Today is my second morning in NYC. I haven’t been to the US for so much time that I actually can’t remember when I was resident here the last time. It’s a blur.
I am American technically, but it’s jarring how little I fit in and yet somehow it’s all familiar, the contrast of accents and yet I have that accent too – somewhere… the difference in mentality, the places I have seen, the food I have eaten, the people I have had the blessing to know have morphed me into a nation-less, borderless, wide open and patient individual with the observatory skills of a camera capturing the night sky.
My shutter speed keeps my eyes open, capturing things that the old me, my regular human sight was blind to.
When I last lived in the US I lived in NYC, in Battery Park, and was about 18 or 19 maybe, was on top of my own personal ambition hill with playing as an actress, a model, and a photographer.
I was an ambition machine, with my own idea of what my destiny would look like, and then, with time and maturity I learned to listen to a deeper message of my destiny. One that did not come from my own ideas and comforts, but was blended and in consideration to the more profound nature of reality, purpose, and service.
In September of 2001, that date is one of the few I can pinpoint when I look into the past, life decided to shake things up for me in a big way. Back home in Nevada there was a family crisis that would shatter the fabric of my idea of home and where I can escape to should this all fall apart, to lead into a later crisis of my own that began a few days later the morning of September 11, 2001 when I stood alone barefoot in front of the immense sight of a couple buildings falling down. Only to lead to several illnesses that would put me on the door to death.
On this particular blog I am not going to go into the tragic details of any of the events that occurred that period since it is not what this story is about, and tragedy never is the point of any story, as it leads us into victim hood and self-pity. The gifts of realisation are the point.
What I do want to tell you is that the absence of a comfort zone, a physical, a mental, an emotional, and a spiritual comfort zone changed the outcome and events of my life. I could move or travel anywhere, knock doors of whoever for work, try totally irrational things that I never learned but know anyways and succeed in them. Open businesses, close business. Very few things really scared me enough to stop me.
What a blessing for me, getting the shit scared out of me was, and now with so many years of time to incorporate those events I can even smile at them and feel grateful.
As we age and we do our personal work and process to be honest and clear with ourselves, we get to enjoy the amazement of hindsight. The people that moved us to new directions, the events, the realisations all form to bring you to where you stand in this exact moment.
Right now, looking out the window into NYC on a chilly September morning at an hour that only jet lag or my future child can get me up for, I am having a Sarah Jessica Parker moment of reflection, a mac to write it on and police sirens to keep me awake and alert.
I can remember doing this reflection over a decade ago after NYC and I had a deep hole in our heart and the towers were down. NY was a mess, and so was I, terror rumbled and rumbled and still even today is rumbling.
The major difference in myself is my lack of attachment to comfort, years have past by that I have avoided skilfully NYC, September 11, talking about any of it and visiting the US.
I know with all of my self’s knowing, that in the next couple of minutes life can turn on it’s head, that the future is unimaginable to me and you. That the feeling within that truth is a mixture of excitement and terror which is what aliveness actually is.
The sharp knife’s edge of aliveness, and me standing right on top of it, sure that I won’t and cannot fall or hurt my true self and armed with a baby in my belly, a little girl who perhaps if there is one single truth I wish to give her about life it is the wonder of being awake in it.
I am going to have a Greek/American child, already borderless and already stretched into the wideness of the world. She makes me courageous in new ways that I am blown away by, she is more evolved than I, she is more spiritual than I, and she is closer to the truth of what I speak than I. She is my teacher in love and service and she’s not even out of me yet.
I am going to walk down to the twin towers sight in a couple of days at the same time that those damn towers took my naïvety away and blessed me with clairvoyance and changed me forever.
I am going to go to the root of all my adult self’s birthing, and I am probably going to cry my eyes out just like now, in a state of wonder at the way the world works, awe for the beauty in tragedy, and gratitude for the drastic removal of the need for comfort in my life so that I may be free to actually live it.
My roots are the scariest, most frightening cause of terror that I know of consciously, you know how silly what I am saying is, and yet the terror rumbles through me.
This US trip, I hope and strive to heal and overcome the wall of discomfort I have left behind by moving forward into the unknown.
In every shadowy corner of our consciousness is a gift, a treasure of empowerment and strength waiting to be found and restored.
I am here to collect it,