The Zen of Art

Zen flowers

My alarm goes off and I can feel with my whole body,

I didn’t get enough sleep.

A slight panic starts to rise because I really needed to get quality sleep for today.

Somehow, everything is just taking longer, and I’m rushing around to get out the door. I’m running late, and today I can’t be late.

It’s Saturday, early morning and I even question the choice of subway.

Maybe I should Uber.

I open the app and am weighing the options, and then decide to wait.

It’s cheaper to take the subway.

Rooted in my original plan, I think it will be ok, because I’ll be able to sit and close my eyes on the subway.

And then the subway is packed.

I mean, today is historic and there’s a lot of people heading into Manhattan on this Saturday, including me. Millions will be marching world wide, the largest march in American history, and I want to contribute.

After my first transfer, I finally find a seat on the subway and have just enough time to eat the eggs and bacon I made at home, before the train is pulling into the Nevins Street stop in Brooklyn. I never got to close my eyes, and can feel my eyes heavy.

And the anxiety is mounting, as I don’t feel I have all I need.

And the dialogue is running through my head,
Why didn’t you go to bed earlier?
Why couldn’t I fall asleep last night?
Why did I wake up so much last night?

And then I look at my watch in amazement.

I actually got to Brooklyn from Queens in the fastest time yet….leaving Astoria late was made up by Gotham’s speeding silver tube.

I walk to my destination with enough time to grab a couple sipfuls of coffee, stretch and settle in.

Settle in to sit…..for four hours.

Will I be able to stay awake?

And what happened within the course of the next four hours was nothing short of a miracle.


In the face of the deepest loss of my adult life, my divorce, a voice came up stronger than ever,

You need meditation.

I was in such a state of shock and heartbreak, that I was willing to do whatever it took to move forward.

I wanted to survive.

So, come January of 2013, I found myself in the retail section of my yoga studio with the express intention to purchase a book on meditation.

That’s the first step, right?

I was staring at all the titles and one looked interesting, so I grabbed it and opened randomly to the opening pages.

Every word was jumping off the page, going through me, as if the writer knew exactly what I was going through.

What was ironic was that the book was actually about Buddhism.

Wait, I didn’t come here seeking Buddhism, I came seeking meditation.

But, maybe it was what was underneath the meditation that was being satisfied. Here were finally tools for the roller coaster and hopelessness I was feeling.

Here were finally tools for the rejection and loss of control, for all the frustrations I had experienced in my performance career, and the feeling that my whole life was falling apart and I was losing it all.

Have you felt this too?

That book was the beginning of my search for answers and it led me to Zen practice and led me to the Fire Lotus Temple in Brooklyn.

What I had no idea was how Zen would actually feed my Creativity and allow me to be the Artist I had always wanted to be.

That voice inside was far smarter than I knew.

What is yours saying?


“Somehow time had vanished for me. I slowly rose, aware that something deep inside me had shifted. The questions I had been struggling with during the workshop – all my life, for that matter – had melted away. I felt buoyant and joyful. The world was right; I was right. I didn’t even know whether I had taken a photograph of the old tree….”
-John Daido Loori

What if there was a way to unlock your Creativity and find freedom in our existence as Artists?

What if we could dissolve the barriers we’ve set up in our mind and open to the possibility of meeting life with spontaneity, grace, and peace?

Imagine your Creative process uncluttered and unlimited like a cloudless sky, fresh where everything is new, a sense of trust in your work, and a system to receive feedback from your audience that actually serves you.


“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson


I may have come to my cushion last Saturday sleep deprived, and full of anxiety, but I actually woke up in the process of sitting.

The fog lifted and I became incredibly clear. My problems worked themselves out, and I rose from my cushion quiet and sure.

After the four hour sit, we gathered for lunch upstairs and I sat next to my teacher who had led the sit and inspired me so deeply with his reminder of unity, and that our collective energy today was feeding the March.

He turned to me and asked,
So, what do you do for a living?

Thrilled to share, I smiled and responded,
I’m an Empowerment Coach for Artists and Creatives.

My teacher’s eyes sparkled and he said,
You know Zen master John Daido, the founder of our order here at the Fire Lotus temple was a photographer. He actually found Zen because he was seeking more purpose in his Art.

And I thought all along that John was a Zen teacher who found photography. Seems it was the other way around.

How many other artists was this true for?

Maybe he had a similar voice in his head like I had four years ago.

What is yours saying?

I walked out of the temple almost in amazement that I had entered so frazzled. But, there was a driving force that had said
Go, your answers lie here

And I reflected on how this practice that is actually steeped in the Arts was truly the balm I had been waiting for to open to what I could really bring forth in my Creativity.

It wasn’t until I found Zen that I had the most success as an Artist, and ended up trusting an unlimited sky….trusting my voice and empowering Creatives across the globe to do the same.

What was clear to me last Saturday as I stepped back outside from the temple walls was this,

Zen led me to this moment here with you.

So, what if you could dissolve the barriers that have held you back?

What would you create if you fully trusted yourself and were limitless?

Wake up.

Your True Creative Life awaits.

Half Day to Whole

Half Day Sit

I arrive early, the MTA surprisingly quick for a weekend, whisking me from Queens to Brooklyn through long tunnels on steel wheels.

The first to arrive at the temple, I sign in, and walk up the wooden stairs in  morning sun, stepping in and out of the yellow shafts shining through the glass windows. Creaks meet my feet, inside thick winter soles, the melting ice from outside leaving a trail of water spots in my wake.

Though I shed my coat, I keep my scarf wrapped around my neck, doubled in softness against the early chill.

I do a few yoga stretches, elongating in my downward dog, padding my sock-covered metatarsals into the Buddha Hall floor. My palms press into the wood, and I move through from knees to chest to child’s pose.

And repeat, breathing, while another practitioner sits holding a cup of coffee, eyes forward, warming his insides before the call downstairs.

The call to sit.

The call to begin.

I hear the wooden beats, rhythmically beckoning all practitioners, marking the time, and gather myself, taking a sip of water.  After the steps contract under my feet moving downwards, I enter the Zendo, finding a cushion; the black rectangle softening under my weight as I lower to the floor.

My mind whirls, foggy and thick with concern, timetables and To-Do’s arising over and over, the question of “How, How How?”.  Three chimes ring out, and I settle, hands in the cosmic mudra, eyes lowered in the dim light.

Inhale, exhale 1.

Inhale 2, exhale 3.

Thought, thought, thought.

And…..back to 1.


Meditation arose in my life as a survival method.  I was in crisis, in deep loss from my divorce, and the realization I truly had no control.  I watched my beliefs burning before my eyes as the life I had built in New York City came crashing to the ground.  Suddenly the loud noise that I escaped into for so many years of my life was a horrible reminder of the blindness and permanence I had desired.

Triggers were everywhere.  They appeared in the words of a song, an image in a magazine, a character on TV.

For the first time in my life, I truly craved silence.  As I tried to accept the inferno around me and the massive wave of change, the silence was my solace.

In that silence, I learned how to do something I had always wanted to do.  I learned to listen.  Except this time, it was myself, not the outside voices or expectations, but what lay underneath.  It was so quiet at first, and I cried for months at the beginning as I touched on the little girl, scared and frightened in the corner, coughing from the smoke as she stared wide eyed at the flames engulfing her life.

As the coughing subsided, and the daily practice became routine, a foundation emerged, a basis for not only beginning my day, but dropping into this new place.  The foundation was inside, at the inception of my breath and blood, not outside of myself, reaching with frantic fingers.

Except it had been there all along.  I had just drowned it out.

At first it was 5 minutes, then 10, then 12, then 15.  For a long time, I would light my incense and set the timer at home, adding in two 35 minute sitting periods, called Zazen, at the Fire Lotus Temple’s Zen Service on Sundays.

After meditating for a year, I leapt into a Half Day sit at the temple, which translated to five rounds of Zazen, with walking meditation, or Kinhin, in between.  We did chant some liturgy, but essentially it was a four hour commitment to the practice.

As I had never done more than two Zazen periods in a row, I was nervous, wondering if my body would ache, or how my mind would be.

In the experience I found a shift, an opening.  With each period, it became easier to return to one, and the thoughts were spacing out.  They never stopped, but my breath slowed, and time became a new concept, not so immediate, but merely relative.  Surrounded by the community, I relaxed into my seat, and the little girl stretched in the safety of emptiness.  Her lungs were free and healthy, allowing a steady flow of inhalation and release.

A few months later, I did a full day Zazenkei at the temple, arriving at 8 am and leaving at 6 pm.  There was a meal in the Zendo, a short service, and what seemed like endless rounds of Zazen.  We had a short rest after lunch and I slept soundly.  What surprised me as I left in the early evening summer sunshine, was my energy.  I felt great.  I had purposely left the evening open, unsure if I would be exhausted.  And yet, I walked to the subway invigorated.

I was ready to meet the city.


Last weekend, I did my first meditation retreat since last summer, coming to the temple for a Half Day sit, this time more at ease from knowing the structure of the morning, but rusty on the feeling of elongated practice.

I had tossed and turned the night before, playing out scenarios and fears as I switched side to side on my mattress.  My arm wrapped around my ribs and I sighed in attempts to relax.  My head was full, the ego calling to be heard, and I pulled the covers over my shoulders until I finally drifted off.

Would I be able to stay awake during the morning or would I be fighting myself the whole time?  Should I just stay at home and sleep in?

The alarm came, and I moved, half asleep, my mind immediately picking up from where it had left me in my fevered dreams.  But my body quickly grabbed my clothes out of the hot shower, and turned the key in my lock, stepping out into the early March air.

I’ve never gotten to the temple that quickly.


The Half Day sit was overseen by a senior teacher, a kind and laughter-filled monastic who’s voice lilted through the Zendo during the first Zazen period.

“Today, we celebrate the privilege to come here and sit, to take this time.”


As each period progressed, the tossing and turning of hours before began to melt away.  My sides so tight from the back and forth, opened with my lungs, inhaling the sweet incense burning slowly before me.  I heard the breathing of my community, and my gaze lowered into the soft fabric of the practitioner seated in front of me.

When the final round of Zazen began, the timetables that had felt like an unmanageable threat hours before, became an opportunity for solution.  Answers began to arise from the now open space inside.

The body that pulled me from my bed melded with my mind, and I had something I didn’t possess before entering the temple doors.


My ego mind and body were no longer separate.  They had met in the seated breath, and remembered how to play like children on a swing, legs kicking to the sky in a beautiful dance, straight then bending with focused effort and momentum.

The sky was above and it was a glorious blue, clouds passing in puffy caravans, riding on the wind, and moving on.

After a delicious lunch with the rest of the retreat participants, I walked out in the afternoon air and headed back on the subway to my home.

I headed back to action, invigorated and fearless, my winter boots light, with a child-like skip.