YOKED

Rod Stewart is one sexy man. This is, at least, what my aunts have conveyed to me over years of concert going, stage crashing, and radio blasting rides. Apparently, the only thing that compares to that dirty blonde rock and roll mane and those skin tight leopard pants, is a voice so raspy and soulful it “will steal your heart away.” And while I wanted nothing more than to tag along with my mom and aunts, each of them icons of that oh-so-distantly-enchanted womanhood, the concerts were always waaay past my bedtime. So I perched on the edge of the bed as late as I could, watching them gussy up in a cloud of Hairnet and polka dot ensembles, as they convinced me that a dab of confidence was all one needed to storm the stage like a rock star. And dance with Rod, of course. Were You Tube around in the 80s, they would have video footage testifying to their stage-robbing fame and you would have no trouble imagining how enormously cool they really were. Whether boosting one anot...

There’s nothing about this lemon-colored umbrella in my drink that is necessary. It is frivolity and glamour under the faint Seattle sun. And while I know all too well the limits of its luster, it charms me still. And isn’t that the point of every sweet and senseless surprise? Isn’t that behind every wink, every kiss mistaken, every nickname ever given? Each gestures beyond mere utility. And yet, if a bee can land upon it, believing my little umbrella a font of nectar- a bee so evolutionarily intelligent, so mathematically inclined- then I too can resist bitterness for the ways in which I have been undone by seduction. I can admit my weakness for pyrite, and still smile for the way it makes me stumble and shimmer, often interchangeably. And I give thanks for being as crazed as a bumble bee.

So I’ve been thinking a lot about the purposes of art lately, considering what it can and cannot do. For years I have gravitated towards creative writing, theatre, film, dance, and a variety of artistic enterprises in much the same way that ivy crawls across a wall. The connection to art comes so natural, that I respond almost unthinkingly, presupposing its intrinsic richness and worth. Reflection upon the subject has taught me that we are inevitably a story-telling people, who seek meaning in the creative and perpetual re-telling of our lives. And for those who have suffered inexplicable tragedy or the hidden burdens of mental illness, art is the most obvious consoler. It may not resolve the riddle of suffering, but it does speak to the heart of it; art names the complexities of human experience with the exquisite stroke of a brush, the rhyme of a verse, or the arc of a body in full expression. It does not answer every question, and therefore avoids the false trappi...

In the ancient Vedantic texts of Hindu philosophy there is reference to the physical body and the subtle body. The physical body is comprised of cells, tissues, muscles, organs—all things visible to the naked or microscopic eye. And yet, this subtle body is difficult to pin down. No x-ray, scan or biopsy can capture its existence. However, for centuries people have been engaging in physical disciplines in attempt to properly channel the energy of the subtle body along seven chakras, or energy vortices, that run the length of the spine, from the bottom of the sacrum to the crown of the head. The chakras are imagined as wheels that whirl powerful life energy upward through the invisible channels collectively known as the subtle body. This imagined spiritual body figures in the practice of Yoga, Tai-Chi, and many Eastern styles of meditation. I let these ideas about the subtle body, and its fanning petals of light, occupy my imagination when I am in the most diffic...

Licking the corners of my mouth, I retrieve the creamy remnants of a chocolate éclair. It is everything that the North End promises in authentic, overstuffed Italian pastries. With the taste of heaven still on my lips, and a sip of tea soon to follow, it occurs to me that Café Vittoria might be something of a training ground for spiritual formation. I know what you’re thinking. Here she goes turning secular decadence into religious blasphemy again . But hear me out. One of the most popular expressions at divinity school is the term spiritual agility . It is used to describe the ability of the minister to attend to different people and circumstances with considerable flexibility. A spiritually agile individual will not only read the pulse of a room, but remains nimble enough to respond appropriately. And as a virtuoso of the soul, who seeks to bring out the best notes in others, she is constantly retuning her own instrument in search of the divine pitch. In short, ...

The Dance Complex is an establishment in Cambridge, operating for decades with six floors of dance studios and the most eclectic variety of classes you could possibly imagine. They have everything from break dancing to salsa to organic ballet, which must entail hemp leotards, right? And with a cheap drop-in, pay as you go option, it’s the perfect excuse to experiment with one of the many dancing hybridizations they offer. So experiment I did—with a course in tribal belly dancing. The Harvard Gazette recently published an article on staying sane, in which Laura Kubzansky, HSPH associate professor of society, human development, and health, wrote, “Everyone needs to find a way be in the moment, to find a restorative state that allows them to put down their burdens.” Dance is one of those exceptional activities that transfixes my mind long enough to forget itself. Sometimes I am completely suspended by the challenge of learning a new move, captivated by a new pattern of subtl...