Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

When I first started meditating a month or so ago, I found it quite a challenge. Even the brief ten-minute window I allowed myself seemed interminably long and despairingly bleak. It was also the first time I allowed my darkest thoughts and emotions to have their time in the spotlight of my mind, and all their ugliness and awfulness was on gross if necessary display. I wasn’t proud of all the things that came rushing to the surface: the anger, resentment, bitterness, jealousy, fear, sorrow, anguish, cruelty, and rage. Each reared its head, but instead of pretending them away, instead of faking that everything was good and I was not bothered by it, I sat beside them, taking in their grotesque nature, acknowledging and honoring the place they had taken up in my mind, respecting that they had been a part of me for all this time. One by one, I allowed them their say, their existence. No longer was I trying to snuff them out, for they each had their purpose. They each had a reason for existing. I sat with them, and then I let them go. Every meditation gave them a chance to be heard and acknowledged. As the days and nights passed, the thoughts and emotions that came up gradually changed and shifted. The heaviness and darkness that seemed relentless slowly lifted. Other thoughts took their place – healing, resignation, acceptance, forgiveness, and even hope.

Still at the start of my meditative experiment, I’m not sure which way it will take me, but I’m feeling much better, so I hope it continues. Enraptured by this trajectory, I’ve taken to expounding upon and promoting meditation for my friends, explaining to Suzie and Kira how I go about it, subtly suggesting ways they might make a practice of it. Suzie asked if I ever cried at the emotions dredged up during a session, and I had to admit that I had in the very beginning. Not so much for what I was feeling at that specific moment, but for the fact that, while I’d made my life all about me for over four decades, I’d never really taken care of myself. There was something very sorrowful about that distinction. It clues me into a profound realization that in all these years of putting forth a self-centered image in the hopes of making some sense of self-worth stick, I’d failed at simply taking care of myself. And in the last few months, when I understood in heartbreaking fashion that no one – not my husband, not my parents, not my family, not my friends – could ever help if I didn’t help myself, the simple act of focusing on my own breath, my own life, became the most tender, kind and compassionate thing I could do.

“Solitude is independence. It had been my wish and with the years I had attained it. It was cold. Oh, cold enough! But it was also still, wonderfully still and vast like the cold stillness of space in which the stars revolve.” ~ Hermann Hesse

Quiet and stillness and silence. These are the things I find myself craving as the world grows louder, and the possibility for being alone becomes more scarce. On any given day, I am surrounded by a barrage of sounds and noise. The radio playing classical music. The television and its 24-hour news cycle. The washing machine and dryer. The beeps of the microwave and dishwasher, the beeps of the refrigerator, the beeps of the coffee maker. The drone of co-workers, punctuated by the occasional squeal of laughter. The incessant talk of meetings. The roar of traffic. The rumble of a garage door. The buzz of a phone call. The ping of a text message. Even when I make it home, and everything is turned off, there are still noises ~ the hum of the heater, the ticking of a clock, the sporadic drips of a diffuser. Such is the modern world.

We have become accustomed to such noise, and for some people total silence is more jarring and disturbing than a wall of sound. I used to be that way. A trip to Sharon Springs and its accompanying quiet was a jolt to my system a number of years ago. It was then that I realized I was losing an important aspect of life: silence. Since that time, I’ve worked to regain the moments of aural respite that quiet affords. It’s become more important as I’ve been implementing it as part of my daily meditation. Whereas I once meditated with Tibetan flute music or background yoga chants, I now do so in complete silence, and it makes a grand difference.

To start, it allows one to focus on the breathing, the most important part of meditation. By isolating the internal gaze to the primal function of life, I’m more able to push distractions to the side and allow the more prominent emotions and feelings to enter, be acknowledged, and pass on.

Second, silence allows for rejuvenation. Whether I was realizing it or not, being surrounded by a constant barrage of sound and noise was draining. Like the subtle scratch of an underwear label that doesn’t sit quite right, you may not even be aware of the discomfort until it’s removed. The same holds true for quiet: if you haven’t had it in a while, its appearance may be a marked relief. In the simplest terms, it allows your ears to rest, and in turn your brain to become calm. The cessation of an auditory assault is always a relief to me, especially now that I’ve accustomed myself to equate silence with peace and contemplation.

Finally, an atmosphere of quiet and stillness makes for an environment in which it is possible, and almost fostered, to examine yourself. Rather than raising the volume of those inner voices that most of us entertain during the day, it somehow works to quiet them, as if they too want to join in the hushed reverence of the moment at hand.

“How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here forever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.” ~ Virginia Woolf

A strong dose of color can change the world, especially a world mired in winter greys, chaos, and Mercury in retrograde. Charging into that battle with his #MakeYouSmileStyle and lifestyle blog (currently undergoing an exciting revamping), Will Taylor has been bringing color back into our lives, literally and figuratively, and I’m here for all of it.

His Instagram feed is a steady stream of inspiration, one that highlights his uncanny knack for impeccably matching his outfits to his surroundings, and offering helpful information on which products and techniques work best for him. Nothing is a hard sell, and his enthusiasm is as genuine as it is contagious. In other words, he’s the best sort of social influencer.

Lately I’ve been getting a kick out of his Twitter feed as well, as he opines his relative age in a world of youngsters who don’t remember what it was like being charged per text message. (Taylor’s a generation younger than me, so you can imagine how my dinosaur ass feels. He’s been blogging since 2009; I’ve been doing this since 2003.)

Above all else, it is his infectious spirit and unflagging optimism that has captured the fickle attention of style-watchers and design aficionados the world over. Ever-ready with a smile or a supportive response, he injects a badly-needed dose of colorful glamour into a mundane universe. Whether it’s his unabashed excitement over the new Lady Gaga song, or perennial reverence to a classic Madonna moment, he straddles the past and the future, while boldly living in the present. He bridges a clean, bright, modern aesthetic with a classic celebration of color and vibrancy, crafting a style that is at once accessible, functional and impossibly fabulous.

As evidenced by cheeky glimpses into bare-chested glory, he also knows his audience clamors as much for him to don colorful garb as they are to see him slip out of it. (A preference for briefs has endeared him to a whole new audience.)

More impressive than that pretty package is his relentless drive to better the world around him, starting with the outside and gradually and ingeniously working within. He isn’t afraid to share his personal stories and setbacks, and today we demand that from our social media stars. He’s also one of the most responsive Instagrammers out there, so if you say hello he’s likely to reply with a smile or quick word of thanks.

It’s a welcome breath of brightness in our dour and drab social media timelines, and whenever I see a new post of his pop up, it’s the first thing I click. We need more color in our lives. We need more color in the world.

Bits of wreckage strewn haphazardly about the house hinted at childhood and the wonders of youth. None of it made much sense to me as an adult, which was sad, as I pondered where I might have lost the path I once knew so well – a path of pure imagination, of whimsy and fantasy and make-believe. It was a path that led to woodland fairies perched among polka-dotted toadstools, where miniature cows moved and mooed on mounds of verdant moss, and dolls poked their heads up from frazzled piles and demanded finer frocks.

Today, there is little room or time for such happy frivolity, unless I’m spending time with my niece and nephew. Perhaps this is why people love children so much – they remind them of being young. Even though part of me feels I’ve lost my way, I still hold onto an active imagination, an appreciation of the whimsical, a respect of the power of make-believe. There is a magic that only exists in the mind. The fact that it isn’t real only makes it more potent. It cannot be stopped or limited or killed. It lives with all the creatures we conjure in our heads – in another, unreachable land, a place to which only a dreamer might gain entrance.

The first recap for March is upon us! The month of spring at last at hand! A few more weeks of winter first, so let’s rush on through this recap and move ahead. 

Mercury in retrograde knocked out the first Broadway selections of the season. 

My baby brother celebrated his birthday.

This website celebrated Ass Wednesday.

The Soup Dragons went Softly.

Teaching my Mom how to use FaceBook.

Never too late for a narcissus.

The Madonna Timeline returned with ‘Dark Ballet’. 

Sunny words of warning.

March enters with the lions. 

A brief post filled with sexy half-naked gents.

Hunks of the Day included Sam Gravitte, Nicholas Hoult, Ramone Owens, and Ben Affleck. 

The royal return of the king of beasts marks the start of March, and such thunderous entrance and cacophonous fanfare seems fitting as we continue on our not-so-merry march of Mercury in retrograde. We have entered the month in which spring officially begins, and though that’s not for a few weeks, hope is on the horizon.

I have a soft spot for lions, as evidenced by this dreamy song, and this summer memory. As for their connection with the start of March, I’m all for it, and if history is any indication they’ll see us through the entire month. Lambs don’t get their meteorological match until May usually. March is much more volatile, and the first days have Mercury behind them, leading to the kind of war I’d much rather avoid. To that end, I will maintain my schedule of meditation. It isn’t much, just fifteen minutes a day, but those fifteen minutes matter and make a world of difference. Silence and stillness are undervalued in today’s world, which means carving out a time and place for both can be difficult. It’s not something you can do in the car on your daily commute, or in the shower, or even lying in bed. It takes concentration and work ~ it’s not just lounging and chanting and ommmmm. But I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, particularly if tranquility and serenity might be one of the outcomes. They will be especially important as the lion rages and March rears its hot-blooded head. We must also remember that lions can be peaceable creatures as well, so long as we don’t interrupt the hunt.

When the sun begins its late winter burn, that’s when it might be at its most dangerous. After a winter of darkness and gloom, the days have been growing longer. It began almost imperceptibly, right after the winter solstice, and only now, with the benefit of hindsight, can we see the progress. The brilliant bookend of a Thanksgiving/Christmas/Easter cactus, which had its initial flush of blooms when the light first leaked from the sky at the end of fall, recently started its re-blooming period, indicating that the light had returned.

As lovely as that may be, I feel we need to slow down and take the universe’s gradual progression to heart. At this point in life, I can step back and not rush into anything. That’s for the young and foolish, and there’s a time when that’s right. I’ve passed that point. Luckily, the universe has its own way of doling out lessons and warnings, and it’s powerfully effective at slowly but persistently making sure we heed its signs. Like the slow trudge to spring, it warns with almost unseen form. In fact, it may dangle something tempting or exciting in front of you even if it’s not right. Or maybe we simply ignore such warnings when we want something. At those times, the universe steps in with small signs and blips – maybe a recurring cold or other issue. If you fail to listen, or if you don’t want to listen, you might be able to ignore it a little longer. Fear not, the universe will continue to work to correct the path.

It may knock a little louder, and things may get a little rockier. Perhaps other systems fail, perhaps everything else seems to go wrong. That’s the universe nudging a little more forcefully. If you still don’t heed its signs, it shines its sunlight of truth with relentless intensity. It’s the kind of sunlight that only comes in late winter, before the leaves are on the trees, before the haze of warmth and humidity. It’s this sunlight that can burn, and the universe bangs on your front door, waking you from whatever spell holds you blind to the path you should be on, to right the wayward turns you may have taken.

One must have faith at such times. It’s possible for the world to be both too bright and too dark to see clearly.