I have lived on the lip of insanity, wanting to know reasons, knocking on a door. It opens. I've been knocking from the inside! Rumi1 Living in New York City was its own kind of spiritual practice; a maximalist, ecstatic, tantric whirl that I had no preliminaries for. My outer world never stopped moving; between bedbugs, the art scene, landlords who didn't speak my language, commuting from Brooklyn to Manhattan to work under the table to make rent, and trying to write