Confessions of a Yoga Dick.

Wow. I threw some harsh indictments out there last night, some unnecessarily grating, painfully-obvious-to-the-point-of-definite-insecurity-and-shame-because-of-it judgements and criticisms. I do that. Attack other people when I get tired of attacking myself. But my answer to everything? 

Do Yoga.

Yeah. In a perfect world, everyone would be inverting themselves and so mindful ad nauseum that nothing would ever be bad or wrong and we’d know just how to deal with something best and get over it with relative ease. Right. T would seem that my yoga world very often fits so well into my skewed idea of “reality”, and becomes something of a fantasy itself. 

I, am a Yoga Dick. But I really don’t mean to be; it just… happens. Sublimely self-righteous and brimming with the need to control, I scour my psychological landscape, and others’, finding kinks and chinks in the marrow and doing my best to interject with some post-modern wisdom from antiquity. It can be REALLY annoying, and I can only imagine what I must sound like sometimes: Am I THAT guy? Major dread face. 

For my part, I mean well and really just want the best for people. I’m one of those people who are really good at seeing what’s wrong with something but not really that good at all at offering practical advice or ideas on how to go about solving it; I would appear to be a bit of a one-trick pony, much to my chagrin. 

So, yes, I battle constantly with this thing called an EGO. I thought I got rid of it long ago, or at least came to peace with it when I went on that fantastic psilocybin trip but I’ve long-since been learning that it is definitely a journey and not a destination like I had once thought. Now I’m going on 30 years young in less than a month and I’m faced with my own shitty behavior I’m still finding myself tempted to run from.

By all outward appearances, I have it made: A beautiful and naturally striking Asian girlfriend who makes beautiful babies and has one adorable and sweet boy of her own, who also loves the shit out of me. And we have each other. Of course, even the best relationships have their particular challenges and upsides and downfalls but what lies at the core of this one is something real. It’s just all the other “stuff” that gets in the way; her stuff, but mostly my stuff. Internal stuff. That stuff you write about and dream about and think about all the time. That stuff that’s you, inside.

This stuff in and of itself is not such a bad thing, it’s just how we deal with it ourselves and together that determines if said stuff is going to be a problem or not. When you aren’t always the most open and sharing with your stuff, it creates this parallel universe in your mind that’s like a parasite feeding off the one you’re really living. One day you wake up and you’re sucked dry and cease to exist, maybe you never did because you were just so caught up in this other “stuff” you think you want to do but aren’t doing, never doing. 

It’s kids and work and bills and any number of societal obligations that become the manifested wedges between ourselves and our “selves” that ultimately drive us to some matter of psychosis, either slowly over time or abruptly and tears apart the fabric of being surrounding us. It changes us. Unchecked and unfulfilled lives and desires breed contempt which breeds hatred either passively or aggressively and before we know it we’re spinning out of control in this cycle of abuse that we tried to work so hard at avoiding in the first place. It’s really interesting, and sad. 

I still hold out hope that yoga is that one true thing (read: gift) that we can all “do”, and benefit from to some degree, whether it’s to gain strength and tone up or down to secondarily bump up our self-esteem and love for ourselves, or to just chill the f out and learn to let stuff go, and truly relax. But sometimes when we get started down this path, we get so excited by our own results that we become a little over-zealous and, intentionally or not, begin to proselytize and throw seeds where they were never wanted or asked for. 

Just because it worked for you, doesn’t mean it’s going to work for everyone else, no matter how many styles or teachers there are out there and just because a person looks to you like they need your help and “infinite wisdom” to get through life doesn’t mean they want or need it from you. Maybe even at all. So, keep up with your own practice but kindly butt out. Check that ego at the door and ask yourself if you’re really offering your help out of the kindness of your heart or some other, more sinister, karmic… thing, man.

Awkward hair phase.

  It took me probably over a year and a half, maybe even closer to two years, to get my hair to the length it is not, which is about shoulder/middle upper back-length now. Looking back, it doesn't seem that long and in fact, I've forgotten about so much of the time spent getting to this point; it's funny, in retrospect, just how many times I've threatened to cut it all off and go back to nothing. Well, very short and monk-like anyhow.

  It wasn't easy but it's worth it, if nothing else for the experience, because I'm pretty sure I'll probably lose a good bit of it at some later point in my life, thanks to genetics. It honestly constantly surprises me that my hair is capable of growing this long, so for me it's been an experience in all things yoga-like: patience... mostly patience, actually. And acceptance.
  I went through a lot of the aforementioned "awkward hair phases" during the process and looking back on them they make me laugh too, not just because of how they look but because those were not just awkward phases in my hair growth; they were awkward phases in my own growth. I'm not the same person I was then, if you know what I mean. If not, I simply mean that sticking to the experience teaches you a lot about yourself. To me, having long hair is more a sign of wisdom I've accrued in growing it, not at all for the sake of fashion or because I "look good with it".

  It's who I am right now. I have long hair. One day I will have short hair again, when it's time to. Or I won't.

  One just never knows what's in store..

Predilection

  You know, I have something to say. Obviously, because I have this blog set up but in all seriousness, this is about the celebrity of talent.

  I may have certain natural talents, as we all do, and I may be naturally fluent with words and gifted in such a way to arrange them attractively at times. But, that's it. I'm not more talented than you and it does not define my self worth. Just as someone who is skilled at carpentry is drawn to it either early on or at some random point later in life, I was slowly drawn to writing as my means and end. Eventually I started to listen up and really pay attention and slowly, eventually, I began looking deeper into life and using that as my infinite source of inspiration. There's no further magic in it but a little bit of luck and a decent helping of determination to make it a "thing".

  I say this because I'm insanely modest about such things, and don't like the attention, truthfully; but, I've been reading some things and hearing a lot of people say how they can't write because they're not good at it and this and that, and it doesn't stop at just writing: It goes for everything. Sometimes we just find something that aligns with us and we pick it up so easily because we already have some sort of natural predilection towards it. But that does not make those who do not have the same affinity for it any less vital; they could easily be writers if they tried. I hold with the mindset that anything is possible, if you want it badly enough and if you put your whole self into accomplishing it.

  I just don't want people discounting themselves when it's ridiculous to do so in the first place, and not only that but it excuses one from challenging themselves and being well-rounded all over as an individual. A case in point would be asking an adept at a certain craft or trade for advice on how to approach something, and then using that and successfully completing or achieving it. It can be done, anything; it's just a matter of believing in yourself and your limitless possibilities.

  So ends my rant for the night, on a positive note, at least. So, get out there and do something you never thought to yourself you couldn't do, and surprise the hell out of yourself. Cheers.

Buy the ticket, take the ride

  There's a part of me that believes that this path chose me, and not the other way around, though I have no way of really knowing because it's all subjective anyway. Whatever it is that you believe in, shapes your beliefs. I, personally, have always put more faith in the mystical spectrum of things, trusting my instinct and feeling my way through life; to me, there is no other way, and it puts me in a tough position to successfully understand where others are coming from but this isn't about beliefs, it's about walking the path that, depending on your beliefs, chose you or vice versa.

  The path in question is that of being a writer; I saw a quote from Kafka recently that says, "a non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.", and it blew me completely away. It's true, of course, and I haven't been writing. Without its releasing quality, things change inside me gradually and left alone for a long enough timeline, permanent shifts and changes in psyche follow suit. Before you know it, you're not sure you've ever been a writer and have lost yourself once again, deep in the woods of your own heart and soul.

  And this leads me to believe that this path has chosen me, just how naturally it came to be. And lately, I am that monster.

  It goes in spells though, creativity; it ebbs and flows. Periods of intense mental lethargy follow periods of intense productivity, perpetually chasing after one another like Ourobouros and its tail. It's frustrating, and even though I'm no Stephen King with even a single published book, the times they are 'a changing, and there unfortunately are not a lot of people who have or take the time to sit down and read a book. So, despite there always being those (like myself) who realize the power of holding a great book in their hands and appreciating that over any other medium, one cannot fall behind the 8 ball when so much of everything is digitalized these days.

  My dilemma is this: I like analog. I like doing things by hand, the old way or the hard way or whatever you wish to call it. I journal. I entertain myself with my own internal life and have a stack of personal manuscripts filled with time and energy, tracing my writing "career" back to its inception. My life in books, as a book. But none of it will ever be published. It's not for anyone but me. This, however, this is for everyone. And no matter how much my pride goads me to write an epic novel in the vein of Dostoevsky or a grand philosophical tale that would make Nietzsche proud, this is all I have for now. And that's enough.

  I'm getting a little more discerning as I go, now taking more time to finish thoughts and create cohesion than before, though I still hold fast to my sentiment of the rawest original thought and feeling as being the best, and most genuine. For the sake of my readers, I will be constantly keeping up with my checks and balances to keep evolving my craft with my own psycho-spiritual development.

  Like so many other things, it's a constant work in progress. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

Forever time.

In my mind, I'm freaking out: I have to be somewhere, doing something by a certain time. We're losing daylight. Hurry up. Wait. Get even more agitated because I feel the universe closing in on me. 

Time exists because we created it but nothing more can be said about that, or done. As with so many other things, it just "is what it is". But that does not mean that we are totally defenseless against it; we can post up and breathe, reclaim our precious seconds and minutes in silence. 

Work with what you have available to get done what absolutely needs to and damn the rest for another, better time. We're only human and there is only so much of it to work with in a day, after all.

Nietzsche-Peachy

To me, the most life-affirming thing is to have soul conversations with similar human spirits. Makes you feel a little less insane and maybe validates your existence and what you're about, just a little.

For instance, sheeple. You know, the unawakened, unenlightened. Those who go about their sleepy existence thinking that this is it, this is as good as it gets and this is how things must be everywhere. Television becomes a deity worshiped on asscheeks around the world. I'm not saying everyone has to share my disdain for how spiritually retarded we've become as a human collective, I just want questions to form in your mind when faced with authority or social injustices and I don't want you to just go along blindly with the popular opinion. Have one of your own! Even if it's not to have one.

What is it that causes one person to wake up, and another remain asleep? Is it choice? Or something else? A condition of the heart, perhaps: A hardening, a great constriction of the thing to hang on to what it holds so true, so dear; a defense mechanism for a world out of sorts.


  I've gone back to reading Nietzsche lately, so you'll have to excuse my recent philosophical bent. The man is my idol, however, and not only that but my literary guru, to boot. Most everything I learned about myself, I learned largely in part thanks to him. No bullshit. Reading him changed the course of my life permanently and I am ever so thankful for this world that produces such people who open our eyes and inspire us, especially when we're bombarded incessant;y every day with the mediocre and inconsequential. Nothing matters. Nothing we're told does, or should, anyhow.
  What matters is going home at the end of the day to something or someone you love, and doing what you do for the betterment of yourself and others, not just wasting away on a little cloud of consumerism and fantasy everyday that everything is just ok. Denial gets tricky, best not to mess with it.

  Mr. N and I disagree on a lot of surface things but it's never the surface I'm really concerned with. Something as simple as having a conversation with someone is enough, sometimes. Some study the words spoken, others the tone and timbre; still others, myself included, lose sight of the words immediately in favor of what lies behind them. It's very much like deciphering code.
  Well, in a way it is a code. Our psyches are so efficient and skilled at erecting our grand defensive archetypes that many times we aren't any the wiser about it until one day we are. A lot of times, I don't even listen to what's being said; I space out studying the space the words are coming from and the feeling behind it. It stands to reason then that this is why I've never been a "lyrics person", when it comes to music; for me, what strikes me first and foremost is the feeling driving the piece. What the group is saying, because each member (provided these are real musicians and not some poppy piece of bubblegum shoe shit no talent ass-clowns) is telling you a story.

  This is a huge digression but the nature of my writings have always been a bit rambling and more akin to something conversational (believe me, if you've ever gotten me into a conversation of something I'm really passionate about, you'll hear my neediness assert itself proudly), so they never really have a clear destination most times anyway. But I was talking about music, and for the aforementioned, this is probably the reason I always aligned myself so readily with metal music, though I truly love all types. Like attracts like, and I am attracted to intensity of thought and feeling, to speak to my own. Not saying The Eagles lack this but I'm a true junkie and metal has given me the only fix strong enough to give me that little taste of death they all go for.

  There is no logical conclusion to this entry, but there never was one intended. I just wanted to write a few things and talk about something I was fired up about and inspired enough to write myself (publicly) out of the funk I've been in. Any of you who read me regularly will probably notice it's been a little while since I've posted anything. Well, yeah. For me, the creative process is very cyclical, and just as the moon and our own biorhythms go, my creativity is largely at the whim of waves and mercy. But, it is most importantly a craft, and as such, should be practiced ad nauseum, until it's like breathing.
  I also wanted to mention the actual web site I'm working on (that I largely procrastinated on for months, it seems) is in the works (really) and is beginning to take on some form. I don't know if perfectionism comes with being of a creative mind but it really does get terribly frustrating sometimes, and very unproductive but shit's getting done, and I'm getting excited about it, most importantly. This blog was ultimately just a starting point, a dip of the toes to test the water before jumping in head first, and it's gone amazingly, thanks to you.

Thank you,
Shane

Don't just do something, stand there...

… is how I often feel. I have plenty of good ideas of things I'd like to do but when it comes down to it, there's always plenty of things to stop me in my tracks. I'm sure that I'm not the only one for whose aspirations and actual  involvements don't equal out but I want to be that person who does things, rather than just talking about it, because, when you're doing it (and if it's for good reasons) then there's no need to waste the time or words talking about it; you're too busy doing it.

  Putting a time limit on things makes it troubling too, like everything needed to be done yesterday and you're not expecting to live through the week. shit does definitely happen but provided it does not, fatally, then you've got your whole life to get things done. Don't sweat it.

  I look at the time spent in front of this screen machine and am loathe to admit the amount of time spent  wasted, wasting away and just looking up the next material item to fill my life but only temporary.

  Ah, to be alive..