Reflections from the ground up.

I arrived in Melbourne with a fueled fire and the intention to set my last months in Australia ablaze, to bring catharsis to the cloud that has hovered for nearly the majority of my stay here. That damn cloud, punctuated in its altruistic sky has been extracting the darkness and precipitating light on my path all along.  A realization that my fickle cloud frienemy has actually been of service throughout my journey in Oz.

I knew the only way I'd be happy was to step further outside my comfort to bring my desires to fruition. I spent the past five months in Brisbane training my ass off at an all women's Circus school and advancing in my aerial practice which I was ready to make use of. For so long I had been putting my energy into everyone but myself. My self was calling, practically screaming to feel the freedom it once felt. And so with dedication I was ready to recommit to myself. Beyond the luster of how most perceive my 'travels,' the struggle has remained obscure. 

I've lived in a hostel for the past month, watching the numbers from my bank account deplete while in the process of pushing myself relentlessly to honor my passion.  While my 20 - something- year old hostel mates urged me to join them in the many events going on in the city, I retreated to the library most evenings where the wifi was strong and the ambiance quiet. I've spent sleepless hours writing emails, visiting studios, getting lost in unknown neighborhoods, auditioning, and small talking strangers. I found a warehouse space 45 minutes outside the city to train aerial silk, and by my third day in Melbourne I was taking the train there 5 days a week to keep my body in shape if an opportunity to perform was to arise. 
But after one month, I was left with little money, still no job, and the inconsistency and discomfort of hostel life began to weigh on me. It was the same story over again, yoga studios and everyone I spoke with didn't want to hire me because of my temporary visa. I was also competing with quite a saturated market.

I became stressed about my finances, questioning where all my efforts were leading me, if anywhere. I thought of throwing in the towel of my two year journey , contemplating going back to my my home city where an established life would grant me opportunity easily. But easy never appeases me. Reluctantly, I was also on the verge of applying for any job just to earn some money, although I knew I would be denying myself by doing this. And then my body retaliated from all the exhaustion.  I came down with a fever, body aches, and felt as though I was burning from the inside out. I know my body well, and anytime this happens I feel as though life is sending me a message, and then some sort of change typically takes place. In this moment, my body was pleading for me to give it a rest.

 
In the midst of a 102 fever and feeling pushed to my edge, the tragedy in France struck. I felt an accumulated ache for the images of innocent refugee children and families being burdened for their existence, for the savage madness begetting death not only in France, but across the globe chaos has been vitiating all over the world. 

And then my heart cracked. Like a roaring wave the realization of my purpose flowed out.  I felt an immense fervor to push on for those who cannot. The suffering of others has been my motivation to continue to push forth in my teaching, and my personal practice. I found society to be perpetuating the languid ideology that "our world is fucked," or ''there's no hope for humanity."  These futile beliefs will not serve us as individuals, or the greater good. Apathy will kill you.

Through helping others, my own suffering is alleviated, and the way I help is through my art, or my (heART) , as I like to say.  It's an irreplaceable feeling of bliss in my world. This bliss comes in the delivery of a simple "thank you, I feel great " from a student who appreciated my yoga class. This bliss is experienced in the surrendered weight of a students head in my hands as I make sure to administer a 20 second head massage to every single one of my students in sivasana.  A couple weeks ago when I was in the warehouse practicing,  a timid aboriginal woman who had been cleaning the space approached me, expressing how moved she was to watch me practice. And so I made her take off her shoes and urged her to let me teach her a few things. The laughter and smile of triumph that accompanied her self doubt when she mastered three climbs on the silk, let me tell you...the joy I felt in that moment illuminated the brightest rainbow over a very cold and grey Melbourne day. This bliss, is what keeps me going.

If we all start small and share any little ounce of light we have in even the tiniest of cracks, we will be contributing to a better existence. Through loving ourselves, as painful as it is to face the demons that come along with it, and withdrawing the knives we have pierced our regrets with. The wake of human destruction can be an opportune time for reconstruction of our approach to it all, or simply the 24 hours set out before you. It's a time of empathy and educating ourselves on one another, because the truth is that we are inseparable. I find myself reading articles fervidly, wanting to have a greater understanding of the root of all this hatred, and educating myself on my own country's history at war that I admittedly have turned a blind eye to in the past. I'm making effort to make peace with various aspects of my life, and to show unconditional love even if it may feel unwarranted or unreciprocated.

I know I'm starting to sound a bit Paulo Coelho-ish  now, but sincerely , it was almost in the exact moment that I decided to persevere for my purpose that the sky opened up. The catharsis I sought after...

I write this as I sit on my yoga mat, waiting to teach my first class in one of the best yoga studios in the city of Melbourne.  I'm teaching weekly workshops and yoga classes at other locations in the city, have various projects in the works, and will be performing in a show on December 5th for a charity event alongside some beautiful and incredibly talented new friends. 

When life kicked, I chose to kick back harder. When you commit to your innate self, there is no such thing as rejection. It seizes to exist. So... persevere persevere persevere my friends, for the rest of your life. And never stop loving. Without the darkness, how else are we supposed to appreciate the sunrise?  ;)

  
 “The best antidote I know for worry is work. The best cure for weariness is the challenge of helping someone who is even more tired. One of the great ironies of life is this: He or she who serves almost always benefits more than he or she who is served.” Gordon B. Hinckley

The Exhale.

And then I realized, most of my life I've had a great fear of loss.  I have spent too much time rebelling against the forces of nature, and have dug my claws too deeply into what was never meant to be mine.

This year has been a lesson on recycling pain into a new lens.

It has been nearly a year that I arrived in Australia feeling vulnerable and heartbroken, not to mention that life took no mercy and threw some cliffs and trenches along the way.  I say 'heart broken' in the exaggerated sense that I was deeply in love with a man, and I fought to the point of losing myself to make our relationship work, even though deep down my soul was telling me that it wasn't right.  (The fallacies of a stubborn taurus woman with too much passion.) With him, I did not feel whole. Every voice within told me to let go, but I couldn't bear the thought of losing someone I loved, or the pain that came with the idea of him no longer loving me back. I could not forfeit the transparency and trust I relinquished to him. So I hung on to false green pastures. And with unashamed admittance, I was a grown woman still afraid of abandonment.  It has taken time, confrontational aloneness, and a very broken heart for me to break it open and find my way back to myself.

I've spent some time working for a beautiful family, looking after their 2 and 5 yr. old boys.  Living within a 'normal' family dynamic made me aware of things I had yet to face. This realization came to me whenever the boys wrapped their arms around their daddy when he walked through the door, and my heart felt immense pain and beauty all at once.  I would never have a father that is capable of this role, and hadn't realized the significance of the denial I thought I had concurred long ago. 

 It was an intense awakening that there were still parts of my being that felt incomplete. An incompleteness that has lead to immaturity, unfulfillment, and fulfillment seeking patterns in all my relationships. In the past I became an expert at supressing sadness, only to have it manifest itself into deep depression and resurface (usually under the influence of alcohol) in which I was quick to bury it again.  I've competed with this void by wearing a facade of armour, and diminishing any feeling that involved defeat, even if that meant being dishonest with myself at times. As a child, I had my mechanisms of combating the things I could not control.  I felt an unhealthy need to be the best at everything, a perfectionist, in an attempt to seek love from where it was lacking and to feel somewhat in control.

I'm sharing a small piece of my reality not for pity, but as a message to whoever is reading. The pain we experience in life, in whatever form it comes, from death of a loved one to heart break, this pain is not working against you, and is not the evil nemesis we make it out to be. See pain as a companion, sitting next to you and asking for acknowledgment, reminding you of your aliveness, and all the creativity and beauty it can bring forth to assist you in becoming your rawest, most humane form of you. One of the most tragic things about humanity is that many people never know how to manage their grief.  They carry it around them, too afraid to puncture its bubble, allowing their suffering to stifle their truth. They feel they are a victim of life, and this perpetuates into a vicious cycle where hostility and greater problems breed and hone, often taking innocent people.  Do not allow yourself to deteriorate from existence this way.  There must come a time when we release ourselves from our own prison. No one else is going to write your story for you, and I promise you...you have all you need within to give life to yourself.  

Nicolle

Adieu, Love

Their chests conjoin like drum heads as their pleasure crescendos , reverberating from the source.
Their foreheads magnetize.
He cradles her beneath him like a floating leaf, in reverence of her colors, extracting her spring, yet aware of the winter she still carries.
He devours her alchemy, unearthing her buried treasure, he's eager to please.
Surrendering to the winds of their ecstasy, allowing the imprints of the man she once loved to be caressed, painted over, and bid adieu.

Coquettishly his lips claim her cheeks, her eyelids, her breasts. He will never know the overly sensitive spot on her neck that when provoked, will send her into a fit of laughter. 
She fights the memory of laying over her past love, planting her lips with adoration all over his body, the octopus tattoo, the scar on the collarbone, and all the ways he could not love you.  Locked inside their jungle bungalow for hours never checking the clock, only the geckos understood their language. 
  
Pressing her kisses into his skin with her fingertips as if to make them permanent, she coyly whispered in his ear  " Now no one will ever be able to kiss you there."  And now she wonders. The impermanence of loves tattoo, a vicious paradox.

Memories flood, in hot rolls they silently fall from her eyes, down her temples, and abound a sea into her ears. Deafened by her tears, she's taken back to the days when the sea was her haven. When she lived on the island, when her heart was heavy, running to the sea with an urgency to feel the lightness, to be understood, and to be held unabashedly. Muted salvage , she floated with her heart surrendered to the sky.

Clasping her heels into his waist, she draws him in.  "my sea for now," she thinks. All sand must shift. She Subdues the memories, drawing him in further, and floats.

Adieu, love.

Aerial Hoop.

In the past couple of weeks I've found a new interest and resonance with the hoop, and feel inspired with the possibilities of having a new creative outlet. 

Here's a compilation of some amateur moves I practiced over the weekend. Always trying to keep things interesting. Also, I just can not seem to get enough of Hozier and that sweet ass voice.

Kangaroo Cuddles

When one thinks of Australia, naturally the Kangaroo comes to mind. I anticipated the moment I'd  have an interaction with these peculiar creatures, and while I was sure I would fall in love as I do with most furry legged friends I encounter, the kangaroo pounced on my heart leaving me smitten by their sheer sweetness. They rested their head in my lap, clamped their little claws around my fingers, surrendered to my hugs, and reminded me of what unadulterated love is like.

"I don't think animals are our equals, I think they are superior to us in every way. My gurus always have fur or four legs or a mustache.

They are so close to the heart of all things, so fully here & deeply in & madly now, they don't need clothes, or arguments or outer validation to trust themselves & others. They never leave you wondering or waiting, they never make you doubt their love.

How can I not bow down to them? How can I not believe in miracles when miracles are barking, meowing, chirping all around me, all day long?

I don't have faith, but I have eyes. And heart binoculars for wonder. A camera. My voice. I want them to be known." Andrea Balt

Raw Chocolate Cupcakes (for the health conscious sweet freaks)

 When I was living in Perth there was a lovely organic community cafe called the Fern that hosted donation based dinners every Monday night. On the night I was able to attend, the owner had made a raw chocolate mousse dessert that my friend and I intended to share, but I'm pretty sure I ate 95% of because apparently my rudeness overrides my ability to control my sweet tooth. Intrigued by the unique flavor and texture of the mousse, I asked the owner the recipe and was taken back when she told me it was mostly made from avocado. Umm, say what?!  How did I not know about this. 

After my bout with the Fern's avocado induced mousse, I started experimenting with some avocado inspired recipes.  I have a serious sweet tooth and love my chocolate, but I'm also aware of the negative effects of excessive sugar and striving to live healthier. There are so many desserts we can enjoy from natural, raw ingredients without harming our body.  One of my favorites so far are raw chocolate cupcakes. A healthier alternative to store bought shit, with ingredients mindfully brought together to suffice the sweet cravings. The chocolate frosting is incredible and I'm still in awe of the magic cacao and avocado creates. I've made these several times, and today I figured I'd document and share.

Cupcakes
500g walnuts.  For this I used 250g pumpkin seed instead because one of the kids I look after has a nut allergy. Sunflower seeds are another alternative, but have fun and experiment. 

2 heaping tablespoons of raw cacao powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
16 pitted raw fresh dates
1 teaspoon natural vanilla extract

combine walnuts, cocoa powder, cinnamon, salt
blend until ground, but not too fine
add dates and vanilla.
blend a bit longer. I added coconut oil to bind the mix together a bit.

scoop and hand mold into mini cupcake portions. Refrigerate 1-2 hours. * Remember these are raw and not baked:)

Chocolate Frosting
1/4 cup honey
2 ripe avocados
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 cup cocoa powder

blend all the ingredients until creamy and thick. 
Spread the frosting over each cupcake. I garnished mine in goji berry.  Refrigerate until ready to serve and enjoy<3

 

Brisbane

It has been 3 days since I arrived in Brisbane, and the first thing I noticed upon stepping off the plane was the stagnancy of the air. After living with the ocean at my bed side for so long, my senses instantly grasped the change, but the 'no ocean' factor was a sacrifice I was aware of before arriving. Brisbane is set out on a river, and today I took the ferry for the first time from the city to the suburb of Bulimba, where I'll be living and working as a part-time au-pair for the Copland family. At the moment Jonathan ( the dad) and I are staying in a temporary apartment in the heart of the city, and the rest of the fam officially moves over June 18.  This may be an awkward predicament, but we both have our separate  room and bathroom, and Jonathan is far from creepy or awkward, so I feel completely comfortable given the circumstance.  My job the first few weeks is to basically be the overseer of the families move from Perth to Brisbane. My duties involve being at the new house when all their belongings start arriving, being in control of unpacking and setting up the house, getting utilities set-up, ect.  I see this as good practice to get my organizational skills in tact. A mental challenge to achieve and stay completely focused on tasks that typically wane my interest. Setting up space and creating ambiance has always been my forte, however;)

Walking the streets of Brisbane the city has much more of a 'city' vibe than Perth, with a bit more hop in its step, soul to the eyes of the people, and more diversity to the culture. I haven't missed America until arriving in Australia, because the two countries have so many similarities. Living in Asia for over a year and being immersed in the foreignness, unfamiliarity, and sublimity of it all, I was distracted in my adapted Asian life. I was distracted in my environment,  and in love.  I've found, ( and am constantly catching and correcting myself) from the judgments that are constantly surfacing and causing me to compare the American vs. Australian life.  I hate to sound like an arrogant American and commend the stereotype that America is the greatest, but let's just say for the first time I have the most appreciation for philly than I ever have. I have not made it to Sydney or Melbourne yet, and its only been weeks since i arrived in brisbane, but living in Perth there was an overbearing sense of compliance , artifice, and "white is right," vibe to the culture. I've had an incredible longing for home. 

I've spent the past 2 weeks trying to make connections and finding my bearings here. I've found an all womens circus group http://vulcana.org.au/about-us/....and here I've started circus training again 3 days a week. One of the girls  asked me to join her in the schools  showcase on july 5, so I'm looking forward to having the chance to finally perform. I also interviewed and taught a sample class to the owner of a yoga studio down the street from where I'll be living, and she's keen on having me teach a class, so things are sloowly falling into place. 

Perth was difficult for me, but I feel brisbane has provided me with a breath of fresh air, and I'm feeling really inspired once again. I took a few dance classes this week , which I haven't had the opportunity to do since leaving philly. I'm inspired to do everything at the moment, advance as a performer, evolve my teaching, get involved in community, and I've even considered looking into taking a course at one of the many universities here, more specifically on alternative medicine.  My question is, how do you narrow down your interests and passion to one specific niche, when you have so many?  In order to really excel should one choose an area and focus only on that?  This is why it's so difficult for me to settle, because my brain is currently latched to so many dreams and ideas.

Grandfather.

My Grandparents on their wedding day. May 1960

 My grandfather loved his binoculars. He would sit for hours on the front lawn, watching the grass, planes, birds, anything he could see through those lenses. He'd pass the binoculars to me at 6 years old, and I was in awe of this magnified world. Commonplace existence foraged with observation and intention was my grandfather's method. He was always curious, and his curiosity made me curious too. He had a love of nature, music, all things lively, and he engaged and colored my young world with it all. There were many days we strolled the neighborhood park collecting pine cones, admiring their scaly rhythm in silence.  He acknowledged the beauty in everything.

When the Alzheimer's staked its claim dissipating parts of his mind from me, fragments of his memory remained fastened like the grip of his over-sized hand as he spun me through childhood in an endless dance on the worn brown carpet of my grandparents living room. When he forgot my name and no longer called me Nikki, he retrieved that I was "the dancer," and this became the name my grandfather called me until his final days. This simple and steadfast title etched itself into my young heart, for I knew at that moment it was a designation I was to always uphold. The rhythmic tapping of his perfectly white shoes, the rug burn on the balls of my feet, and the light beaming from his face as we sang and danced together to The Sound of Music soundtrack-  these memories are still so prominent. There was an afternoon when I was a little girl, leaping ahead and practicing my ballet jete' along the sidewalk while my grandfather trailed behind. I remember the fall, my blood soaked knee, and the tears as I looked up at my grandfather seeking solace. Reaching out his hand, smiling, he says "get up and dance the pain off until it reaches the ground where you fell."  I've never forgotten these words. This was the spirit of my grandfather. Light, direct, and regal in his stride like the birds he'd admire through his binoculars. 

Secretly as a child I had always wished he was my father, and so I'd pretend. I wanted to take his love and preserve and patch it like paper mache over the hollowness my own father inflicted. I wanted to only account the purity and comfort of his love. He was my patriarch. The impending notion that life would one day call him back was expected, and at 14 he left me as a young woman with the knowledge of what a truly genuine, loving, and good man encompasses. When I think of heaven, I think of being reunited with the absolute comfort, and beauty of life that was experienced under the wing of my grandfather. I wish his guidance could have carried me into adulthood, but yet I constantly feel his presence, and his words singing to me. If there is one angel above looking out for me, it is undoubtedly my grandfather.

"Get up and dance the pain off until it reaches the ground where you fell." And thus, this has become my life elixir.

 

pop pop and I, age 13.

GONE

A friend sends poetry to my inbox almost everyday. This particular delivery, I've wanted to share.  A poem by Carl Sandburg, entitled " Gone."

GONE

EVERYBODY loved Chick Lorimer in our town.
                    Far off
               Everybody loved her.
So we all love a wild girl keeping a hold
On a dream she wants.
Nobody knows now where Chick Lorimer went.
Nobody knows why she packed her trunk. . a few
     old things
And is gone,
                    Gone with her little chin
                    Thrust ahead of her
                    And her soft hair blowing careless
                    From under a wide hat,
Dancer, singer, a laughing passionate lover.

Were there ten men or a hundred hunting Chick?
Were there five men or fifty with aching hearts?
               Everybody loved Chick Lorimer.
                    Nobody knows where she's gone.

With humility I say, there are days I understand Ms. Lorimer.

27.

I finished work and hopped on my bike, peddling barefoot the extra 30 minutes down the coast anticipating the serenity of my favorite undisturbed beach spot.  After dropping the bike (and my pants), I sunk my bum and toes in the sand while inviting the actualization to also sink in, that here I was in Western Australia growing a year older, all alone. I began to question myself, my choices, and where I am on my path. Realizing how disconnected I've felt not only from myself, but also from friends and family, and feeling a slight notion of fear, that I don't even know a place I can call home anymore. But the truth is I've never felt quite "at home," in all my life, and perhaps this is what I've unknowingly been seeking for. In the midst of all these thoughts, I suddenly became overwhelmingly sad, and felt a harrowing sense of loneliness.  I questioned if I was being selfish for craving acknowledgement and company on my birthday when there are people with far greater sufferings in the world. I've always been a bit of a loner, pretty good at being alone, and I've never been one to make my birthday a 'thing'...so why should today be different?  As the bout of loneliness continued to undulate me in its sheath, I caught myself before being engulfed into a 27-year-old pity party. Years ago, my 24-year-old self would have faltered to having a drink for every sorrow.  But now, instead of suppressing my darkness, I chose to embrace it. Most of my life has been a constant flux of feeling as though I'm on track, and then falling off again. But I'm finally making the conscious effort to pull from within me the strength to always reach that equilibrium. No longer becoming stagnant in artifice, but rather finding my footing so that my soul can dance its authentic essence. And mostly, to stop seeking fulfillment in the external and befriend myself once again. One thing this past year has taught me, is that I'm a hell of a lot better at pouring my love and musings into others, than I am myself.

And so, I closed my eyes and chose to meditate on what was coming up. In time, my thoughts had shifted from the external, to the internal. The external being what my ego thought it needed, the internal being the acknowledgement of what I already had. I placed my hand on my heart. It's beating for me, I'm alive. That in itself should be enough to be happy. Allowing myself to just feel purely content, without expectation, and simply be in the moment of a beautiful day. To be OK, with being alone.

I stared out at the sea for awhile, when out of nowhere I noticed a butterfly at the shoreline. It started to flutter closer and closer as I continued watching. Without expectation, I reached out my hand, and it flew right to me. That butterfly stayed with me for awhile, resting on my hands, my head, circling around me and landing on me again and again.

I went a little photo crazy, but I was so happy in the moment I couldn't help myself.

By the time it reached my hand it was very still, subtlety expanding its wings every now and then.  I sensed the butterfly was dying, and in fact, I was sure of it. At the same time, I have felt like something within me is dying too. But a necessary death to set a foundation for a re-birth. Like the butterfly, I am a shape shifter. Evolving more into a woman of complete authenticity, and leaving behind parts of the girl. 

Eventually the butterfly flew off, and left me in a state of utter peace, and acceptance. I know that butterfly was sent as a message to affirm all my apprehensions. I'm exactly where I need to be, continuing to do the work. Befriending myself.

After the butterfly encounter, life continued on with the birthday blessings. That evening when I got home, I had a message from Michelle, friend and owner of the gym where I've been teaching yoga and aerial silk classes. Michelle invited me out to dinner with her that evening, and told me she would pick me up at 6. When we arrived at the restaurant, I was completely shocked to see a group of my students had all gathered to celebrate my birthday, bearing cards, gifts, huge smiles and laughs. Just when I thought I was alone, there they all were! Overwhelmed, I realized I hadn't felt that much love in a long time. It blows me away to think that here I was, in a foreign country, being shown the utmost love, affection, and generosity from a group of women I only recently met.  

"The more you thank life, the more life will give you to be thankful for."  This little mantra continues to ring true to me as I recognize the support and blessings that life continues to fortify my path with, to help me continue on. 

May the transient span of 27 be a time of magnificent transformation. 

~ Nicolle

Plumeria Power

It was while living in Asia this past year that I first took in the sweet scent of nature's little gift, the Plumeria flower tree, also known as Frangipani for the first time. It's incredible how much joy I found in these flowers. They live short robust lives, continuously flowering and permeating vivid color and an enticing sweet scent that would stop me in my tracks.  It became my daily ritual to pause in the presence of the Plumeria.  While living on Gili Meno in Indonesia, the flowers grew everywhere and I routinely collected the fallen flowers under a tree next to my bungalow, mindfully scattering them on my bed and bed frame, filling the room with fragrance.  This gesture became a  practice of meditation for me, and I felt in harmony with my femininity while being reminded of small practices of gratitude that are here for us to embrace.  It's so easy for us humans to complicate things with our mind (guilty!)...but these flowers with their short little life span of utter unadulterated beauty, reminds me to stop. Breathe. It doesn't always have to be so complicated. I have caused much of my own suffering in my young life for constantly striving for perfection, too distracted to recognize the perfection in the subtlety, failing to embrace the present, until those moments have passed by.

I've learned that these flowers have a myriad of meaning and symbolism in various countries. According to Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs (by Scott Cunningham; Llewellyn Publications, 1984)  Plumeria is associated with the feminine, ruled by Venus, its element is water, its deity is Buddha, and its power is love. (Makes sense.)

Plumeria tree growing outside my bungalow in Indonesia.

 My life has recently undergone a significant whirlwind of change. From island life back to 'civilization,' trying to find my place once again in a foreign country, and bearing tiny wounds in the heart. But I know all this struggle is meant to prompt me to continue to do the necessary work, awakening dormant strength & depths within. Creativity can always be cultivated from challenges.

I'm thankful to discover the Plumeria grows here in Australia, and amazingly... all over the streets where I live! I've promised myself to continue to pay homage to my island tendencies, and always stop to admire the Plumeria. When they bow their heads in weariness and fall, I'll pick them back up and continue to relish in their blossom.  Because beauty in the subtlety never dies.