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Yoga, messages, and punches in the mouth
Apr. 24th, 2017 10:15 amSun's out! Sun's out! Raining when I woke this morning, now there's a break in the rain. I should rush out into it, walk my bum off. I also promised myself yoga, blog, writing - and if I do those good things, I am allowed lunch at WholeFoods, complete with green tea, and maybe a dessert.
I've done about 25 minutes of old, creaky body yoga, and now, here I am.
This morning, staring at the ceiling while I did some on-my-back stretches, I found myself, inexplicably, immersed in an eavesdropping from circa 1993. My first yoga teacher was musing to one of her close friends about a dream she had. It was concerning a yoga posture. She didn't know if it was a personal message to her as to the meaning of the posture, the name of the posture, or whether she was supposed to practice that posture herself, or to teach it. She wondered what her guru was telling her.
I was on my way out of the neighbourhood house, and had no reason to linger close by and hear the end of the conversation. There were no iphones back then that I could have whipped out and checked. I didn't even have a scrap of paper I could pretend was a 'to do' list. I never did find out what she decided was the interpretation.
I've never dreamed of yoga postures, although I have sometimes dreamed of being in yoga class.
I very, very occasionally dream of that guru. More often when I was younger, and more involved with that mob. Since his death, I've only dreamed of him twice, the last time about 6 years ago. In that dream, he was mocking my poems.
This harkens to a story I heard some years ago, of him requesting one of his sannyasins a number of paintings. She was a talented artist. She presented him the paintings, and he immediately laughed at them, mocked them, and threw them on the ground. He walked on them, and invited several of his visitors to do the same.
Other sannyasins said it was a lesson in ego. You know what, I would have punched him in the mouth. I wouldn't have cared if I was there to learn to transcend the ego. At that moment, my 'evil' ego would have risen up and he would have been minus a couple of teeth.
So glad now I never formally joined that mob.
I was going to say that this rambling brings me no closer to a new entry in my spiritual memoir. However, it IS a reminder that my years skirting the edges of that particular mob are part of my journey, too, and need to be part of the story.
I've done about 25 minutes of old, creaky body yoga, and now, here I am.
This morning, staring at the ceiling while I did some on-my-back stretches, I found myself, inexplicably, immersed in an eavesdropping from circa 1993. My first yoga teacher was musing to one of her close friends about a dream she had. It was concerning a yoga posture. She didn't know if it was a personal message to her as to the meaning of the posture, the name of the posture, or whether she was supposed to practice that posture herself, or to teach it. She wondered what her guru was telling her.
I was on my way out of the neighbourhood house, and had no reason to linger close by and hear the end of the conversation. There were no iphones back then that I could have whipped out and checked. I didn't even have a scrap of paper I could pretend was a 'to do' list. I never did find out what she decided was the interpretation.
I've never dreamed of yoga postures, although I have sometimes dreamed of being in yoga class.
I very, very occasionally dream of that guru. More often when I was younger, and more involved with that mob. Since his death, I've only dreamed of him twice, the last time about 6 years ago. In that dream, he was mocking my poems.
This harkens to a story I heard some years ago, of him requesting one of his sannyasins a number of paintings. She was a talented artist. She presented him the paintings, and he immediately laughed at them, mocked them, and threw them on the ground. He walked on them, and invited several of his visitors to do the same.
Other sannyasins said it was a lesson in ego. You know what, I would have punched him in the mouth. I wouldn't have cared if I was there to learn to transcend the ego. At that moment, my 'evil' ego would have risen up and he would have been minus a couple of teeth.
So glad now I never formally joined that mob.
I was going to say that this rambling brings me no closer to a new entry in my spiritual memoir. However, it IS a reminder that my years skirting the edges of that particular mob are part of my journey, too, and need to be part of the story.
