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Child's View #1. In celebration of National Poetry Month, my grade 3 students have been studying poetry. Discovering that they can find inspiration anywhere, my students have deepened their happiness habit practice of looking for the "wow" in the small moments. Following the visit from a poet, a photog friend came in to talk about self expression through photography (used the lesson to help teach about fractions as well) and then we set the children off with IPads to capture their world. Their pics were then used as inspiration for poetry. Here is one of my favorite shots from that day, taken by a quiet and thoughtful young global citizen. #empoweredchildren #happiness101 (at United Nations International School)

#1 #happiness101 #empoweredchildren

To the window which let's me see outside, thank you. #mynylife #365grateful (at F Train, Morning Commute)

#365grateful #mynylife

Light play. Wondering how I could have forgotten about the amazingness that is NY in spring.

This. #seeingbeauty #365grateful #openeyes

#365grateful #openeyes #seeingbeauty

Imagining what seat 3a sees... #sunrise

#sunrise

Dreamy moments...

The Music We Are Did you hear that winter is over? The basil and the carnations cannot control their laughter. The nightingale, back from his wandering, has been made singing master over the birds. The trees reach out their congratulations. The soul goes dancing through the king's doorway. Anemones blush because they have seen the rose naked. Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the courtroom, and several December thieves steal away. Last year's miracles will soon be forgotten. New creatures whirl in from non- existence, galaxies scattered around their feet. Have you met them? Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle? A single narcissus flower has been appointed Inspector of Kingdoms. A feast is set. Listen: the wind is pouring wine! Love used to hide inside images: no more! The orchard hangs out its lanterns. The dead come stumbling by in shrouds. Nothing can stay bound or be imprisoned. You say, "End this poem here, and wait for what's next." I will. Poems are rough notations for the music we are. ------------------ from The Soul of #Rumi translated by Coleman Barks

#rumi

Your move: Exploring what it means to be in the game. #mynylife

#mynylife

Union Square, April 1. Rising from the belly of the subway station, my heart leapt, and then ached as my ears took in the sounds I associate with Bali. Boom diddy boom diddy booom on the leather top, rhythm clattering from the Kartals, and the familiar exhale of the accordion. A Kirtan. Muscle memory took over; my body swayed and my mouth released the chants that I had sung so many times on the beaches of Bali. "Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna...." The leader of the group stood and stared, a miles slow smile creeping out. "Where did you learn to hold your fingers as such? How do you know these songs so well?" "Bali taught me," I replied. "Ahhhh, so this is why you can linger and not rush like a New Yorker." And so opened a long conversation about the constant rush to get nowhere ending with encouragement to savor life. This small moment seemed to be a gift from my yin and yang: Bali and New York. A reminder that the heart's chambers can hold many loves.