher brings over 20 years of teaching experience to the table; as my peers and I practice teaching each other, I can't stop thinking about how much farther I have to go along this path.

So I'm going to practice being a good student, going deep into these centuries old traditions, meditating every day, being kind to my fellow man. If any of you are interested in practicing with me, I can honestly say there is nothing I could want more. Also, I am going to need to practice teaching! So feel free to come over for a private yoga lesson, I would love your feedback.

kiss kiss

Easy Pumpkin Bread

Hello my dears, all five of you <3 style="font-weight: bold;">Dani's Quick Pumpkin Bread
with Crushed Almonds and Agave Nectar

Wet Ingredients:

• 1 cup pumpkin puree (you can use the canned stuff from the store but the whole point of this recipe is that it is fresh fresh fresh).
• 1/2 cup soy milk
  
• 3/4 cup agave nectar
• 1/4 cup butter (I use Earth Balance vegan butter, if that's your thing)
• 1 large egg

Dry Ingredients

• 2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
• 2 tsp. baking powder (be careful with this stuff! Most baking powders contain aluminum, and who wants to mix that to a baked good? You might think about retiring your Clabber Girl; Bob's Red Mill makes a good aluminum free powder).
  
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
• 1/2 teaspoon Kosher salt
• 1 cup coarsely chopped almonds

Instructions:

• Preheat oven to 350 degrees
• Puree the squash and soy milk in a blender until smooth. You might have to adjust the amount of soy milk you use; the texture should be smooth but thick, almost like butter.
  
• Mix all wet ingredients until nice and smooth; it helps if they are at room temperature when you begin.
• In a separate bowl, mix all the dry ingredients.
  
• Mix the wet and dry ingredients together. The batter will be firm; don't worry if there are some dry patches. Don't overmix!
• Spoon the batter into a loaf pan lined with parchment paper (this makes it really easy to remove the bread after it cools; you can also just butter the pan instead.)
• Smooth the batter and add a few whole almonds to the top as a garnish if you like.
• Bake 1 hour or until a skewer comes out clean when poked in the center of the loaf.
• Try to let it cool for about 15-20 minutes before you remove it from the pan.

*This bread tastes great toasted and smeared with almond butter.
* You might have to hide it if you want it to last for longer than about 12 hours.
YUM!

Dearhearts...

I have perceived that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them, or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment-what is this, then?
I do not ask any more delight-I swim in it, as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women, and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well;

All these things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

From I Sing the Body Electric
Walt Whitman

for Dave

Autumnal Musings

I work a 9-5 gig downtown; I leave my apartment on 22nd Street and Capp at 7:25 each morning, round the corner down two blocks South and one block East to the 24th Street Bart train station where I wait 3-4 minutes until the Fremont train arrives to whisk me away to reality, or "downtown" as it is often called.

Every single morning without fail I pass the same woman going in the opposite direction, ostensibly off to her own version of reality. We pass in a hurry, each of us artfully dodging the morning detritus that tends to litter Capp Street: piles of old clothes, filthy mattresses, couches with the cushions removed (for those in the neighborhood who have mobile sleeping arrangements), the occasional used condom (lovely way to start one's morning), discarded parking tickets, empty Popeye's or McDonalds containers, and these little seeds that fall from the trees in front of the US Bank building that get all up in the tread of your shoes. The neighborhood is equal parts marvelous and tragic.

My neighbor is of slight build, long brown curly hair, already with her headphones in. She dresses casually-sneakers, cargo pants- and wears a backpack. It is October; I landed this gig downtown early May; this translates to many mornings of passing, for whatever reason, always left shoulder to left shoulder.

May and June I could barely catch her eye; we've since moved forward and I enjoy meeting her glance along with the sweetest, most furtive upturning of the corners of her mouth...and I marvel, every morning, during those few seconds between our nodding recognition and my catching the train, at the beauty of two perfect strangers, linked together if only to start our mornings with a grin among the dirt, if only as a reminder to be mindful during a three-block walk that normally I might plow through but is transformed instead to the realm of the subtly sacred. So, girl, if you ever read this, I owe you a heartfelt thank you.

Mulling over these morning exchanges got me thinking about other things I love about living in a city. My apartment for example: from the outside it is not one of the better looking Victorians; it's a fading Pepto Bismol shade of pink, is ever-so-slightly sagging into Capp Street, and is home to the infamous El Trebol bar, out of which I've seen far too many fights spill, not to mention the piss and vomit that often greets me at my front door. Fortunately, as I pass through said door I enter a colorful, cozy oasis. For a short (very short) period this summer I tried to get off coffee in exchange for a morning brew of green tea; every day that week the whistle on my kettle screeched at the exact moment my neighbor's did. It sounds silly, but I even like hearing my neighbor's toilet flush at the same time as mine when I wake up in the middle of the night and stumble to the bathroom for some late night relief. I can't help it; there is something strangely comforting about this inextricable kinship between me and my neighbors, even if it's a secret only I'll ever truly attempt to understand. I live among sweaty artists and cramped immigrants and butch lesbians and dogs and cats and roaches and even a chicken for a while last summer. My head spins that despite our perhaps cultural and linguistic differences we are still moving to the same quotidian rhythms, our cycles are in sync regardless...and it's nice to remember how much more connected we are as humans than we as neighbors tend to show.

And as much as I tend toward indifference as far as my little morning and afternoon commute goes, it is beautiful, as I rush to catch the 5:15 home, to fall into step behind the exact same man I noticed that very morning, him, in ridiculously wrinkled high water pants and sweater vest, reading GQ, taking up the exact same stance he did 9 hours prior. It is beautiful to watch the middle-aged Filipina woman with her used City College accountancy textbook softly reading aloud to herself each morning until she scurries out the door at Civic Center. It is beautiful that Roberto, the Mexican newsboy who hands me my copy of the Examiner as I rise out of the train station, greets me with a happy grin and resounding "GOOD MORNING!," regardless of the rain or cold or the thousands of people who push past without so much as even meeting his eyes. I still find it difficult when people trim their nails on public transportation but I'm trying to love them too.

Fall makes me want to cozy up and it's all I can do to look at the people around me and not wrap my arms around them. So instead I make soups and cookies and breads and stir fry and keep the kitchen warm and feed my friends who have become family and lend an ear and crack jokes and ask questions. Let me know if you want to join me, I'll make us some kitchari and fly you in the air like Superman...

Ditty of First Desire

In the green morning,

I wanted to be a heart.

A heart.

And in the ripe evening

I wanted to be a nightingale.

A nightingale.

(Soul,

turn orange colored.

Soul,

turn the color of love.)

In the vivid morning

I wanted to be myself

A heart.

And at the evening's end

I wanted to be my voice.

A nightingale.

Soul,

turn orange colored.

Soul,

turn the color of love.

Federico Garcia Lorca

28 September 2009

I walked home at dusk today, limbs taut, back strong, head clear, post yoga class mobility, up 16th street for a block then left onto Valencia street, past peddlers, and Frenchies, long lost friends, workers heading home, Marina blonds and jocks, hipsters on fixies, and me, ambling towards home, the long seven blocks up to 22nd street and Capp. The sky was epic: soft little clouds pressed softly up against the rim of the world, a majestic vision somewhere between deep blue and cozy pink. The air was clear, the breeze crisp, but friendly, not too cold; Sutro Tower standing guard on the horizon to the west, rooftops awash in brilliant shades of twilight: grey, blue, green, silver, brown, mauve, orange-I can touch them, feel the colors light up my bones. Staring up into the vastness, with each step I get the sensation more and more that I had no business being among such beauty, like I was trespassing uninvited into a fresh, wet painting, traipsing clumsily through with my too-big-boots, smudging everything.

I passed the Thursday night throng centered around the madness that is the intersection of Valencia and 16th streets, and before long came upon a hulking, limping figure making his way south. He wore only one shoe; his back was to me but I could see that he carried with him the Street Sheet newsletter. I wondered where his priorities were considering he only had one shoe but was apparently ok with this, attempting still to sell his ware, a weekly paper designed to help homeless raise money for themselves. As I drew nearer I realized not only was he missing the shoe on his left foot, but that the top of his foot was bleeding profusely from a horribly deep chunk that had been ripped out. His big toe was at a strange angle, the toenail growing in sideways. Such situations are commonplace in this city. Naturally, I was concerned.

"What happened to your foot?" I asked, distress filling my voice.

"I dropped a two ton trailer on it this morning," he garbled casually, through a mangled mouth devoid of most of his teeth, the remaining few crooked and mossy, his eyes ablaze and unblinking. I asked him why he didn't get a bandage. He claimed that he had, but that it had fallen off, that he was trying to make a few bucks to buy some shoes but that nobody had a size 14. I thought it was possible, as I watched his blood seep into the sidewalk, maybe he couldn't find shoes because nobody in their right mind would let him into their place of business. I gave him a dollar. "You better take care of that," I commented, my mind's eye fervent with visions of amputated limbs sick with gangrene. I moved on, his voice trailing after me, "Oh I will I'm 50 years old and still in great shape it's just this thing I dropped on my foot nobody has a size 14 anywhere...."

I noticed the sky was brighter still, rose giving way to magenta.It was the kind of evening that reminds you why you love San Francisco, takes you back to what made you fall for her in the first place. I smile at passersby, which comes as a surprise to most, and it's all I can do to keep from screaming, kindly, at them, "LOOK UP!"

...but I bite my tongue, silently wishing sweet dreams and nice thoughts to all I pass, yes, all of them: the old salts sitting outside Muddy Waters rolling cigarettes with dirty fingers and commiserating while their beards grow longer and their wrinkles cave deeper; the Frenchies speaking French with their cutoff shorts and cutoff shirts, neck scarfs, and cowboy boots; bloody gangrene future amputee man, half out of this world already; the oblivious new couple lost in conversation, blocking an entire sidewalk; the tall awkward blond boy with the long stride I catch up with at every red light; Terry, a homeless friend I've seen deteriorate every day slightly more since I moved into this neighborhood three years ago, him huddled up outside of Valencia Pizza and Pasta, small and alone; I peer inside, smiling faces, clinking glasses, huge entrees. Terry sleeps in Dolores Park and is hanging out with someone's dog. I give him a buck too. You, the kind man at Lost Weekend video, I send you love, thank you for voiding my day-late fee; thanks to the friend behind me, it was sweet of you to give me your place in line, even if I caught you staring at my ass. I leave the video store. I look up. I see the moon for the first time in six days, waxing into her fullness, a bright slice of summer peach.

I am alone, and as much as I want to forget this sensation, push it aside, revel in the wonder that even a quick fifteen-minute walk home on a Monday night can bring, as I unlock the bolt of my apartment door and walk into a dark hallway, this knowledge settles deeply into my bones. I can't say that it is my favorite feeling; although there are many worse ways to feel, there a definitely a few others I'd prefer in its stead. Am I lonely? I ask myself. I put the artichoke to boil on the stove. In this moment, I'm not sure. Pushing out into my strength, rooting down into the earth, growing leaves out of my head, I look out the window. It truly is a lovely night.

Grateful for the little things...

• Listening to new a new cd while working my office job.
• the ability to chat with dear friends living on the other side of the globe.
• kind smiles from cute strangers.
• haircuts!
• handstands in the kitchen.
• long conversations in well lit rooms.
• kisses. Smooches, rather.

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary since I left for Thailand. So much has happened!

Kitchari--

Those of you San Franciscans who spend any amount of time with me during the week have probably either had a taste of or seen me eat a colorful beans-rice-and greens mixture. Those of you who know me well know that it is virtually impossible to open my refrigerator without spying an enormous pot of this lovely concoction on the lower shelf.

I come from Cuban and Italian heritage. The vast amounts of breads, meats, white rice, pasta, sugar, starch, dairy and caffeine we collectively consume is enough to induce a heavy food coma in even the staunchest carnivore. These habits run deep within me, and in my attempts at leading a healthier lifestyle, I have seriously had to reevaluate these penchants. I mean who doesn't love diving head first into that basket of bread at the onset of most restaurant meals? How many of us run directly to our signature pasta dish when we want something quick and satisfying after a long day?

Our culture is not one of healthy eating traditions, or even traditions at all; truthfully, it is incredibly rare that I meet two people with even remotely similar consumption habits. I find that often a good portion of conversations I have, particularly with women, revolve around the food topic: what we ate, or didn't eat, what we ate too much of, what we're trying not to eat, how eating a certain thing made us feel, what we're craving, a fresh resolve to stick to a particular diet, and so on. So many of us have no frame of reference, and if we do, it's more often than not these heavy, hard to digest foods, your typical American comfort foods*.

It is with these thoughts that I offer you a simple recipe I guarantee will not only make you feel better in your body but quench all your cravings and leave you feeling completely satisfied. Kitchari is an Ayurvedically balanced dish; with the proper vegtables it is nutrient and fiber rich, it contributes to proper digestion, and the mixture of brown rice and mung bean make it a complete protein. And, once the beans and rice are cooked, I promise this will not take longer than 10 minutes from stove to tabletop.

Kitchari (click on the links for further information on the health benefits of said spices)

• 1 cup mung bean (similar to lentils; can be found in most natural food stores)
• 2 cups brown rice
• 1 teaspoon turmeric (http://www.healthdiaries.com/eatthis/20-health-benefits-of-turmeric.html)
  
• 1 teaspoon coriander (http://www.organicfacts.net/health-benefits/herbs-and-spices/health-benefits-of-coriander.html)
  
• 1 teaspoon cumin (http://www.indepthinfo.com/cumin/health.shtml)
  
• salt, to taste
• A big handful of greens! I usually go for chard but kale, collards, whatever you dig works just fine.
  
• ghee, or olive oil
• Plain yogurt (optional)
  
• 1/2 an avocado (optional)

Mung bean - brown rice preparation:

1. In a large pot, boil 4 1/2 cups of water. Once the water boils, add the mung beans and brown rice. Turn the heat to low, cover the pot, and let simmer for 40 minutes. This yields a nice big pot of beans and rice...usually lasts me about 5 days.

Recipe:

1. Heat oil/ghee (about 2 tablespoons) in a medium frying pan on medium to low heat. Add cumin, coriander, and turmeric. Let the oil and the spices combine until the oil starts to simmer.
2. Throw the beans and rice mixture on top. I use about 1 1/2 cups/serving.
3. Mix well until the mixture is completely coated in spices. Add salt to taste.
   
4. In a separate pan, heat oil/ghee until hot, throw your greens and saute about 1 minute. Don't let them get too soggy! Add a dash of salt.
5. Mix the greens with the beans and rice, take of heat.

Although not necessary, this dish is really augmented by some plain yogurt and chopped avocado mixed in. I never eat it otherwise; it really adds something special to the mix!

What makes this dish extra special is its versatility. This is it's simplest iteration, however; you can combine the basic ingredients with any other vegetables you have on hand: I sometimes add black beans or garbanzo beans to the mix, potatoes are another favorite, or some chopped ginger. This dish is geared toward promoting healthy digestion, so typically one wouldn't add garlic or onions, as this stimulates the digestive track instead of calming it (although I'm sure those additions would taste great!).


*I love me my greasy french fries and cheese pizza as much as the next gal; and there is no way I will ever pass up my dad's meatballs, my mother's picadillo, or absolutely anything my grandfather places before me on the table. Even if you only eat this dish once per week, it is helpful in keeping things a movin. Remember, a varied diet that we incorporate into our daily lives is the first step in moving toward more positive eating habits!

Mr. Mr. y sus prioridades...

Develop interest in your life as you see it; in people, things, literature, music-the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.

~Henry Miller

Aqui estamos

Lately, I'm at once incredibly inspired and motivated, feeling strong in my body, clear in my head and heart, confident in my day to day interactions and transactions; then, often multiple times in one day, I am completely unsure and hesitant, overcomplicating the easiest tasks, second guessing every idea and decision, vacillating between such complete opposites, constantly walking this fine line between crazily ok and moderately off my rocker.

Within this space of transition, this strange period in my life that I am completely devoted to, captivated by, and yet of which I am often petrified, the one steady, reliable, dependable thing has been my words. I write every day, and every day I work to give myself permission to continue knocking on this door.
She doesn't know it, at least I don't think she does, but I follow my girl Sahara's antics as best I can via this silly machine; I look at her photos, read her scarlet prose and am transformed time and again. Three-thousand miles separate us yet a few words from the lady grounds me back down into the right now, be it with a silly grin in front of this blazing screen or a brief glance outside my window, a new view of the punks I ride the bus with, a reminder that each moment can be remarkable. It is because of her that I am taking this (albeit tiny) leap. Please do yourself a favor and check her out here: http://saharamarinaborja.blogspot.com/

I am here to explore that space, to dig deep into this, to connect...but also to be silly and sloppy and goofy, to ask hard questions with a light heart.


Last Night As I Was Sleeping
Antonio Machado

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamnt-marvelous error!-
that a spring was breaking
out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk?

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamnt-marvelous error!-
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamnt-marvelous error!-
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night, as I slept,
I dreamnt-marvelous error!-
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.