look into their eyes

The platform and the cars of the subway were eerily empty this morning – quite a contrast to yesterday’s crushing commute when New Yorkers exhibited not-their-best behavior, pushing into the packed train and tossing rude comments back and forth. This morning, before I left the house, we exchanged a few words: “you know it’s 9/11, yes, I’m running late, the subway has been a nightmare, not looking forward to that, call you later" etc. My preoccupations kept me from kissing him goodbye.

As soon as I hit the street I felt it. The past few years I’ve tried to pretend that this day could be just like any other day again. But it never is and the tears welled up, as they invariably do, and I headed down into the subway, wondering what I would find. Wouldn’t you know that I found I missed them, all of those New Yorkers. Where was everyone today? Were they afraid to ride the train, right at this time, the time the first plane hit? Were they home watching the ceremonies at Ground Zero on TV? Were they grieving loved ones lost?

As I took stock of the other riders I wondered if we should be nervous. Was I imagining the mood to be somber? Remember, after 9/11, when you could sit on the train and cry, and know you wouldn’t be alone in that -- not have to feel awkward or know why you were crying. We were all crying in our own way. And during that time we actually looked at each other. You felt you could speak to people and you knew you could ask for help if you needed it. You knew you would give help, if asked. The world had changed and New Yorkers started looking into each others eyes.

“Shouldn’t we be doing something special today?” my co-worker asked this morning, her eyes reddening as she turned to her calculations and spreadsheets. I said I might meet a friend for coffee – someone I had watched the TV with at work as the second plane hit that day. We had left the office together and bought flip-flops for the long walk home. She talked about her best friend from high school whose brother died in the Towers, seven years ago. He would have children by now she mused -- he had been engaged to be married. We all know someone. Each year we hear the stories, old and new.

Tonight at home when I stand quietly at a south-facing window and look downtown, I’ll see the gap in the skyline, filled this week with the beautiful and symbolic tower of light. I’ll remember the heavy smoke and the long-lingering odor of that dark time. And I suspect, like many New Yorkers, the day will have been marked yet again by a very personal mourning and reflection and possibly a remembrance of the softening and opening of our hearts, and our eyes.

The photo above was taken to promote a recital my daughter sang in June, 2002. We were not trying to capture the flag which appears on the subway car, but somehow it seemed appropriate – a full year had not yet passed since 9/11 and a certain special patriotism was still very much apparent here in New York.

Hear her album "Maya's Idyll" here.

weaving in the threads

Right about this time last year, I was still quite intoxicated from that first Centered Riding® Clinic, which was attended when I could almost still count my riding lessons on one hand, and I had to think about how to hold the reins each time I got on the horse. I knew that Centered Riding would change my life, but could never have imagined the depth of the process which was initiated over those four days.

Many of the patient teachers I met then have become my instructors at Lord Stirling Stable and the clinician, Gail Field, has become a friend, Alexander Technique colleague and riding mentor. The early entries on this blog document my meeting with the infamous Annelie, now my dear friend, horse riding idol and most recently, aikido protégé. More than one fellow aikidoist has been inspired by my stories of learning to ride. One has started Centered Riding lessons herself, riding again for the first time in over 30 years.

Last year, one of my aikido women role models, Karen De Paola (Skylands Aikikai), visited me at the Lord Stirling clinic and immediately saw the correlations between the groundwork tools and aikido principles and began making connections to specific aikido techniques. She gave me the timely opportunity to teach at her dojo that evening – a precious hour to take some of what I had been so eagerly absorbing in the riding arena onto the aikido mat. And so the year continued -- with synergy and synchronicity abounding.

It has been a year full of new friendships, renewed relationships, reconnecting important pieces from my past, and integrating parts of myself. I have been very fortunate to attend a variety of Centered Riding clinics and to meet the founder, Sally Swift, last November at the International Symposium in Vermont. So, it was a very happy anniversary last week as I once again attended Gail’s annual clinic at Lord Stirling. This year she asked me to assist her with some hands-on Alexander Technique, I traveled back and forth with Annelie and hosted her at my house, we spent each day in an arena which has come to feel like home and I rode a now-familiar horse.

This process of learning to ride seems to be weaving together all the various threads of my life. It has reminded me of long-forgotten childhood experiences, reconnected me to old colleagues and friends and enhanced and reinvigorated my aikido training. A recent email from a new Alexander Technique mentor, Tommy Thompson, spoke to me about “following your thread carefully” – it's a metaphor which has particular meaning for me now.

Karen De Paola is shown in the video above. Karen has always been a great inspiration to me – she embodies the qualities of calm, relaxed concentration and stillness within movement which are so important in martial arts, horse riding and living!