A South End Fire Escape

Construction vehicles, Rubbermaid trash cans, and sunlight through knobbled iron grates.  I am closer to the clouds and the roof decks of the affluent.  Somehow a difficult winter in India makes it so perfect to…be…here.  I inhale whatever sun comes in this spring, molasses-slow in its arrival.

Last year, high on Darshan, I came home to a 190ft sublet with no closet, the traffic and consumerism of the Back Bay a thorn in my spiritual side.  I would pace that little neighborhood, trying to reconcile the slow receding of India’s subtle awareness with the sensory assault of jackhammers and searchlights on Route 90 at 10PM.  Man, was I pissed.

This year, America is a breath of fresh air,  literally.  With the re-growth of clean and happy lung tissue, and the support of a very special community of yoga practitioners, I feel- watch the cliché- renewed.

There is nothing like a difficult and toxic time to clear the way for gratitude.  It reminds me of the experience that follows time spent slogging through my tissues’ mire at the Ayurveda center.  Those who are joining the spring cleanse this year can look forward to just this sense of renewal. 

Aaah, Boston, the other lover.  You are not the one I pine for, but the one I keep coming back to.  Like any family home, this city folds me into a stifling, centering embrace.  I step back, gasping and giddy.  Time spent here, and a life slowly built, are money in the bank.  Heart bank.

Let it be known, I am happy to be here.  Maybe for the first time in this deep way that threatens to precede a total surrender to the place.