the practice

Tantra

banyan — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 04:59:20 GMT

"Tantrics, however, are not looking for liberation from the world but enlightenment in the world. In a shaktadvaita classic called the Tripura Rahasya, a prince named Hemachuda achieved the state of kaivalya, establishment of the Self in the Self, the goal of classical yoga. He sat in deep meditative absorption day after day, not wanting to be disturbed. Finally his wife, and advanced tantric adept, interrupted his sadhana teasing, “My darling, you are as far from enlightenment as a reflection of the stars in a pond is from the sky! What kind of liberation is this that dissolves when you open your eyes?” She went on to explain that the true goal of yoga is sahaja samadhi, maintaining awareness of the divine reality while fulfilling one’s responsibilities in the world."

Circles

banyan — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 16:23:49 GMT

The moon is most happy When it is full. And the sun always looks Like a perfectly minted gold coin That was just Polished And placed in flight By God's playful Kiss. And so many varieties of fruit Hang plump and round From branches that seem like a Sculptor's hands. I see the beautiful curve of a pregnant belly Shaped by a soul within, And the Earth itself, And the planets and the Spheres-- I have gotten the hint: There is something about circles The Beloved likes. Hafiz, Within the Circle of a Perfect One There is an Infinite Community Of Light.

Tired of Speaking Sweetly

banyan — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 13:51:14 GMT

They say sugar can numb the lasting after-effects of a medicine ceremony, but if there's anything I learned last night, it's that NOW is the time to eat a chocolate-covered strawberry. It's that there are no wrong decisions, that lying down, sitting up, peeing, shitting, puking, and singing, are all the same. Exactly the same. Every single movement, or lack of movement, is a dance with God. Sometimes an awkward, seventh grade, spend-two-hours-trying-to-build-up-the-nerve-to-ask-her kind of dance, where you bashfully shuffle your feet around the gymnasium floor, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Sometimes a fire dance, an achingly slow poi exploration with nobody watching, the burning Light tracing arcs of heat over your bare shoulders, again and again until the sound goes out, the kerosene is finished, and you are left in darkness, breathing heavy like a pair of lovers, still sweaty, intertwined, and inside one another. And other times an East Coast Lindy Hop, a spinning, turning, kicking ball of laughter, you in suspenders and wingtips and the Beloved, laughing so hard as you flip Her that tears race down Her face and drip onto Her polka-dotted dress, while Duike Ellington faithfully belts out "It Don't Mean a Thing if it Aint Got That Swing." Everything you do is Sacred. Everything. Every teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy little thing you do, is Sacred. When you realize that Light is everywhere, that everything you touch is overflowing with God's Graceful Giggles, you see that even washing the dishes a kitchen water-fight with the Friend, making the dish suds into big Moses beards and spitting water at each other, not even thinking what Mom's gonna say when she gets home and finds the mess. You see that kissing someone, kissing anyone, is meeting the Beloved's lips. That laying your hand on someone's back as they purge into a bucket in a Tipi Village in Goa is no different from reaching out and taking God's hand, squeezing it, telling Him, "You and me are in this together. What you feel is also mine." My fingers and my hands never move through empty space, for there are invisible golden lute strings all around, sending Resplendent Chords Throughout the Universe. And Hafiz. Hafiz, the teacher of teachers, the Guide, the Tavern's Barman. All night long, pouring Light into a spoon, and again and again, raising it to nourish my beautiful, parched, holy mouth. Yesterday, it was "The Warrior," describing a hero, sitting in a circle with other men, gathering the strength to unmask himself. And during the night i finally, FINALLY felt what you meant, as I stumbled around celebrating everything I could lay my hands on, I finally felt exactly what you meant when you said that you and God are like two giant fat people, living in a tiny boat. Bumping into each other, and laughing. And this morning, as everyone seemed to return to stillness. The cries, the laughter, the sounds of purging and whispering, singing and crying, all faded and I felt like the only one awake on Earth, my fellow warriors finally resting after the night's great Victory. I took The GIft under a palm tree with a lamp underneath, and sank to my knees. No questions this time, just an open attitude, an open ear. I lay my hand on the book's cover, adorned with Sonia's Arabic calligraphy and the oil from countless fingertips. I chose a page, eyes still closed. page 187... TIRED OF SPEAKING SWEETLY Love wants to reach out and manhandle us. Break all our teacup talk of God. If you had the courage and Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights, He would just drag you around the room By your hair, Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world That bring you no joy. Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly And wants to rip to shreds All your erroneous notions of truth That make you fight within yourself, dear one, And with others, Causing the world to weep On too many fine days. God wants to manhandle us, Lock us inside a tiny room with Himself And practice His dropkick. The Beloved sometimes wants To do us a great favor: Hold us upside down And shake all the nonsense out. But when we hear He is in such a 'playful drunken mood' Most everyone I know Quickly packs their bags and hightails it Out of town. Not me, not this time. This time I stayed. I heard a rumor that Grandmother was here, here in one of those moods, and so I got ready to see her again. I changed my diet. I changed my yoga practice. I fasted. I showered, shaved, flossed, and brushed. I trimmed my nails and put on my cleanest clothes. I brought flowers. I welcomed her with Te de Coca, tobacco juice, and Palo Santo. I sat in a circle, framed by a bamboo pyramid, and asked her to teach me about Love. I approached the shaman, knelt before his altar, and listened to him breathe into the Cup. And I drank.

Kowloon Park

banyan — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 03:31:16 GMT

Handstands against the wall in the Prudential Hotel, Kowloon side of Hong Kong. Left hand is still weak, and I can't help but fear the embarrassment of having only made slight progress since I last saw my teacher on Maui. An eleven year old boy demonstrated one of the most gorgeous Tai Chi forms I've ever seen this morning. Completely focused, moving with grace through his postures, he hardly noticed even the holster-wearing dreadlocked white guy in the crowd. "How long I play Tai Chi?" he says later. "Oh, ah, one year." Each morning it seems the vast majority of Hong Kong's 7.5 million residents can be found in the public parks, breathing deep, in strong stances, tracing circles and arcs through the air. There is no shame, no shyness, no nervous glances around to see if anyone is watching. Only a consistent daily practice of moving energy, guiding it and crafting it, sculpting an invisible Light that so many in my country are completely ignorant of. So when I bring my mat to the park and begin my Surya Namaskar, I only get a few curious glances. Mostly the Chinese just let me be, and we all breathe and move together, a silent reverence for each other's morning routine. If I was back in Chicago's Wicker Park I'd attract more attention. I'd wonder if my wallet would still be next to my mat after Savasana, or if it'd be inappropriate to have breakfast at the Bongo Room without a shower and a change of clothes. So in a way, I fit in better in a land where I can't read most of the menus. Cantonese is a difficult language. Our client brought us out to dinner last night, and while trying to figure out how to de-shell a sea mantis, I mispronounced the translation for "I dance with fire," and accidentally said something to the effect of, "I'm a fucking dancer." Not sure if that kind of talk will get us the next gig in Shanghai. But here I sit in Kowloon Park, watching a man older than my grandfather balance on one leg, the other extended high, spiraling arms through the air before pressing both arms forward, straight towards...me. For a second I think he's looking straight at me, and then I realize, in this moment, he doesn't notice me or anything around us. In this moment, we're the same.

chicago to the playa

banyan — Mon, 06 Aug 2007 05:47:58 GMT

anyone got space in their truck/trailer for a treebike? figure its Green Man this year, so it should prolly be there... but i'm out here on the west coast so can't exactly move it too easily. only thing is, its a little delicate, so i dont wanna jam it on one of the big Chicago to BRC tractor trailors. so anyone have any other options? it packs down quite small... pretty please? b

Again?

banyan — Sun, 08 Jul 2007 22:36:23 GMT

lost a friend on friday... Maddi Alvarez, killed by a carbomb in Yemen. This woman is one of the best poi dancers i've ever met. Humble in the utmost, we'd catch her spinning alone in a clearing in Thailand, an unforgettable smile on her lips, exploring this art form to its highest, pouring out grace and control, expression down to her toe-tips. When we spun fire, she'd only watch. When we performed, she volunteered to do safety. This is the second firefamily member i've lost in the last few years. First Nasu, now Maddi. Extremely different energies. Both highly skilled. Both blindingly bright, both with their own dark spots. What's a freak to think? Burn one for her. Light something, a candle, a pair of poi, a fear you want to release, even a pile of leaves. just burn something, as people all over the world are doing for her right now. ok? And now a request...Maddi wrote me a note last year, as others did when we part ways. She wrote it in Basque, her native tongue, so that i could enjoy the message later, when i learned to translate it. Now of course this message is more valuable to me, and i'd love to find someone who could help me read it. So anyone out there have any friends from the old northern territory of Spain, who speaks this language and can help? biglove, b

Things that make me feel at home include:

banyan — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 21:21:24 GMT

- bicycling--fast--down Milwaukee Ave. - eating out of my favorite cereal bowl(it's a gorgeous wine red, with deep, steep sides...) - bike messengers--everywhere - squeezing each of my old friends...and not letting go. - wine with Laura - falafel from Sultan's Market(Sorry, Ali Baba!) - waiting for the Green Line while half a dozen Ravenswood trains pass by... - hearing my mom tell me I'm too skinny - Jim's and Mark's yoga classes - Elana and Levi curling up on my bed (yes, MY bed! I actually HAVE one!) for Hafiz's bedtime stories - corn on the cob in Grant Park, listening to James Cotton on the harmonica at Bluesfest - street musicians--mad props to the bucket percussionist above... Thanks to all those who have welcomed me back here. Thanks to all those who came and lightened my burden, helping me empty my last apartment. Special thanks to Elana and Levi for clearing out their spare room(no simple task!) so i'd have a room of my very own for the first time in, well, lets just say a long time. Thanks to the fire community and the fullmoon gatherings at Foster Ave. Beach, which seem to consistently swell and mutate and evolve everytime i take a peek! Thanks to the yoga community here, with its open, inviting arms, talented and inspiring teachers, and dedicated, open students. Chicago has always felt like home, and although it looks like i'll only be here a few weeks this year, i'm ever-so-grateful for everyone i encounter in this town. It's real, real and pure and honest in the best of ways. Thank you.

Who wants my STUFF?

banyan — Tue, 29 May 2007 22:07:31 GMT

that's right people... I'm emptying a whole apartment full of goodies, because, quite simply, i don't need it. You ever see a tree right before harvest? All that fruit weighing it down? That's how i feel these days. So come by my old place and take whatever you like. Help me unload, and help me reach higher. Just a peek at things you might walk away with: Futon w/ frame Couch TV coffee table Technics speakers miniDV videocamera Four foam Incredible Hulk gloves 4-500 CDs Assorted altar goodies (we'll just be callin those AAG's for short) used-but-still-usable fire equipment clothes art supplies of all kinds jewelry and, um... a few really neat-looking pieces of wood. that's just the start! who knows what's underneath the playa-covered tupperwares... I haven't exactly been "home" for a while, so for those that have forgotten, its 2453 W. Walton, apartment 3. I should be home most all days and evenings before the 1st. Or find me at Elana and Levi's place up the street. And i don't have a phone at the moment, so just come on by or write me here. Besides, i haven't seen a lot of my Chicago family for WAY too long.... 3,2,1... Come and get it!

Firedancing Show this Sunday at Union Square, SF

banyan — Sat, 28 Apr 2007 20:42:53 GMT

hey family, who's in the bay this weekend? Come and check out some seriously hi-quality firefreaks from around the country. we's gonna burn somethin fierce for National Dance Week, so it'd be good to get some tribe out there to show some love. So whaddaya say? see you there? b Date & Time: Sunday, April 29, 2007 7:45 PM What: Temple of Poi Fire Dancing Expo Details: www.templeofpoi.com/events/expo07.php Where: Union Square (Geary and Post) When: April 29, 2007 at 7:50 pm Cost: Free!! Bring a chair and a blanket and join us April 29, 2007 at 7:50 pm for our free fire dancing show in San Francisco's legendary Union Square (Geary and Post) for the second annual Temple of Poi Fire Dancing Expo. In addition to some amazing student performances, this show features world-renowned performers from around the US as well as some of the best artists around the Bay Area in a 2 hour show hosted by a Chicago based comedian. The creation of this event – selected as one of Bay Area Dance week’s Cornerstone events – is a tremendous leap in the efforts to legitimize fire dancing as an art form by taking it out of parking lots and putting it on landmark stages like Union Square. The Expo celebrates safe, legally permitted, public fire dancing performance in honor of National Dance Week, an annual 10-day week of free public dance events in the Bay Area designed to showcase the dynamic diversity and critically acclaimed quality of Bay Area dance. Temple of Poi supports this vision by creating an unprecedented opportunity to celebrate fire dancing at no cost to the artists or audience. This event is a not for profit event created with the intention of: - offering more performance opportunities for fire dancers - giving novice artists who might otherwise not have an opportunity to perform in a public setting an opportunity where they can invite friends and family to see them express their art - increased exposure to the flow fire art forms by creating a legally permitted public event at a San Francisco landmark location - raise the awareness of fire dancing as a prestigious dance form by holding this event on the opening night of National Dance Week Our Mistress of Ceremonies for the evening is the lovely and talented Miss Tamale (misstamale.com) -- a former Temple of Poi student, fire dancer and comedian who flew out from Chicago to help celebrate this event. Be dazzled by expert professional and semi professional artists: Prism, Solar Flare, LumenAscent, Order of the Phoenix, Flowtoys, Jamie/Vikki, Cooper Lantern, and A Different Spin. Enjoy solo performances by world-renowned professional performers ICoN, Banyan, Shredder and Temple of Poi Founder and visionary, GlitterGirl. And enjoy the opening act where several dozen students show off what they have been working on in the past 6 months as you watch, Firefly Conspiracy (Glen, Marla, Sandy, Melissa, Tiffany; Principals Rising (Lara, Melinda, Brenda F., Michelle, Anne, Jim, Glen, Beth, Jen, Brenda L., Elyse, Milla, Waldemar); Two Sexy Girls (Devon, Sarah); Delicious (Elyse, Jen, Brenda L., Gen, Dani); Natural Fire (Lauren, Janett, Susan, Waldemar); NightVeil (Lara, Cathy, Jodi, Susan, Danielle, Kris, Rachael, Elyse, Stella, Becky, Sarah, Erin, GlitterGirl); Tango Sexy (Anne, Jim) and Invisible Best Friend (Melinda, Brenda, Becky, Sarah, Cathy, Lara (and Michael playing the Invisible Best Friend)). While you join us at the show, register for our drawing where you can win free classes from Temple of Poi; fire poi from Flamma Aeterna (flammaaeterna.com) ; light tools from Flowtoys (flowtoys.com); SmartPower drinks (smartpowerdrinks.com) from Smart Energy Enterprises Inc., SEE-Inc. A Beautiful Future Now!; and more! While you hand in your drawing entry, help support the costs of this event by purchasing a copy of the Temple of Poi 2006 Fire Dancing Expo DVD for a one day only sale price of $15 in honor of National Dance Week, so bring your cash! Directly following the event (10 PM) come and meet the artists who performed in the Expo at Otis located at 25 Maiden Lane @ Kearny. This is a private club and has no signs, so please remember the address. This $4000 event is being financed by Temple of Poi with special assistance from Flowtoys -- makers of innovative illuminated equipment and entertainment (the best darn light-toys around); SmartPower "smart" energy drinks -- energy that fires you up without burning you out; Flamma Aeterna, a premier provider of fire and flow arts performance equipment; and PoiGeek.com -- bringing instruction from anywhere to anyone in the palm of their hand. Special thanks to Beth Morgan for her generous donations to our cause. Help support the event and make a donation now or purchase a copy of the Temple of Poi 2006 Fire Dancing Expo DVD, on sale at the event at a reduced rate of $15 that day only -- bring cash! If you're moved by our cause to legitimize flow and fire arts, donate money now to help pay the costs of the event which include permits ($500 for the city, $56 for sound, $180 for open flame) and required personnel ($380 for fire watch and nearly $500 for security, janitorial and on site management from the owners of Union Square). You can view the entire press release here: www.templeofpoi.com/press/expo070429.php

Mumtaz Mahal

banyan — Thu, 22 Feb 2007 04:45:45 GMT

I've decided the women in India are invisible. Out of a billion people, half of them seem to be hidden, behind closed doors and iron-guarded windows. The men drive the buses, they run the restaurants and hotels, they fix shoes, they sew clothing, they cook, they clean the guesthouse rooms and mop the floors. I find myself wondering where the other 500 MILLION inhabitants of this land are, and what they're doing. On a good day, i'll hear them, the soft jingling of ankle bells and handflowers, chiming down the halls. But the moment i look up they're already gone, out of sight like a shooting star your friend sees over your shoulder. On a very good day I'll actually see one, impeccably clean and perfumed, in a gorgeous ochre saree, with almost as much jewelry as my bellydancing friends back "home". If I'm lucky she'll smile, parting thin dark lips to reveal amazing teeth that sparkle nearly as much as her golden nose ring. She'll blush and look down when I say Namaskar. But most days I'm not so lucky. I know they're here somewhere, but when i ask the man of the house if I can borrow some scissors, he nods and goes to the other room. I hear him talking, I hear the ankle bells, and then there he is again, scissors in hand. I hold the scissors and look at them a moment, thinking, THESE came from a WOMAN, while he reminds me to bring them back to him when i'm finished sewing. I ask people when I can, I ask the boys in the alleys of Varanasi why there are no women dancing with them in the rickshaw-pulled dance parties in the street, and they laugh at the absurdity of my inquiry. "Dancing is not for women, sir," they say with all graveness. I laugh out loud, thinking, if only they could see the Chicago girls when Random Rab is playing. So I stop in Agra to see the Taj Mahal, one of the Architectural Wonders of the World. Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan commissioned it as a tomb for his wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Yes, his wife. A woman. A gorgeous crown of 100 percent white marble, sloping curves, domed roofs, and towering minerets. Inlaid semi-precious stones. Perfectly symmetrical in design. So I'm WONDERing, as you do around the Wonders, am I still in India? In a land where public affection is almost nonexistent, in a land where women, especially Muslim women, are kept almost completely and literally under wraps, the most magnificent structure is a monument to love. The Taj warms me tonight, as I sit on a breezy rooftop with cold feet, belly full of malai kofta and chapati. I look out past the ornate South Gate and feel the Feminine standing proud but quiet, the Goddess, strong and silent. Fog comes in and slowly makes her harder to see in the distance, and I remember one man telling me that where he comes from women are NEVER outside after six PM. The fog grows thicker and the Taj is a faint silhouette as i climb a few steps to the smaller upper roof. The full moon, a feminine presence in every culture's cosmogany, hangs bright in the sky. The moon FEELS so much a woman, her soft light much more soothing and gentle than that of the glaring, aggressive sun. I squat down and light my staves. The bells from a bicycle rickshaw chime down the street, and I smile and close my eyes. I think of all the women in my life, all of the women who have shaped me, taught me, comforted me, and, well, fed me. I think of my mother, panicking on the other side of the globe at my lack of health insurance. I think of my sister, my first creative inspiration. I think of Krist Sebestyn, of Angela Asley, of KC, of Amelie, of Liz, of Elana, of Muzhat Mahal, of Rebekah, of Kai. I think of Anais Ninn, of Ani Difranco. I think of lovers, and sisters, and friends, and yogis. I think of the women who have trusted me. The women who have told me what IT is like. The women who have led me. The ones who have opened me. I think of Nicki Doane. I think of Aurora. My hands are getting hot as the flames grow larger, licking the backs of my knuckles and singeing the hair there once more. I take a deep breath and hold the staves overhead, opening my eyes to see the Taj through the smoke. I begin to thank every woman I've ever known, and all those I've never met, thanking them one by one and all together, honoring them in the only way I know how. With fire.

Allahabad

banyan — Fri, 02 Feb 2007 16:51:12 GMT

"'Child,' the master said, though apparently I was nearly twice his own age, 'for the faults of the many, judge not the whole. Everything on earth is of mixed character, like a mingling of sand and sugar. Be like the wise ant that siezes only the sugar, and leaves the sand untouched." - Babaji, guru of Lahiri Mahasaya Sometimes there's no avoiding your own lessons. The last week has been tough. Catching a cold, getting hassled by every rickshawman in town, scammed by the train conductor, told my internet bill was 600 rupees, and having a difficult last day at the Mela...the little stuff just kept seeming to pile up. In India there is no rest, no quiet, no moment to yourself to collect your thoughts. So I get on a train to Agra and open a book that, halfway finished, i had considered trading away two weeks ago. The second page I read tonight is not just a reference to the same festival(Ardha Kumbha Mela) in the same town(Allahabad) that I was leaving...it was the guru's adice to his student who was having nearly the same frustration I was! So the question is, is Babaji out there, watching me, planning which page of his student's student's book I should read at which moment? Is that how he teaches? Wouldn't astral projection be a simpler method? With a billion people in this country, the fact is there is bound to be lots of sand. But i've never tasted sweeter sugar. dreamBIG. b

Same Same

banyan — Sun, 21 Jan 2007 01:57:50 GMT

Sitting in a guesthouse room in Luangprabang with six stoned travelers -- each with their own silent project: sewing a patch, writing a book, contact ball, meditation, and frisbee. Minimal reggae plays softly through an MP3 player and tiny speakers. Palo Santo burns in the corner and the sounds outside are motorcycle/baby crying/catfight. I came here to find something, to find "it", to find me. I imagine everyone here did. So can we find it in a room? Is it under the stiff mattress, or in a backpack next to the dirty socks and Lonely Planet? For that matter, is it outside? Is it in learning to say "please", "thank you", and "how much" in each language? Is it in learning how to mime out all of your needs to a seventy-five year old woman with no teeth and yet the most beautiful smile, who just so happens to yes, indeed know where to find kerosene? A couple of six year old Lao girls were burning a pile of leaves to keep warm so I joined them. One of them showed me part of a traditional Laos dance movement; an interesting alternating twist of the wrist. I tried to copy it and was met with shrieks of laughter. She showed me again, slower this time, and again, and again. By the end i was SURE i was doing it right, but still, SCREAMING laughter. I got the impression maybe this was a woman's dance, something that men don't do, especially farangs. But seeing their glowing smiles around the fire, hearing them giggle, was well worth the humiliation. Moments like this are what would bring someone to five continents, or six. I used to want to blend in as i travelled, to not look like a gringo, to sneak in undetected, and listen. Listen to the people in every pueblo, in every metropolis. To watch them, not interrupt them, not photograph them, not disturb them, just watch them. I wanted to see their way, to compare it to my way, to realize that my way is just that: A way. Not the only one. Now as i move, as i ride boats all night and drink things i can't pronounce, i look down and see me, me as more of myself than i can remember. I don't blend in here. And i don't want to anymore. Hiding a part of yourself has a purpose at times, with the right intention. But right now is not one of those times for me. I'm seeing that the more "me" that i look and act, the more i find myself going deeper in -- not just watching but interacting -- not just observing but participating. So maybe its obvious I'm not from here, maybe its obvious that i come from a place where you can make $20 an hour and not $20 a month. There are other ways of finding things in common, other ways of connecting, of seeing through the layers. Here's hoping that i find them. So it's no surprise sometimes, that i find myself in a tiny room full of travelers, telling stories and playing kids' games collected from all corners of the earth. The guesthouse room is a decompression chamber, from the smells of the meat market where you can have the pig's brain, foot, OR face, from the tuktuk driver who whispers at you from an alley about ganja and thai girls. Sometimes i feel a bit too safe in the room, that it is simply a continuation of that bubble which is my home and my culture. But at the end of the day I'm grateful for the temporary escape, grateful for the use of my first language, grateful for the rest. Most of all i'm grateful that i'm around to write about it, and that you're around to read it.

japanorama

banyan — Fri, 08 Dec 2006 07:08:53 GMT

tokyo easily has the most technologically advanced toilets in the entire world. it took me a few minutes just to find the button to open the door. anyway, sending giant asian hugs to the family 'round the world. lovin you, b

onward

banyan — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 23:59:17 GMT

what a magical end to my time on Maui...Saturday Ben and I took some much-needed time together to hike the Olinda Forest, breathing in eucalyptus leaves that smelled nearly as sweet as lilikoi, gathering funny looking branches and photographing bark. Went for a drive up Haleakala, a volcanic crater that sits around 10,000 feet, way above the clouds. I've never seen a sunset like it, the sun dipping into the clouds from above, lighting up the floor the way it normally lights up the sky. The full moon rose behind us so we bundled up Chicago-style and hiked down into the crater, a full-on moonscape again, unlike anything i've ever seen. We sat on giant stones and slid down sparkly grey dust dunes, playing with our moonshadows and laughing obscenely. The drive down was a thrill as well, especially as the James Bond theme song came on the radio as i swung the truck around cliff-perched s-turns...perfect. we arrived into hot and humid Haiku a few hours later, still under multiple layers of pants, hats, and gloves, laughing in the 80 degree night as we had one more chicago-style hug(you know, the kind when you're both wearing so many layers that you squeeze THROUGH all the clothes so you can find your friend under there). I miss Ben tons and love him even more. Sunday afternoon brought one more trip to Little Beach, the weekly fire-drum dram in Kihei that went off even more so than usual. i'd love to say it was because it was my last time there, but i think it had way more to do with the THREE master-drum-teachers that were there rallying the troops. beautiful beats, a great sunset, and one last chance to boogey with my latest crush, an eight-year-old with a firehoop. On to the Scorpio party at Jenny's...1920's to 1940's theme, which made Trevor for the first time in his life look UNDERdressed. the Maui tribe dresses well and dances well too and we boogied to wicked sets by Gabe, Zelis the Lip-Biter, Plush, and some guy i never heard of named Tipper. he was okay. ;) After sweating hard on the dancefloor it was nearing bedtime but i realized if i went to bed then there was no way i'd wake up for class in the morning...and this was my last chance to practice with my teachers Eddie and Nicki. So i was FORCED to stay awake and dance even MORE and what the heck, the kissing booth over there is probably a good way to burn some time.... We realized that the folks on the mainland are under the delusion that the magic of the kissing booth went out with the 70's. they're wrong. So one last practice with Eddie and Nicki before saying goodbye to the yoga space that has changed me so much...than a meal and a two hour nap before a going away dinner, a whole sushi spread prepared by Yuko herself, renowned dancefloor, koala hug, and sushi master. Zelis, Melee, Ben, Yuko, and Cristie the Winker all dug in, and we sat around heavy with food and laughter as we munched on durien for dessert, just about the weirdest fruit i've ever gotten into. Maui has wrapped me up in a warm blanket and made me feel absolutely at home. thank you to the family here for embracing me so strongly, and so quickly. i cant wait to come back. dreambig, b

movement

banyan — Tue, 24 Oct 2006 08:37:59 GMT

My brother Jesse and his wife Emily just gave birth to their first baby girl, a Nine-pounder named Ava Ann...that's her in the firefighter helmet. everyone's healthy, happy, and teary, including me. Kinda rough to not be "home" during times like these...As comfy as i am in a transient world, there's always moments like these that really give you the tug. On the flipside, just finished the Advanced Teacher Training with Eddie and Nicki here on Maui. These guys teach some of the best teachers in the world, and i can't believe our 3 week program is already over. The program brought up a lot for everyone, stuff some of us weren't ready to face but did so with strength we didn't know we had. I'm surrounded by warriors, of all shapes and sizes. The island is full of magic, and beauty doesn't just tap you on the shoulder here. It cracks you over the head. Ready for more? me too. And now that the training is over, i can finally enjoy this island a bit more. so i think i'll go do that. to the tribe in chicago, the west coast, and whereever you are these days, many blessings. can't wait to see you once more. dreamBIG.

Chicago sublease august thru january

banyan — Sun, 09 Jul 2006 17:14:38 GMT

hi family, why sub a class when you can subLEASE a whole apartment? I'm hitting the road in mid to late august and won't be back until maybe late january or february...looking for any of you transient souls who are space-hunting for a place to lay down after all those chaturangas and BTB weaves every day. It's a two bedroom apartment in ukrainian village(western and augusta), that you'd have all to yourself for 375 a month plus utilities. My roommate Chris will be out of town nearly the whole time, just stopping in for a weekend here and there. Place is fully furnished with a separate yoga/fire practice room, and what the heck, i'll leave the hammock up in the living room as a bonus! please help put the word out if you hear of anyone looking for a place...thanks! peace, bryan gallagher 773-715-4677

Breath

banyan — Fri, 30 Jun 2006 06:28:04 GMT

Remember when you'd skin your knee and your mom would put stingy peroxide on it and then blow cool air on the wound? There's nothing quite like that, is there? A light breath, not a forceful one. Eyes closed, lips puckered, a deep breath in, and a soft breath out straight from the heart. Gentle relief, cool air full of life and love. Is this western culture's last deep connection with the breath? Most other languages have many words for breath, it seems we have only one. It's not that complicated a concept for us. Maybe it should be. :)

maha mudra

banyan — Thu, 01 Jun 2006 15:52:11 GMT

"For one who practices maha mudra, there is nothing wholesome or unwholesome. Anything can be consumed, even the deadliest of poisons is digested like nectar. " HYP 3,16 sounds like a good enough reason to me. anyone got any poison?

The Phantom Tollbooth

banyan — Mon, 29 May 2006 16:55:16 GMT

"Expectations is the place you must always go to before you get to where you're going. Of course, some people never go beyond Expectations, but my job is to hurry them along whether they like it or not. Now what else can I do for you?"

LA sushi

banyan — Mon, 29 May 2006 16:41:48 GMT

hey family, the Master sushi chef at my restaurant, Hiroshi Takaishi, is travelling to Los Angeles soon and is on the hunt for five or six great sushi restaurants to check out while he's there. Any recommendations? Extra points given to especially creative slants on the art form. Hiroshi's an amazing guy, i've worked with him for a year and a half and have NEVER caught him without a smile on his face, so also if anyone wants to take him out for a night, let me know! b

hunting for fire-eating torches

banyan — Sat, 12 Nov 2005 07:49:42 GMT

anyone have a good resource? i'm in a hurry for a show, too busy to build anything myself, and i'd love to have something well-done by an experienced friend! lemme know...