To parrot Frederich Nietzche, when we stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss stares back at us. I have found myself staring into the abyss, perambulating its event horizon until my feet fell out, and my mind became blurred. The abyss staring back at me. Anger is necessary, it is a helpful way to vent, shout and scream out our rgae, discomfort, and tear out the injustice of it all. But anger has two faces; positive and negative. When we hang onto it, righeously or otherwise, for too long, it boomerangs with the same force of its output. Be aware. Never, never allow anger to fester for too long. Allow it to change and morph by shedding light to it, "my persceptive may be askew"; "I am not able to see the whole truth of it", " I am tired and need to step back from it.".... many lanterns are there to help shed awareness. And this gives the neccessary repreive to dissolve the intensity and one pointed dagger of anger.

As you may know from my work of Honoring Ancestors, evert angry, wrathful, violent thought and/or negative response we have ever issued can be traced to the cellular memories we carry within our genetic composition which had been sculpted by familial bloodlines. Ancestral memories mold our relationship to the world and can control our responses and behavior unless we bring awareness to them. The ancestors can be both the source of the hardship and the remedy. Each time we allow a challenge to push our buttons, we push deeper into the murk of ancestral chasm.

With ancestral awareness, and contInually bringing light to our angst, rage, worry, discomfort, we tend to make a more humane choice when faced with challenges. In this way, we transcend the ancestral ground of negative angst. We we grow, we morph into our humanity, always an uncomftable terrain. But, in so doing, we can elevate both ourselves and the ancestral spirits. Peace Be Your Journey!

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This illusive, sought after thing is not an illusion. It is tge ever flowing vibration beneath the grime, crime, and slime of living. It is immutable energy always present always accessible, if we learn how to stay open to it. Happiness is not what we think it is. It is not to be found in the state of the mind. It is not a goal to be pursued.
Like desires, it arises from the depth of our past impressions stored within the cognition over many rebirths. We can no more control desires than we can control happiness. It is ever-flowing, generated by the unconditional desire to be happy. Happiness blossoms when we understand our nature is happiness.

Amid the dankness and chaos of our individual world and the world at large, we find ourselves hard-pressed to eke out the space and time necessary to pause, to breathe into the inner sanctum where the immortal happiness lives. But, this we must do- day after day, regardless and because of. Our primordial nature is happiness, our nature is the pure desire for freedom, liberation form the endless cycles . Ultimately, it is the character of our happiness that forges the way to freedom and consciousness.

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Ode to Flaco- magical, mystical citizen of NYC

Partial Transcript-

Flaco, the Eurasian eagle-owl, beloved citizen of NYC died sometime early Friday morning, on Feb 23rd.
The snow moon has just risen in the eerie early morning. The researchers from the Spanish Ministry of Science and Innovation traced two unique lunar communication behaviors of the Eurasian Eagle Owl during each of the major phase of the moon: vocal communication and visual communication. During the full moon the Eurasian Eagle Owl is turned on by moonlight. The brighter the moon, the more frequent the calls. But along with the owls' vocalizations is the moon’s affect on the owls’ visual communication.The study is one of the few that have looked at intraspecies communication of nocturnal birds and the findings provide further evidence lunar cycles affect the behaviors of animal species.

I choose to think that this celibate, monk-like bird was responding to his palpitating heart for his beloved owl mate. eagle owls communicate similarly at dusk and at dawn to when the moon is full, and suggest that this is because the amount of ambient light at dusk and dawn are about the same as a moonlit night.... shedding the aura of romantic hues this majestic creature was longing for the company of his mate. Eagle owls have white patches of soft feathers under their beaks that they show only when vocalizing. So, as the moon gets brighter, and the eagle owls are calling to their mates more frequently, so do these owls climb to higher perches where they can be more easily spotted. A grand freedom year to date, the Moon brilliantly relecting in the high perches of glass windows, Flaco obeying his avian instinct must have flown into his own reflection made bright by the vision of moon. He reached not the open skies, nor the enbrace of his beloved girl-owl but a crushing barbarism, crashing to his death. His spirit released, he is soaring in the high ethers alongside his proud ancestors, and perhaps there his spirit has already enjoined his beloved mate.

His radical journey from captivity at the Central Part Zoo - from the time he was a fledgeling 13 years ago, to his absolute freedom on the historic day of Feb 2, 2023 when his cage was cut open, demands our reverential awe. Falco took his maiden flight to freedom and was never captured again until he laid down, body vanquished, spirit risen on the cold concrete slab at 89St on CPW. Flaco's momentous act of freedom has split open each one of our hearts. Owls are known to never follow the herd, they live independently, cherishing their own company, the ooutlier of the avian species.

The freedom seeker, Flaco is a magical, mystical New York story. He is helping every disciples to reveal our own back story. Like every act of martyrdom in deeply troubled times, Flaco's plunge to certain death instills a reverence for the lifeforce, diminishing the fears we carry around toxic urban disease, death and dying. My own story swelled up inside my throat. I grew up in Greenwich Village; left the city to build my non profit school in the wilderness of North Carolina, acres of Cherokee forest where I could seed my Ayurveda gardens. But I kept returning to the city, to that imperishable creative vortex force where the spirit of its citizens is held in abeyance. After twenty years, the tide of harmony had turned in my forest. Barbarism against my person, as spiritual person, a woman of colour, a successful woman, a woman of Hindu origins, a woman of robes, escalated, targeted as I were by the brutal network of the many tentacled patriarchs. So just a few months ago I decided to close my operations in NC and returned to my home base in the city, largely because I heard and empatized wi

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