Postcards From Nuevo New York

. . memory, that ephemeral mist in which recollections dissipate, change, and blend together; at the end of our days it turns out that we have lived only what we can evoke.
-Isabelle Allende

Dear Ecuador,

In a way, you've freed me as you slowly metamorphose into a cell in Memory's rear wing. And as much as I lament that you are no longer free in the present, I take pleasure in the life I can draw from you-- in new moments. Each experience slips into the past and onto a spice rack, which I use in new recipes as I continue to live and eat. I am grateful for the ability to let go of each one and discover them in newer ways yet unknown. I am grateful because though I grow stronger from letting things go, Memory allows us to secretly keep them... Ironically, to truly be free, I must be willing to forget--as our frail minds often do with age. I am not willing. Could I ever endure that kind of letting go--as a Buddhist surrenders desire? I think I have surrendered enough to Memory. And now, I surrender to New York . . . so that you might live a little longer: so that I can live now with all the ingredients to eat for a lifetime, Ecuadorian style when I choose . . .

Side note to the gods: when I die, please, bury me with pictures and chocolate!

xx Jennifer xx

Dear New York,

At a distance you prod me. You inspire me. I felt this always from Brooklyn Bridge or from the Promenade, but living in Astoria, I now realize I live in a magnificent place with a stunning panorama, from which I can absorb your across-the-water ecstasy: Astoria Park--and without the expense and traffic of Brooklyn Heights. Last week I trespassed across the Triborough Bridge (now RFK), a desolate, magnificent stretch of steel leading me along a Via Sacra to a North American Rome. I saw Twelfth Night in the park the next day; watching Shakespeare always "pricks the sides of my intent". . . Oh if only there were a bridge to my destiny that I could follow. Prick me, prod me; help me see through the clouds! Show me how to build a bridge . . .

xo J

PS The moon is full again tonight--first time since Mindo. The Sacagawean dollar rose-- by perceptible degrees as we rehearsed for the Ecuador Showcase on Kathleen's rooftop overlooking the ESB. . . truly, truly lucky to be alive and to share the moon --and life-- with ye.


Dear Jennifer,

I am undgergoing a radical perspective shift. I'm filled with a renewed sense of wonder since returning from Ecuador and resisting the idea of being caged in New York again. I'm allowing it to catch me now . . . no ants in my pants to leave. Fine. Take, me. I'll sit for a bit. Isn't that why I came here? Actually, I am free. I'm free to decide how to see it. I'm free to change my perspective. The bridges help me see that, and it is my mission to follow them all. They're fixed but full of exit energy . . . these iron trajectories inspire me. They inspire me as much as the trees do, and I've always been drawn to them. I am finally beginning to fulfill a long-standing promise to this place: "I am going to walk all over your streets and bridges. I am going to dance the hell out of you and find passion to live by . . . passion that will continue to inspire and teach and bring opportunities to me--the adventures that are all around and waiting to be made." To promise, you have to stand still, or you can't even take yourself seriously. I am one of the most uncommitted and indecisive people I know. But it feels good to make a choice--for a little bit. Anyway, it's not like I can't dance in one spot; I came back from hot South American winter into a hot North American summer; there is pleasure in the city too! I'm sideways and wearing an old pair of shoes like a new hat. Emerson would be proud. You should be too.

Love,

Yourself

... and Love Yourself!