Many years ago I lived in brick building on the corner of Second Avenue and 4th Street in Greenwich Village. I was living there with three dancers from NYU. It was a magical time. It was a time when possibility ran through my veins. It was a time when Life was a merry-go-round. Once on all control was lost and once off the dizziness was overwhelming. It was a time of pushing boundaries and struggling to gain awareness. In other words it was raw. The scrapes and bruises were real – and I gave as good as I got. 20 years old and living large as possible. In those days my mind was into Lao Tzu and Herman Hesse and Buddhism and the chivalry of martial arts. We ate Szechuan food almost nightly and drank red wine on the stoops. We threw parties and stayed up all night watching the lights go out in the street as the sun came up over the East River. Yet in my heart I was a spotted pony running across the prairie. The city was not my home. Too much humanity packed too tightly and no...