Gaza: As He Prayed

Only a day after an indefinite ceasefire was announced, I made my way into Shejaia, a Hamas-dominated neighborhood, to piece together photos of the wreckage. There was destruction everywhere, 'loss' in a heap, a mess, a reflection the hopelessness. But beyond the rubble, the image that caught the corner of my eye made a lasting impression...

We rounded the corner, coming out from the desecrated-house, my fixer pointed to a man just beyond another pile of debris. He was standing in his socks on his prayer rug, bent at the waist. My fixer whispered, “This, this is good man.”

The prayer-rug itself was not pointed toward the direction of Mecca as custom during the Calls to Prayer, there were no Calls to Prayer ringing out in Gaza at the time, it was not even pointed to Israel as if to curse it. Instead, the man’s prayer-rug was pointed toward his home.

Swallowing hard, I raised my camera.

He tried to prop up his wide shoulders, but I could tell they were heavy. His arms at his side, his eyes focused. He dipped to his knees, fell forward to his hands, slowly and brought his head to the mat, prostate in prayer, he lingered before retreating to his knees, rocking forward then back as he prayed. 

I imagine, for the restoration of his home, for the loss to be rebuilt, for the rubble to be washed away, the man prayed. The small village outside of Gaza City was nothing more than crushed stone, glass and burnt metals strewn through the streets. 

The war is not over for them. For those in Gaza who returned to Shejaia or for those coming out from underneath the piles of debris, the war for survival has only begun.

After weeks of raining bombs and rockets shaking through the windows, after the raging battle is over, there is nothing left but to start from the bottom.

Broken stone into dust is a devastating picture. With so much brokenness around them, they will have to find the strength to keep cleaning, keep working through the mess and ultimately find the strength to rebuild.

What is on the outside reflects the inside of a human being. And the pain of bombardment, an abused existence with captors and the desperation to get out of an open cage play into hopelessness.

Still the man prayed. I can only believe he brought his confusion, his pain to the prayer mat seeking an answer, seeking a way to gain the strength he’ll need to wade through the wreckage. 

No significant gain from the Cairo talks, the Palestinian people must find a way to no longer live defeated - and this man, on his knees knows just that. 

He must find the hope survive, to live, to break through the barriers that have kept him in. When survival is all he knows, grieving seems to never end. Insha'Allah Mercy be upon him. 

Kerry's Pressure Visit

KERRY OFFERS MONEY FOR SYRIAN AID,

BUT WILL IT SOLVE LEBANON'S LEADERLESS DEBACLE?

                                  

(BEIRUT) US Secretary of State, John Kerry, arrived in Beirut on Wednesday with intentions of ensuring stability in a country which is anything but stable.

Amid presidential indecision in the Lebanese parliament and Tuesday's Syrian election, Kerry trip is attempting to put pressure in a place which is often overlooked between Middle East conflicts. The weight of the crisis is weighing down the country with over 1 million refugees and the UN says nearly 2,500 a day are being registered, making Lebanon the highest number per capita in the region.

Kerry said, "We cannot decide when Assad will fall, this is up to Syrian people." and stated the elections on Tuesday have "zero meaning." 

Kerry intends to offer 290 million dollars in aid for refugee support in the country, but what he fails to realize he's coming into a highly supportive pro-Assad area, more than in Turkey or Jordan, and a complicated infrastructure, both politically and economically for Lebanon.

Thousands of Tuesday's voters at the Masnaa border were eager to put in their vote for Bashar al Assad, who they say will solve their problems and bring them back home. One man said he believed the vote would propel government forces to put down the rebels and he planned to return to Damascus to rebuild his house. Another man said those ruining his country were terrorists and the US is backing the wrong side, "Our houses were destroyed and we were pushed to leave and what happened to us will happen the same for the West." His analysis is the US and Europe are propping up puppets who will turn on them and for him, Assad is the best defeat. 

Anti-Assad Refugees were scarce on Tuesday. The few who lived in small box-like houses near the border crossing stayed hidden, weren't willing to speak and afraid of being attacked if they went out. One woman, angry enough to shout said she would vote with her crutches, raising them up. Her legs amputated, a nightmare suffered from bombs in Syria, she said Assad voters should, "Go to Hell." When her rant finished, a boy came out of the house, no older than 12, raised the Syrian opposition flag and his fist shouting, "Allah Akbar" as if he'd just thrown a grenade at his enemies. Those against Assad are raging and passionate as their counterparts.

While Kerry recognized the Syrian conflict was a "catastrophe unfolding before our eyes," what Kerry seems to not understand is the the frustration for refugees is beyond Syria now.

They're flight into Lebanon has left them humiliated. Because Lebanon refuses refugee camps, people are left to slum villages on privately owned land, and while the UNHCR is often able to help with initial set up, the landowners carry rights to take it back at any time. And it's up to the Lebanese government to help create room for refugee camps, but even that has caused intense debate among both government officials and those living in the country. With no current or capable structure in Lebanon, fleeing Syrians are often left to fend for themselves, roaming illegally and if they can't get aid money and work is scarce, they become every beggar on every street corner, they are subjected to human rights abuses and easily roped into infighting with other sectarian groups.

The UNHCR is struggling to offer resources and representative Dana Suleiman has said the agency has not been receiving the donations they were before in order to help the people efficiently. Last summer the UNHCR and The World Food program conducted an assessment to determine the level of food aid they could provide for different refugees based on those with the most need and their supply. In March, a refugee woman in Tripoli set herself ablaze after she was turned away at the UN and barely survived, evidence of the refugees desperation.

As the system is now, it is creating animosity with the Lebanese people who feel over-run and government officials disagree on how to handle Syria. Hezbollah has long supported Syrian regime efforts. The Interior Minister attempted to alleviate numbers by trying to restrict voters from coming back into the country after their vote. However, Lebanese sympathizers arrived in Masnaa on Tuesday with photo-copiers and generators in hand to help pro-Assad voters make copies of their passports. The idea was they wouldn't receive a stamp-out of the country in their passports with the paper version to offer and Lebanon's security forces obliged.

To top it off, the complications in choosing a president are far beyond an easy solution in Lebanon. This is a country with a long history of sectarian leadership and sectarian rule, who after the civil war made a government coalition that only appears to work, but in actuality is a group trying to make a deals for their perspective groups. The internal politics has a dizzying effect on even the most educated citizen.

In his press conference, Kerry told reporters it was an "important period to show support" for Lebanon's government and they need a "fully empowered president" who can govern and obtain more "assistance from the international community."

Kerry's efforts, however, will not likely bring the solution he hopes.

The refugees, in Lebanon, need more than promises of Western aid; they need to know they will be able to go home. They need to feel safe, they need to have a probable winning outcome and meantime, they need to survive, have access to healthcare, education opportunities and their daily needs. The refugees experience is ever more being driven by feelings of abandonment. Western countries have not advocated on their behalf, for many of them; the West has only helped fuel the fire as the battle continues into a fourth year.

Extremists are already taking advantage of the war torn country and they're looking for new recruits, Syrians and foreigners alike who can help them achieve their goal - which is, make the West look bad and their system more appealing to those too helpless to fight any longer. Lebanon doesn't have their own conflicts contained, let alone being able to effectively contain those bleeding over the borders from Syria.

.

What difference Kerry will make is yet to be seen, and chances are immediate help won't be visible. If the Lebanese government isn't willing to lead or choose a strong leader soon, the cyclical cycle will continue. No amount of money will improve it.

Lebanon: Syrian Self Immolation

**TO VIEW VIDEO PKG example, please download following LINK** 

SYRIAN REFUGEES IN LEBANON RESORT TO DESPERATION AS THEIR NUMBERS GROW WITH DECREASING ASSISTANCE 

by: Ashley Gallagher Photographer: Melinda Trochu 

(screen grabs from Video PKG)

(TRIPOLI) The Lebanese army and security forces implemented new plans for increased security, more troops are patrolling the border as sectarian violence breaks out and more refugees are pouring int. Clashes in the region have been common among sectarian groups coming from Syria into the country. 
Refugees in Lebanon reached one million late last week and the situation is getting more desperate. Taking over nearly a quarter of the population, Syrians have gathered in a country no bigger than the size of Connecticut. 

 The government does not allow official refugee camps to be set up and refugees are often left to small villages on privately owned land, which could be repossessed at any time. 

At a hospital in Tripoli, Miriam al Kahwli lies helplessly with nearly 70% of her body burned after she set her self on fire two weeks ago. She went to the UNHCR, seeking food and aid for her four children. 

But when they turned her away, her husband, Ahmad al Kahwli tells us, she felt ashamed and bought fuel to ignite her own body. Ahmad says the UN stopped giving them aid "six months ago." They were living in a small village in Tripoli and he is not able to work. "They didn't tell what the reason was, just that there isn't any aid," Ahmed's frustration is evident, "I am from Syria, I have nothing, what am I supposed to do?" 


Miriam felt she had been "burned" on the inside by the UN and was desperate to feed their four children. Refugees in Lebanon understand Miriam's plight. 

They know her story and they feel sorry for her. They too are struggling to survive in make-shift camps and feeling neglected by aid groups. 

One woman, Alia says they feel abandoned by the entire international community,"Why don't they want to care about what the Syrian people are suffering? Those inside Syria are dying, those outside of Syria are being humiliated." 

Another man said two months ago he went to a hospital - his 2 year old daughter had cancer, diagnosed before he left Syria and when she got sick, he sought help. But he says, the hospital turned them away and his daughter died. 

Dana Suilamen from the UNHCR says there just "isn't enough to meet every single need." Last summer, the UN and the World Food Program conducted research analysis to show those refugees most dire and had to reassess who would get food, medical and financial aid. 

But it doesn't mean they've been forgotten says, Suilamen, "If people are excluded based on this vulnerability assessment of food assistance it doesn't mean it doesn't mean they've been crossed out of the UNHCR" 

Suileman says refugees can still go to their protective services and seek out shelter and basic medical care, they can petition and still get some help.  

Aid groups in Lebanon are struggling for support. The Lebanese government does not have programs to assist them. Recently Foreign Minister, Gibran Basil requested help from other Arab neighbors for tighter security along the Syrian border. The government is afraid of shifting the sectarian balance. 

The land the Syrians live on is owned privately and while the UN is able to help Syrians set up temporary living, private owners could repossess the land. Alia tells us "no one collects rent," but it is a hard life - and they are afraid they will be kicked out. 


Meanwhile, Ahmad al Kahwli waits while his wife suffers, struggling to breathe, speak and survive. Ahmad says the UN shut the door on this wife and now with Miriam's body burned so badly - and no money to pay for surgery and treatment, her road to recovery will be much longer. 

Nurses care for her the best the can and say she will need multiple surgeries. But where will the money come from? The Nurses who care for Miriam say they hope donors will help, but they are skeptical. Meantime, there is only so much they can do. 

 Ahmad says the only thing he can do is pray, "God will help us."

Characters Who Insprie: From Baby to Burlesque

How One Performer Manages Motherhood & Strip-Tease

 BY: Ashley Gallagher

Published 31 December 2013

As I walked into the house, I was welcomed by four Burlesque performers designing shot glasses for their VIPs who would be attending their upcoming show. The women sat around a card table and the lead was a smiling red-head who calls herself Lady Borgia.

She offered me an exercise ball, a glass of boxed wine and invited me to sit while they finished decorating and brainstormed for their show. Her home is a small apartment, decorated with pin-up models on signs, a recycled Pampers box holding shot glasses waiting to be decorated and a mannequin in the corner near her sewing table. It was draped by a sequined green dress in progress and blocked off by a baby gate.

Her home was split almost in half: toys and burlesque, her passions, her creations.

Borgia's son was asleep in the other room while the other girls were giddy with ideas, demonstrating dance steps, debating colors and what they would use for "pasties," a small prop they would decorate the nipples on their breasts with. They laughed and joked and talked about their introduction to Burlesque. Borgia smiled slyly when I asked her about her first show. She was bartender, she said. She took interest in a group called Hell On Heels, and frankly, she joked, "Every girl dreams of being a stripper at some point."

But Burlesque isn't just stripping, even though it plays an important role in the show. Rather it encompasses artistic planning, very often, retro music choices dating back to the 1950s and women more interested in the design of their shoes and how they'll dance rather than when their clothes come off. They make their costumes, shop at Party City and make plans to rehearse for a big show, which isn't just a weekend gig or a nightly job.

Borgia's story, however, starts in 2005.

LADY BORGIA’S BEGINNINGS

After watching Hell On Heels at the bar she worked, the girls were eager to meet her, talk with her, show off and as Borgia puts it, she “pretty much got molested by one of them” from behind the bar. They invited her to a troupe a meeting, to hang out and learn more about what they do. Her first meeting, much like mine, included boxed wine and sparkles everywhere in a studio apartment of one the performers.

The meeting eventually lead to Borgia’s first performance.

Initially the show was planned in a casino on the Barona Speedway in California, but as it turned out, the stage was far from the glitz of a casino stage. Instead, the stage was a flatbed truck with slatted wood pieces. Being in heels that night, the girls realized it just wouldn’t work, and Borgia says, “my debut performance was in the dirt on the side of the racetrack.” She laughs remembering the sunset show.  

Nearly four years later, Lady Borgia felt her time with Hell on Heels was complete and she went on to perform solo, dancing and developing her own Burlesque style. She would eventually form the Keyhole Cabaret - which in 3 years has grown to be one of the most well known troupes in San Diego.

Borgia says she is proud of the girls who have come through her troupe and encourages their creativity. She wants them to reach for new experiences. She “sets the bar high” working and educating the women who join Keyhole Cabaret  and as a result has “had a lot of the performers that are now out there, producing their own shows, getting their own solo gigs.”

The process to produce a show takes great dedication and patience. While managing to work with 4 or 5 dancing girls at a time, Lady Borgia also sews her own stage outfits, prepares a number for the show and gets flyers out the public. She says the defining element of a burlesque is the “strip teasing.”

“Burlesque is still fantastic costumes, it’s still fantastic performance dance, but to me if you don’t take anything off you’re not doing burlesque.” For Borgia, the show is about women who are empowered, and being able to confidently show off without feeling like they’re “selling their body.” There’s a feminist quality to Burlesque, Borgia says, “there is absolutely nothing wrong with the naked female figure and form. You’re going to evoke emotion.” But she also realizes, some women who get up there “just want to be a stripper.”

Lady Borgia’s performances are often entwined with a comedic presentation and characters, but she maintains an elegant and sexy allure which keeps her audience attentive to her every move on stage.

Burlesque gives Borgia a place to feel like a princess. She tells me, “I don’t mean a princess as in tiara and pretty proper thing of tea princess, I get to be a friggin' princess on stage, I own that stage  it’s mine.”

BRINGING IN THE BABY

But just one year ago, the balance and process of putting on a show changed and the love of Lady Borgia’s life, Reilly Thomas was born. Red-headed, curious and happy, Borgia’s son greets her friends with enormous grin and Borgia switches gears from Burlesque producer to being a mom, trying to keep her son fed and occupied while she multi-tasks.

“I wasn’t going to stop performing,” Borgia says, “but prioritizing was kind of hard for me. Trying to figure out which direction do I run first, it’s my challenge.” From being forgetful, to answering phone calls to managing a theatre performance and being an “eclectic artist,” she admits it can be difficult to know how to divide time between Reilly and sewing rhinestones on a dress.  

“I have definitely had many moments of giving up, how in the world can I do this? I’m a single mom and sometimes you just realize, just feel like I’m way too tired after he goes to bed to pick up that needle.”

But Borgia says, it’s important to keep both passions as a primary part of her life. It became evident while she attended the Burlesque Hall of Fame’s performance competition just a few months ago in Las Vegas. Lady Borgia says the song number she submitted to get into the contest, Song for a Winter’s Night by Sarah McLachlan, was a song she choreographed not long after her son was born.  

“I created a number that, for me, was really passionate as far as feeling the completeness of my womanhood, becoming a mother and getting back up on that stage, owning my body with all the new changes, it was a very ethereal,” Borgia smiles sheepishly - the fierce determination in her face softens. Her son now inspires her performances.

Lady Borgia is balancing her son into the Burlesque part of her life and it’s reflected everywhere in her home, “the entire bottom 3 feet of my house no longer belongs to me.” Her eyes light up and she laughs pointing out the toy box next to the fireplace and the toys cluttering a mannequin head covered with flowers on the mantle. The bottom part of her book shelf is all baby books while hers sit above. She explains her working area, closed off by the baby gate, she says, “mommy gets caged into her sewing area and my son gets free reign of the rest of the house.”

She loves having Reilly exposed to her artistic life,  she says she doesn’t see the need to “protect” him from the world of Burlesque, “He’s going to grow up surrounded by gorgeous women wearing fishnet stockings and sparkly heels!” In fact, she regularly catches him teething on her sparkly heels and he loves rummaging through her closet and trying to pull down feathers and dresses. Her world is his.

PUTTING ON THE SHOW

As the show gets closer, Lady Borgia ended up in a car accident while heading the fabric store. Realizing it would limit her performance, she opted not to dance in Keyhole Cabaret’s show. She admits it was a “very hard decision,” because she knows her fans expect her to perform, but with bruises and back-aches, she says, “the show can go on without me being in the spotlight.” The women of Keyhole Cabaret worked out a plan to fill Borgia’s performance spot and gave Lady Borgia the ability to step back and really produce the show, get feedback from their fans and evaluate their performances. The women of Keyhole Cabaret revere her. They take her advice seriously and give her support to put on a great show.

For Borgia, it’s a community, a family, even.

When the big night arrives, everyone rushes to the venue in costume to help set up tables, candle holders, truffles and decorations. The dressing room sits behind the bar in an overhead outdoor storage area. Brightly colored feathers, red lipstick and roses are spread out while the Burlesque performers prepare their numbers. Borgia gives them last minutes notes, lets them know when they’re going on and creates the seating chart for VIP guests. She prepares to introduce the show and slips on an elegant blue gown, complete with blue stones around her neck and a smile hiding the complications of her car accident.

She left Reilly at home, in the hands of a babysitter and with two other Burlesque children who know their mothers won’t return until well after midnight.

The show is a success, the crowds whistle and cheer the women on as they strip from their costumes, to their lingerie and eventually...their pasties and g-strings. Lady Borgia is proud of their performances and relieved when the night is over, ready for bed and ready to see her boy.  

Eventually, Borgia says she hopes to open her own Burlesque and cabaret club, have a green room for children whose mothers are performing and even travel overseas. But for now, with her son in tow, Lady Borgia will keep bringing strip tease to San Diego, sequence in place and rhinestones shining from her eyes.

Reunited: #OnTheRoad

On the road, once again*, a week from Colorado to New York, actually the Jersey shore. It was a pause in an exploding journey - and at every turn, I was able to take in every sunset. Heading for the East coast, there were moments it felt like the wrong direction. For so many cross country ventures, it is the West coast which has been my final destination, and it will be again. But for now, working in the big apple, and finding a firm place to sleep a commute away on the Atlantic is where I needed to be. Passion is a funny thing, it splits the parts of you to make you whole.

With few cities between Colorado and Kansas City, the ride is nothing more than stripped land with road to spare and patrol cops with nothing better to do. Nevertheless, I was on cruise control and destined for my first stop to spend an evening with a soul-sister and catch up over glasses of wine. And it would be a divine evening with blessed conversation. But until I got there, I had to avoid a nod off on the boring highway of nothingness. A little music, talk radio and finally, I cracked the window open for nothing but the sound and feel of fresh open air. It gave me room, time for intimate contemplation.

And as the sky's light dipped, the clouds and the illuminating color shown through the cracks in the sky. The nothingness of the Kansas road took on a new form. It would be the first of several such moments on my drive east.

It felt like a dream to drive after many months without 'Ol Baby Blue.' Having taken me from coast to coast many times, with room to spare in the back, I had missed the solitary moments she provided.

From Kansas City to Birmingham; I dipped south through Kentucky, and by the time the early winter nightfall came, I passed through the smokey Mountains of Tennessee. The smell in the air was a fresh scent of nature, and it was the home stretch. I would pick up my things, visit a dear friend, and as quickly as I arrived, would leave to finish the last leg of it all. Skid into Jersey, an apartment waiting and then off to work - I was moving fast, faster than I felt I had on road trips before. I had a destination and crisis I was solving and flying by the seat of my Jeep.

Feeling resilient, determined; I worked out a plan, one I know will change as I go, but it was inspiring. I was filled with ideas and silence. No social stigmas to entertain, not one update required, just the road and my head and my prayers, slipping from one state to the next in an effort to accomplish another great challenge of this epic story I live. I was grateful for each mile forward.

While I visited with a few dear souls along the way, there was plenty of time in between to step back, observe the world around me, appreciate the truck drivers I waved to when filling up for gas, taking time to pull off the road to admire the sun and the stars. 

The process of the road trip, even at the speed I felt I was flying seemed more important than it had before. Perhaps because I was breaking into something which would push me forward, perhaps because I felt confident to take on the challenges ahead, perhaps because I knew I was right where I needed to be for the moment or perhaps because my own traveling song was the one I was orchestrating. But no matter the reasons; the process existed and I was enjoying it's company, for once.
*trip: dec 2 - dec 6

Reverbarating Silence

I woke up to silence. A million thoughts racing through my head, but still the environment around me...silent. My body was calm. I didn't feel obligated to move quickly. The change was welcoming. Deserts aren't always geographical locations. Sometimes, deserts are a mental and professional dryness that seem to blow sand in your eyes the faster you move.

So as I lifted myself up, I took in the wave of quiet around me, embraced the cool floor beneath my feet and took a deep breath. A steaming shower would open my pores and wake me up. I fumbled to the bathroom and turned the knobs - really only the hot water. It was that kind of morning.

For a moment, I felt like a real person rather than a crazed scientist experimenting with my present state of navigating. Decisiveness was calling me to think clearly and the silence - was giving me a place to contemplate methodically. A necessary awakening.

Far from the stress of the city, among the fall leaves, in a cottage-house, there was a sense of completeness I would not have traded for convenience of the city subway. The city's charm had worn off and I needed a moment, a place to think. I was gifted with the small commodity on that morning. With no place to go, no straining obligation, I could meditate, focus and figure out the next step if there was one to be had.

As I stood soaking in the steam, a prayer of gratefulness slipped from my lips. I drank in some of the hot water, and swallowed. Process is a wretched thing but oh so necessary in the accomplishment or even the failure of anything.

November was just around the corner and winter was coming. As I reflected where I had been and where I was going and where I wanted to be, I was able to create options, even if they meant the one I wanted least. It was this acceptance which brought about rewarding opportunity, another risk, and another chance to make it alright.

But I wouldn't have known.
I wouldn't have experienced that moment...without the sound of reverberating, bellow echoing...
silence.

No Picture Posts, Just the Galaxy Please

I find divine moments most when I am unplugged.

And this month, I have taken the time to evaluate the world around me just a little more as I have taken a step back, a break, if you will, from the monstrous overtaking the becomes our society in social media: Facebook.

You see; Facebook is nothing more than an audience. Whether or not a person creates a 'fan' page, the very idea of FB itself invites the prospect of what hundreds of people think about you, about me, our status, our posts, our photos, our wall, our about sections, and it is not a graceful place, open to bullying, worrying about who said what when, and if anyone 'liked' anything we may have done. Frankly, it was all a little too much for me. For now, I do not need, nor want an audience.

Those closest to my soul find me outside the madness of Zuckerburg's creation and inside the precious position of humanness and it's grand Creator. While it may be true, I am not void of all social media outlets, I have removed myself from the largest of them and it has been a gratifying escape.

I am able to take time for own my insanity and adjustments. I am able to focus a little more those I wish to keep my focus on and I do not feel obligated to post an update for the world to see or hear. I find myself exploring in ways which are most important - with people - who deserve intimate attention and ultimately I find a place for which I explore my mind and heart as the seasons change once again for me.

There is something in discovering wholeness, divinity, wonder and exposure to creation through my God-given lens - rather than what someone else chooses for me. It becomes my eyesight, my point of view, the reality of the those who need, those who do not, those who would celebrate and those who would mourn. Unlike a post on FB, that friend of mine - I can see them, rather than the mask they display.

I can express my own and I can choose not to and I can find what is divine in *all* that is around me...

Time unplugged is quality time connected to what is most important. There is no stigma attached. There is no irony in this, there is only the truth. Facebook is about audience. For today, for now; I am stepped away from the spotlight - and in this beautiful amphitheater universe, I can see the galaxy and it is so vastly incredible. 

Special Report, Music Review: The Broken Stems

The first inclination I get listening to The Broken Stems, is to follow the dancing notes in my imagination, like Neo following the White Rabbit into the Matrix. The experience of the Stems is emotional and the instrumental impression makes you feel as if they're in the living room with you. The tone is an invitation to participate and find out what more they have to offer.

The Broken Stems rock the indie sounds to keep the listener groovin’. The bluesy-vocals by lead singer, Jesse Gawlik, create a salutary sound which draws the audience into the music. Whether live on a stage or blasting the tracks through your speakers, you're bound to fall head over heels for this band. Their upcoming album promises to provide listeners with delicate balance of dance steps and hip sway to keep you chasing the notes.

As the band has formed and shaped in the past year, coming from a variety of backgrounds, they’ve proven their ability to produce music that stands out from other San Diego bands by simply embracing their blues originality, despite having started - immersed in the reggae scene.

While their anticipated EP will only feature a fraction of their songs, it's undeniable the band's science of sounds are completely soul driven.  

Between the singing harmony of the keys and Gawlik's creative guitar, there's a trance-like lure. Still they often throw in the remnants of a reggae beat, like in the song “Lion’s Den” or “Antibots,” and they are able to lighten the mood, progressing from one state of mind to the next. The track, "Around the Bend," reflects some of the light reggae beats, but has been deeply salted with background vocals and smoother transitions. 

The song, “Just a Man,” the tone carries just the right mood for a classical rock swing. The hard drum beats demand attention and it’s worth adding to a retro-rock mix.In "Castles," one of the band's best new tracks on their coming EP, it takes the listener inside their own mind with self-reflective lyrics and steady beat followed by echoing keys drawing you into their rock and roll vibe.  

But then songs like, "Classico,” a complete instrumental song, shows off the texture of the band’s combined talent. It starts with an invitation from the keys, a modern classical, bringing in a low plucking of the guitar, adding just enough bass and drum to make the song sound completely improvised. The interlude is a gracious pause between the song’s impressive rock entertainment. 

The Broken Stems are stepping up and preparing to release an album that will surely electrify their fans and keep them coming back to shows for more. You’ll feel like you’ve taken the red pill for this one; the experience of the Stems is a realistic embrace of the new generation’s cultural attraction to blues-rock music. 

The band's summer performance at the Muir Fest in Ocean Beach and 710 Beach Club proved their ability to keep a crowd entertained. The Broken Stems will be releasing their first ever EP, We Are Home, October 26th at 710 Beach Club in Pacific Beach. Meantime, I recommend you check them out at http://brokenstems.com.

Exercise Review: Free Yoga (NYC)

http://www.yogaworks.com/

I fumbled through my bag for my keys. The young woman behind the counter seemed oblivious to my flustered ransacking but was gracious enough to wait for me. It was day 3 of a free yoga week. The first 2 days had kicked my ass and I was quite sure my back was only getting worse, nevertheless, I was sleeping so perhaps the aching was just a natural progression of working my body, pushing myself to the physical limits I needed. I picked a slightly slower class, asked the girl where the locker room was, and dashed to get in, barely on time and still a few minutes behind. 

Having been through a dry spell and my back painfully belly-aching, I decided it was time to find a studio. So after a thorough New York search and online review session, I found Yoga-Works. With expansive descriptions of each class, I decided it would be a good fit. Some of the locations even had showers, which proved useful when I needed to run off to a meeting afterwards. 

The studios offered a free week, but usually only to New York residents, and it took a little convincing I would be in town longer than a week and really needed the practice. They allowed me to sign up. While my stay in the big city is to be determined, with multiple locations around the US, they probably felt they could hook me into a membership. It's not something I'm ready to sign up for, but that's okay. This week was a trial week and the therapy was needed. 

There was always that moment when I would reach my fingertips above my head, feel the tingling and sit slowly into a chair pose, I thought, I can do this, I must do this - for me. Deep breath in, deep breath released. Hands folded down, feet stepped back, sinking into upward dog, then downward and preparing for Warrior-2. Focusing on my movement and each muscle stretch, I worked out how spine lengthened along with the varying positions. When finally retreated on my back, the hard straight wood floor felt to be the most comfortable place I have been in lately. It was a need more than a want and it was the most calm satisfying space, particularly in the overwhelming monstrosity of the city.

The instructors are patient and willing to allow students to adjust as necessary - though I admit, I wish they had been more hands on with physical adjustments. I appreciate when an instructor positions me exactly - it ensures I'm getting the full experience of the stance. Some of the instructors seemed too hesitant to touch anyone, though the last instructor I had was super fun and very interested in making sure students got the full experience of the practice. Each class also opened up with 'Oms,' and I admit, I'm not a fan of Om and usually just take another deep breath. Being a little more athletic, I am more accustomed to the 'Core Power Yoga' style practice than getting in touch with a Yogi Monastery. 

BUT that did not deter me from engaging in the physical flow of the Vinyasa classes and gaining the benefit from each instructor to help me adjust my body, feeling the lengthening in my spine and muscles. Overall, I was pleased with Yoga-Works and would recommend it to anyone looking for a week while traveling and needing that extra space to block out the daily distractions, focusing body, soul and mind on the one thing that counts: You. 

Malala - Bravest Girl In the World

The Daily Show

Writing lately seems to come harder than it has in the past. Maybe it's because I feel so uninspired. And last week - the most incredible girl in the world inspired me and now, I just can't seem to put it into words.

You know whom I am speaking of…Malala Yousafzai She came to the US, blowing us all away, only a year after being targeted by the Taliban in Pakistan, nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize (which I believe she should have received). She's recovered, healed and she won't stand down. She keeps speaking out on the importance of education, women and she attributes her own miracle to the heavens above. Malala is truly remarkable. Her young 16-years of life is a testament to the meaning of 'true heroism.'

But I fear many Americans, in particular, are missing her message.

You see, while many praise her efforts, they disregard what she truly represents, what it means to love your enemy as yourself, what it means to believe so strongly in something – that no matter the cost, she’ll keep her head up even when her critics would rather see her dead, what it means to represent her faith and most of all, what it means to be a woman and powerful.

One year ago, she was the target of a terrorist attack. Malala defied them. She survived. She wrote a book. And she would do it again, she says, the Taliban need to be educated too. Despite the moments when she would rather throw a shoe, instead she tells us, "I’ll tell him how important education is, and that I even want education for your children as well. And I would tell him, ‘That’s what I want to tell you, now do what you want."

Her ambition is become the Prime Minister of Pakistan, and the Pakistan People’s Party, the same part that backed Benezir Bhutto, has voiced their support. And I think she’ll do it too.

But while she’s changing hearts and minds, dropping Jon Stewart’s jaw and giving Christiane Amanpour a reason to smile non-stop, I believe there are too many Americans who just missing it.

Malala is faithful to her beliefs, she denounces that extremists are any representation of her faith and she believes women are more powerful than men. Her life is evident of a message Americans brag they live and breathe and believe, but they are yet to practice it.

"Persecution" has become the normal cry here, fear of a belief system, suing for defamation and fussing over which group is the most prejudice, violent or who spews more hatred. Isn’t time we let the 16-year Muslim girl humble us all?

I don't know everything in this world. But this I know, friends, we can no longer spew hatred for our Muslim brothers and sisters. God is proving his purpose and his plan for her life - and one - we all need to emulate. We don't have to agree on theology, that's okay. But if we are to be followers of true freedom and love, then we cannot dismiss the message we claim the Gospels preach. It was truly radical. Friends, are you radical enough?

Are you radical enough to receive those less fortunate than you? Are you radical enough to live with less, believe in more.

I see a woman like Malala take over the world by standing against evil with peace. Just as incredible as she is, her father stands behind her, her cause and what she believes in. He lets her lead the way and gives her the courage she needs to face the days, I guarantee she doubts.

You may hate my words, you may try to tear apart mine with references and scripture. That's unfortunate – because what I'm asking from you is to just stop for a minute, consider this: what message do you really want to live? The one you’re living, criticizing and blaming every faith, race, poor, rich or schmuck with opposing views? Or the one Malala is sharing? – You know, educating others, becoming educated and striving for perfection in peace. It’s worth a shot.  

No, it’s not about being a pacifist; it’s about Malala Yousafzai --a hero. And this week she gave a dumbfounding interviews. She's the definition of humble bravery and she believes educating people will reveal justice, equality and truth. My friends;  Malala is right.

While our government is recovering from a ridiculous shut down and we're debating whether or not the ACA is biblical - let's stop for a minute to consider Malala's life, her story - let's stop extremism by not being extremists, let's change the world.

Elephants in New York

While walking through the jungle of skyscrapers in New York City, I felt like the Tiniest Elephant, yesterday. I felt small (and not in stature, I hear you giggling) realizing I'm taking on the biggest "dog eat dog" city in the world, and it's a whirlwind.

New York is a place where one is expected to be puzzle pieces all in one place - hair and yoga pants included. Everyone has an ear piece, conducting business and the brisk bustle of the streets almost requires underwater survival skills. Fall below the expectations, and you may be not come out alive. People watching is like information overload. The city shadows the sun, but the pockets of rays are a welcome warmth.

I couldn't help but wonder what chance I had trying on the "hustle" in America's darling city. But I check myself and realize it's temporary, and so what if I stick out like a sore thumb? Must I conform completely? Nah. I can pick up the pace, but I dare not change me. 

And it's true, there are those slices of charming humanity, like the other day, during one of my less successful days. After feeling on the run from a jealous king, there was James, the union-construction worker who picked up a load and helped me down the street. He had time to kill before his union meeting and told me to be careful in NY. Then later there was Connie, the elderly woman with a bulged cheek, hunched over a walker. She walked up to me, said hello and asked my name, just for the sake of being kind. There are these people, these circumstances, when for just a moment, the harsh skyscrapers are down to earth, acting like gemstones in the rough, worth millions. 

New challenges require sacrifices, for the better and even for the worse, I'm learning. But at the end of day, the push just might be the potion I need to stretch a little taller...and that's coming from five feet of insanity.

Teaser: Borgia's Burlesque, Part I

The following clip is a behind the scenes look at a larger profile piece done in San Diego, CA. The full story's publishing is to be announced.* 

In the underground of culture, beyond the societal definition of glamour is a beautiful world of unimaginable artistry. Recently, I had the amazing privilege to go behind the scenes with Burlesque performer, San Diego's Lady Borgia and watch her balance her passion for the stage and her passion for her son. 

I found Lady Borgia one of the most driven performers. She certainly makes a profound impression not just in her sphere of influence but for women who are working-single moms. The other women I met who in San Diego Burlesque circle are also mothers, seamstresses, artists, dancers and models. The glow of the stage is the glow of their life and it's very personal.

So as I am pitching a full profile piece to educate and highlight a little Burlesque, here's a behind the scenes taste from my interview with - the one and only, Lady Borgia.*

*More to come from this story soon, stay tuned with http://ashgallagher.com

Rain & Tide

It was one of my last days; I was dipped below the Cliffs on a quieter beach. The sun was pulsating. I laid down my towel, hesitated behind my friend who was going for a free-body surf. I wanted to experience the water. So, I waded out, and then dipped underneath. The ocean was shallow. I waded out a little further, away from the surfers. The sea chilled my skin, but I was breathing deeply; it was peaceful. As I stood looking out beyond the horizon, I slipped my fingertips underneath the clear waters and waited. For a moment, my mind was blank.

In the middle of the cold waters, I felt warmth around my legs. The seaweed like grass was moving with the waves and hugging my thighs. I had walked into an ocean-field. I watched as the wave pushed it back and forth. The surf-grass was long and stretched out, reaching for the deepest parts of the ocean, as if it wanted to pull from the roots and escape. I watched with sheer fascination, it moved in unison with the wave. Constant motion. 

It was beautiful and it defined my life. An orchestrated change of tide; I would be on the move again soon. And suddenly, I was okay with that. It would cost something, it may still cost everything, but it was worth the risk, I decided, standing there, watching long strands of grass under the water.

***

The plane landed with a slight bump. The 4-hour flight had been rather uneventful as I gorged on the new Star Trek movie and caught a sloppy travel-nap. Moving through the airport would be a rush, I knew. I was ready to be at my destination, and frankly was starving so dinner would have to be a priority once I was in the city.

I found my way through JFK. Thankfully navigation was easy and I was able to find a shuttle to the city, ask directions from a returning New Yorker and get a subway card. It was like any other day, September 11^th. Colleagues told me even the ceremonies were not as eventful as they had been in years past. It was an average day for most New Yorkers. And I joined in the workaholic feeling, my head already creating a long to do list.

My first morning in New York was early, the city was still semi quiet, but I knew that would change. On the upper west side of Manhattan and only one story up; I could see grey skies. The rain was coming. The muggy temperatures would drop and the reality of a much cooler place would set in – which only meant one thing, I would have to move fast to stay warm.  I slipped into a hot shower, and stood in the heat, letting the running water relax my shoulders and back. The coming days would be long – was I ready for it? No. But that didn’t matter, I would have to push hard anyway.  

Another season, fall…forward, the common state of my humanness. So, let’s see where this city takes me.