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.