Overcoming. Getting through. Learning so that we can live a new. This, for me, is what Easter, and Passover, what the essence of Spring is about. Sometimes we transform, resurrect, from the simple, easier lessons in life. And sometimes it requires the harder ones to get the job done. Below is a piece from my new book coming out later this year, a piece that walks through a pondered moment of transformation.

And keep scrolling to see our upcoming line up of Spring Workshops and Heart Sangha dates – we're now moving into the tides of receipt, energy is building for what you want, for the Life You Desire, and you're going to get it. Are you ready? What can you do to make it welcome in you?

Gilded Ground

In the busied, not-so-clean streets of Manhattan, amongst the leftover dirty snow, cigarette butts, bottles and their tops, miscellaneous plastic bits along side the stuffed bags waiting for their due, my new, white pointy-toed shoes wander late, searching a cozy space for a nightcap to read and ponder by in shared moments to myself. Passing by SoHo’s near, swanky spots of the past nights’ cheer, at last I find one open at this Monday midnight hour. I settle into the worn, wooden bench by the votive candle on the tiny round table while my reels play the haunting, emotional left-overs, World Trade Center’s Memorial visited earlier this day: images and sounds of deathly impact, fiery destruction, digging, foraging, wretched remains, remnants, hangings on – by God do not let go of what was – for sheer life, and the wondering, the unsettled wondering of why.

Why did a few become so focused on destroying so many? What seeded this destruction, really?

Then the cries in my empathetic, imaginative mind, the many, many ongoing cries of human hearts being torn from their lives in desperate fear, knowing they will not survive, or knowing that their friends, neighbors, workmates, shopkeepers, beautifully human, loved strangers will not, did not survive.

Mind eventually returning from the world of New York’s great catastrophe, back into me – life’s mirrored reflection on a more minute scale. At the small table in Sel Rose while devastation’s image comfortably unfolds in the distressed walls of brick and plaster chipped, paint peeling, rugged, yet this establishment stylish in its mix of old and new, groove beats pumping through while Pastis graces my tongue, warming, loosening to the feeling of loss as my purpose for being escapes me.

“I am God’s ______________.” (Fill in the blank. Fill in the blank!)

I have been churning this alongside the felled towers since a lovely mentor laid the question in front of me. So, what am I? What is my true purpose? Why am I here, on this earth, in this body, in this city of vitality and overwhelm? What goes in that blank? ‘Beauty, love, truth’? All too big? Too vague?

A weighty job, landing just the right word; huge integral piece to my puzzle. I know I know it, but at the moment I cannot find it for the life of me. Searching, wringing my logical side…

What I do know: I love to love. Everyone and everything: words, nature, art, tastes and sounds of all sorts, support, given and received, connections with all of life, beggars and beauty queens alike. I love to meet at the center of the heart and see, feel the instant spirit of joy, empowered jolt, jumper cables of Life, as we glean each other’s spark.
I am God’s love? God’s jumper cables? (Two words, need one.)

To be in the midst of focused chaos problem solving my purpose is a tension to be celebrated. Despite the uncomfortable feeling of lost that plagues me I find myself grateful I have this living to do. My decision is how best to meet my maker who makes me in this Life, how best to be this gift; my quandary is not rather to jump or get swallowed by flame…

I cannot get the images of the men and women in the tall slender windows (coffins we call them in feng shui, those tall skinny openings) the men and women leaning out, way out over the too-high edge in the midst of the most intense moment of their lives – the torrid end of their lives – I cannot get them out of my head, out of my heart.

Curled over my small corner table, alone in the near-dark, quiet crying befriends me again, for them and in part for me; pierced heart taken to this sardined, concrete city’s starry skies and dirty streets, wanting peace, in answers, in love, and in a moment’s familiar drink – loaded licorice gracefully unfolding everything.

I am… I am…
I Am God’s Heart.

to Living Sensual!
Live in Love with Life
xo Piper