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.

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.

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..

in the beginning pt. 2

“Buckin’ Muck Fulligan..”. He was obviously a little agitated, and confused. Ulysses was the recent topic of discussion; you know, Joyce? And what else would you expect working in a psych ward.. I mean, have you read it?  Phineas Poe told him about it, the crazy nut. Actually, there had been word of it from scholars and other pretentious hipster-types who liked challenging pieces of literature to read (because it makes them feel edgy). We all have something to prove, don’t we?

I guess I should take the time to explain who him is. Notice it’s not capitalized, because it’s not that Him; him. Shane. Me. It happens that I sometimes talk about myself in the third person; not really sure as to why that is, though…  It’s probably not life threatening but thanks for the concern ahead of time, just in case it is.

So I’m writing a book, or in the process of writing one, and it’s just not as easy as it seems, let me tell you. It’s never been very becoming of me to make up stories with elaborate plots, because really, I lack the imagination for that; the certain type required, that is. I’ll likely never create life on a planet like Arrakis or spin epic tales of Middle Earth but one thing I do have is the incredible ability to point out the obvious. Well, what’s obvious to me anyhow, so that’s what I’ll do.

       Reality is often kooky enough that you can make a really neat story out of it; I’m living it every day, and so are you. You just may not be aware of it. You’re in it right now, in fact. It’s not witchcraft, it’s fictional reality (thank Slayer for that one). But on a serious note, we’re in this together, you and I.

        

        Let’s get started.

There are many forks in the road but they all eventually lead you back to yourself, whoever that would be at the time (as in the present). I’m almost 30 years in, and the changes are beginning to take place. I can feel them, subtle yet gross; the return of Saturn in all her Copernican glory. She’s returned to teach a very important lesson but I never excelled at doing my homework, so I might be in a slight bit of trouble here; I really would not care to repeat the last 30 years over again. Not that they were bad, it would just be nice to have learned all the hard lessons and passed the test with flying colors now. Life. 

Some call it karma, others call it, well, whatever. There is always some consequence, perceivably good or bad, to each and every decision or choice we make in life; you know the story. Some people just can’t get out of their own way; some of the time I am this person. Some don’t produce enough forward motion to even have a way, just floating along eating bits of particulates and gorging on sunshine; most of the time this is where I’m at but everything grows into something, and it’s not always bad, so I try not to get too down on myself anymore and just keep making some semblance of forward motion. 

This does not, however, necessarily constitute as having learned a hard life lesson; for that, it’s the big things in life we have to look at, such as why you might always have the tendency to drink a little too much when you go out, knowing you have to drive, or who you associate with. Even what brand of toilet paper you buy or the way wipe your ass could mean the difference between loving yourself and just not giving a shit; or, also, it could possibly just be that toilet paper is not really something that important to most people. And in essence, it’s not; what I’m trying to get across is that nothing is so small that it is inconsequential, and to overlook even the smallest things is to overlook certain aspects of yourself. 

It’s our minds that are sick, not the world; what we see and know of it acts only as a mirror, of sorts. You know, like the old saying “you get out of it what you put into it”; that kind of thing. Sure, it’s fucked (the “world”) but we do it to ourselves nine times out of ten; it becomes a problem of an inaccurate perception then, a choice of living malevolently, not towards everyone else necessarily, but yourself.  

Think things are bad on the outside? Try looking into the hearts of man, or your own. Your true self, especially the ugly parts you know you can’t run away from (permanently). That’s where the real terror lies. That’s also where the conclusion is reached that it’s useless to fight it. That helpless feeling? That’s the battle waged between reality and the idealistic ego; it’s telling you that something’s wrong, and you know it is because you can feel it but it’s ominous in its omissions and you never quite get the full picture until it’s too late: Things tend to reveal themselves to us once we’ve dropped our preconceptions of them.

A mind has to want to change, the owner of the mind has to want to change it. And it’s a lot of work. It’s a lot of damn work. 

I thought about writing a book; instead I’m left with what’s turning out to be the memoir of a life not yet lived. Happens. But having a creatively neurotic, slightly overactive imagination is not the worst thing that can happen to you, oh no. For that, the prize goes to becoming aware of this fact, and trying to go on leading a socially accepted version of what a normal life is every day. At first, reality loses a bit of its lustre, and there’s usually a very dark period that comes when one is being wrenched out of their little sleepy dreams and into the big, bad world.  

Now, by this point you’re probably wondering just what the F am I babbling on about, and is there any purpose to all this nonsense? Well, no. Not really. I mean, there is but it follows its own formula generally but it’ll all make sense in the end.. Hopefully. I mean, give me a break; none of the writers I look up to put out all zingers; this is the awkward creative adolescent phase I’m stumbling through and will continue to until I’m about 87, when, I will have produced my life’s work. Hopefully. 

everything in its right place

It's been a little while since I wrote anything resembling my thoughts on here, and I'm not really sure what the hold up has been. I guess I burned myself out a little, or needed to take a step back from it and see what I was doing here. The act of writing is a private and powerful one for me, as it's a direct link into my heart and mind, and so constantly putting myself out there for the sake of views not only compromises the quality of my material but my own personal well-being.

It's ironic, really, that as private a person as I am, I write so frequently and put myself out there without a second's thought most times. It's almost like once it hits the paper, it's no longer real to me, or at the very least no longer holds any relevance to my life; it's dead. A moot point. This is why it's such a powerful adaptive tool for me, and not just a hobby.

You cannot impose a time limit to a work of creativity; it being an organic process, it should be expected to come in ebbs and flows, subject to waxing and waning and dry spells. I like to defeat myself by acknowledging how I STILL have not written a book and do not even write on a regular basis, and that I should be sending my stuff out to small magazines and such to be published.

I'm a big believer in things happening for their own reasons and in their own time, so this is not something I'm comfortable with, or even capable of, rushing. It will happen one day when my own personal stars align. If it does not, then it doesn't change one single thing about who I am as a person. This is who I am, and my writing is a direct reflection of that. With it, I can let myself be me without fear of internal judgements or criticisms.

I'm happy with where I'm at right now and look forward to continuing to grow in power and scope, until one day my masterwork is fully realized. until then, here's another blog post.

-Shane 11.3.13

in the beginning...

  “Buckin’ Muck Fulligan..”. He was obviously a little agitated, and confused. Ulysses was the recent topic of discussion and what do you expect working in a psych ward? You know, Joyce? Phineas Poe told him about it. Actually, there had been word of it from scholars and pretentious hipster types who liked challenging pieces of literature to read, which made them feel edgy. We all have something to prove, don’t we?

I guess I should take the time to explain who him is. Notice it’s not capitalized. Not that Him; him. Shane. Me. It happens that I sometimes talk about myself in the third person, not really sure as to why that is… it’s probably not life threatening but thanks for your concern.

So I’m writing a book, or in the process of writing one, and it’s just not as easy as it seems, let me tell you. It’s never really been becoming of me to make up stories with elaborate plots because really, I lack the imagination for that. The certain type required, that is. See, reality is kooky enough to make a really neat story out of; I’m living it every day, and so are you. You just may not be aware of it. You’re in it right now, in fact. It’s not witchcraft, it’s fictional reality. Thank Slayer for that one.

There are many forks in the road but they all eventually lead you back to yourself. 

---

So, that is an abandoned beginning of the book I haven't wrote yet, the title of which I am leaving out because it's fucking awesome and I don't want any of you motherfuckers stealing my shit. Bahahahaha just kidding... but seriously, it's a secret until it's finished. Let me know what you think! LEave me some feedback on FaceBalls, I mean Book, or something similar! I'm not writing it strictly for my sole purposes, after all..

-Shane

3 of Poetry

"I must create a system of be enslaved by another mans'. I will not reason and compare: my business is to create."

That about sums it up; thank you, Mr. Blake.

For what seems like a long time now, I've been wanting to do this writing thing. For real. It is, however, all too easy for me to overlook the fact that I am already doing it. I am a writer and it's what I do, regardless of what I do or do not have published or in print.

But I have something to say. A lot, actually, and I want to reach a wider audience because I don't know why. Why the hell not, really.

It's something I'm guided by, driven by... I haven't made much of it but this blog and actively putting my stuff out there has been such an immense personal step for me, and the fact that people come up to me and mention how they "read my blog" touches me so deeply my eyes are moist just thinking about it.

It's a labor of love, and the best I can hope for is that someone can feel it when they read it, the way my favorites make me feel it when I read them. Thank you, Henry Miller.

I have big things in mind but, as with all important things in my life, time must be taken for the seed to reach its full germination, when it is strong enough to grow on its own. When that time comes, I just know.

Part of my confliction is my relationship with work: I enjoy staying busy and feeling I have a purpose, and of course making money to be able to live but so often that's all we have time for. We get up, go to work, come home for a little then go back again. Writing is as natural for me as breathing but it always has to contend for a time slot with the rest of my societal obligations. As much as I would love to just spend weeks or months at a time living the Walden life, it is simply not practical at this point. In this society, though I am gaining much optimism and hope for the future I want as I get further into 'Off The Grid'.

I only wish to create meaningful things that others can relate to but getting it going in any kind of direction is tough when you're as neurotic and hyper-critical as I am but I write every day (pretty much), and part of being a writer (part of being anything) is that it never sleeps. Day in, day out I'm observing, taking note, refining, studying and solidifying my own unique version of life; one day it will be a great read ;)

in case of the end of the world

In case of the end of the world, do nothing. There’s already nothing being done all over the place, so no need to start now. Survive. Thrive.

Consider it a blessing that our crutches have been smashed to bits and thrown away before our very eyes because we don’t need them; we’re lazy, apathetic, complacent.

 

It’s time to open those sleepy eyes and stretch slumbering limbs, get the feeling of blood flowing in our veins again. It’s been too long since we’ve felt truly alive. That fear you feel is good, it’s normal, it’s human; use it, for it has gotten us through hard times for centuries.

 

Instinct and self-preservation become predominant traits; selfishness will ultimately break out until the fittest take their rightful place in the social order, and I do not mean by musculature alone; a suitable leader will be honest with himself and others, and act out of consideration to all whom his (or her) decisions affect.

 

Too long we’ve been lulled to the sleep of death swaddled in lies; the age of truth is upon us, and it hurts. It will hurt. But pain is good, pain is cleansing. Through suffering we come out stronger and more galvanized than before, having made it through the trial by fire.

 

Zombies are the least of our concerns.

 

 

losers take all

  There was so much more that I had wanted to say with this piece when it popped in my mind earlier, something about the ongoing struggle for contentment, and my deep empathy for the chronic malcontent in life but now, later on in the evening of the same day, the thoughts don't hold as much force or color. But, while we're on the topic, we might as well carry through with it.

  I, personally, believe that contentment is the single hardest thing to come by in our day and age. Sure, a lot of people are really successful, and lead what appear to be rich and happy lives filed with joy and memories but all this is fleeting. There is no lasting value to even the best things in life. To truly be content with that, we must accept the impermanence of life itself, we must reach an agreement within ourselves, our real selves, the selves we go to sleep with every night whose unconscious displays all the dreams of our subconscious; the self we cannot escape from, no matter how much we drink, smoke, eat or who we surround ourselves with. At the end of the day we're all alone, is what it comes down to, and a lot of folks have difficulty in accepting that.
  It's not a bad thing at all, and in fact is probably pretty normal I would have to think. Sometimes I wonder if my occasional divorce from human emotions renders me "abnormal" but I think it's all very subjective, like a lot of things. For some, possibly maybe but for me, it's just another part of who I am as a person, the enigma not even I understand and will spend a lifetime attempting to navigate the labyrinth in the dark with a pen light.

  Out of this deep aversion to acceptance of certain hard truths of life stem many chronic malcontents, who for the most part I greatly empathize with and for, because in many ways I am one. However, there is a line that needs to be drawn in the sands of time at a point, and that point comes down to a person's understanding of the life equation. There's those who know and accept life is shit, who bumble around clumsily, seemingly making the same mistake innumerable times BUT all the while remaining aware of the certain trap door life poses to us. Then there are those who have some inkling of the many unpleasantries we are surrounded by and surround ourselves with but choose to deny it in some sort of childish ignorance that at times comes off very contrived; not a bad thing but inevitably a setup for a great many failures somewhere alone the line.

  Now, what can be done of this? Nothing, really; sadly, it is what it is and it comes largely down to choice: Those who choose to ignore will continue to put on the strong face to get through the day but cry themselves to sleep at night, alone within themselves and not knowing where to turn. Many types turn to religion, because it is easily accessible and familiar.
  Frankly, I don't care what a person believes in if it gives them strength, so long as it is for their reasons alone and not from the pressures of society or anyone else. To hell with everyone but yourself. Be true, follow what you feel to be true in your heart and stick with that. Santosha, or inner contentment, is thus born; a renunciation of the need to require, the elimination of want. To have all that one needs within them.
  Additionally, those who know and accept the impermanence are not guaranteed an easier life, per se, just for their knowing this. In fact, in many ways it makes things much more difficult because then one comes face to face with all the ugly defense mechanisms and machinations we humans put up in battle against the sadness, our loneliness. The individual can see through these farces, in others as well as themselves, and learns that there is no place left to run anymore, no place left to hide. All the good spots have been taken by artful dodgers, holed up securely with their insecurities. A bit over-dramatic, perhaps but all the same, none of the vices we held as our temporary refuge and residence do it for us anymore. There's nothing left but to struggle on and accept. And accept we must; we have no choice but to.

  So, friends, I have no solutions for any one of you. I myself am a little of the former and a little more of the latter, as we area all a mixture in differing degrees. All I can tell you from my limited but compassionate experience is to be yourself, and "do you". Learn how to make yourself happy first and the rest will fall into place.

It all starts with one.

There's something to be said for working in a psychiatric hospital, and I've learned a few things in the short three years Ive been there, and learn more every day. When I first started, I actually pretty much hated it but I realize now it had more to do with not being over, or able to get over, my own personal bullshit; I carried it with me everywhere I went, and as such, was not a very good person (by my stringent standards).

So, now three years later, the teachings of life are becoming apparent to me, and I'm actually starting to enjoy my job there; it's certainly unlike anything anyone else does in a day, and abnormal is the norm. It's exciting, entertaining, seldom boring, and there really are a lot of great people there, both staff and patient. There's always going to be those certain few who push our buttons but those are the ones we stand to learn the most from. 

Whether you work in an office building or a psych ward, life is tough and people can really get on your fucking nerves but everyone has their baggage they carry around with them; it's just more apparent with some, and less appealing to us than others' whom we relate to more. Try your best not to judge, don't poke around in other peoples' business and tend to your own, because it doesn't tend to itself. 

Despite my cynicism, I really do love people, and I love helping them; it's not always accepted or appreciated, and sometimes people just aren't at the point where they're ready to hear what I have to say but it still feels better to say something real and genuine and uplifting to someone, even if they shut you out, then to say nothing at all and let the cycle of bad or harmful behavior knowingly continue on unchecked.

You can't save everyone but you can at least try to save one.

on the celebrity of cooking..

Please. Get off your high horse and come back down to Earth. 

I never understood the celebrity fascination thing; I was never and still am not all that concerned at all with what so and so is doing, and frankly I could give two shits. You really should not either but I'll refrain into that whole argument, because it would be one-sided and the rest of my deal here will be opinionated enough so as it is.

I had a revelation, which is not really a revelation to anyone other than myself, in my at times extremely pretentious or out of touch with reality moments, when I was eating the arugula salad I prepared with the best bacon fresh off the slab and a homemade French dressing: this is good shit. That's the best I could ever hope for. 

You can eat classy while still being down to Earth. i don't want my dishes pined over and picked apart; I mean, if you want to do that you can, it's just not something I'm into. Same with drinking craft beer: I smell either hops or wheat or barley or whatever. I really do not see where you area getting figs, oatmeal, lemongrass.. IT"S A FUCKIN' BEER! DRINK IT, for christ's sake. You may be asking yourself if I like tastings then? Hell yes I love tastings. I love to taste it going down my throat, and going back for another. 

Maybe it's simply a matter of perspective; I certainly have my moments of contemplation lost deep in the brewing arts when presented with a masterpiece but at the end of the day, it's still just food and it's still just beer. Or wine (don't think that you're safe either, winos). There are always folks out there who need their egos stroked and who like to show off how brilliant they are but generally these things are just made by people who enjoy it as much as we do. 

The very definition of a labor of love. 

So, yeah. I use fancy ingredients for salads that are not Iceburg lettuce but so what? Try it. If it's good, it's good; who gives a rip what it's called or who made it? Don't fall into the trap of commercial branding: there is life outside of Food Network, believe it or not and they're not doing anything you yourself are not capable of, I promise. Anything they can do you can do better; you just have to want to.

8.21.13

  Wow guys, 1,023 page views as of this morning; this is truly amazing, and it's all thanks to you. Seriously. So far, this is just beyond my wildest dreams, and I am truly grateful that others can enjoy reading my stuff, and maybe even relate.
 
  I have no grand scheme, no get rich quick scheme or any other reason in particular as to why I write; it's something I need to do, it's a pressure release valve in a way. It's taken me a long time to get to this point, so that is what makes it so special for me, it also took a lot of encouragement from a lot of amazing people in my life to finally convince me I'm worth a damn and I have a talent that should not be wasted.
  The words just come to me, but it's not always so easy to write. I still give in to that nagging little voice inside me who says I'm not good enough, or my shit sucks but I've gotten much better at just letting him talk now, and paying it no further mind. I still have no clear idea of where I want my writing to take me but it is figuring itself out as it goes, every day and so I will let it progress on its own naturally, organically.

  I don't want to make up stories. I feel like there's enough fantasy out there already, that we all need that healthy dose of reality (be it harsh or not) to keep things in check, to keep it "real". That being said, however, I still enjoy losing myself in a well-told story, it's just not me at this point and so until that day comes or does not come, that distinction will be let up to those better capable to tell them. I come from a background rooted more in philosophy and the realm of the spirit, so I want nothing more than to have a discussion, ultimately with myself.
  Yes, writing for me is a very selfish practice that ultimately benefits others as well, in some way. I'm ok with that. I want to be happy and I want that for others too. There's so much pain and confusion in the world already, I certainly don't want to contribute to it; I just want to try and show you that it doesn't always have to be pretty to be beautiful. Beauty is in the balance struck by opposing forces, at least to my mind.
  Sometimes stories come together on their own but most of the time, I just want to have an internal conversation with the heart and mind; cut right through to the core of the matter. The practice of writing allows me to be direct and focused intellectually in a way like no other, so I can effectively get what I'm trying to say across without the emotions or ego getting in the way; It's one soul talking to another.

  This experience has exceeded the little expectations I had going into it, so it validates my practice and the need to continue doing so. It's just funny how it took me so long to find my path when it was right under my feet the whole time. Life is like that, though; you notice things when you stop looking so hard for them. The rest happens on its own, when you're ready.

  Thanks for reading friends. Y'all come back now, ya hear?..

  Yours truly,
   Shane

 

 

8.13.13 (13 13..) 5:33 a.m.

 Lucky 13 strikes twice today, and so far it's a scattered start. Where is that clarity I felt yesterday? The sense of divine inspiration and driving purpose? Well, it's still there but it got temporary muddled by distractions. 

  

  You see this, this right here, is where it all comes into practice, all this bs I blabber on about every day about mindfulness and yoga and the like.. There is absolutely nothing different about this morning in comparison to yesterday. I may not have been so eager to get out of bed, because listening to a distant storm is pretty right-on in the wee hours before one needs to drag their corpse pose out of bed. 

  But, I did it. And at the same time too. Still have time to sip tea and write (blog), still got my stuff done I needed to; it FEELS different, though. Each day has a new feel to it, a new taste and texture and this one is no different but just what that is that is so different is anyone's guess. It's subtle, I know that much. Or, it could all just be a shift in perception; doesn't matter either way because the more you try and understand it, the less you do.

   Focus. Power through the mind chaos, you'll find clarity on the other side or, if you don't, at least you didn't just let yourself get stuck there and lost in your thoughts, not knowing which way to go. And this is just how it goes, ladies and gents: some days you have the talker on, some days you don't. Daily life is ever-changing in our hearts and minds, some days just find us a little lost. 

  

  There's tools at your disposal that help one center the mind, body and spirit and concentrate it on one direction, but you can make it through just fine without it; just keep that cool and never let yourself lose that awareness, of your breath and your actions/reactions. All you need is awareness.

  If you're lost or confused this day as I am, or any other, just accept it; put on your favorite song and crank it. Just ride the wave back into shore. It'll bring you back to yourself eventually. 

  It's not all sunshine and lollipops, and that is one huge misconception of the whole practice (of yoga/meditation), largely put on by our unrealistic societal expectations in seeking that "magic bullet" that is going to solve all our problems and make us happy and light and chipper every single day for the rest of our lives. YAY! Barf.

   It's also clever marketing. But it's false, and I'm telling you here not to buy in. Some days are just fucked, and while an ancient yogi would never tell it to you like that, this is the 21st century, and it's time to get real about things. 

  On a scattered note, I need to get going or MY day is going to be fucked. 

  Have a good one, and if you're not, just make the best of it, ok? ;)

8.9.13

  I've been sick, or something like it, the past few days. I actually came home from work because the feeling shitty-ness overcame me and it wasn't worth the self-torture to myself or anyone in my vicinity. Took some much needed time on the couch to do absolutely nothing but listen to music and feel like a train wreck physically.
 
  I don't like being sick. No one does. And I usually don't get sick but i'm usually good for one or two good ones a year; I guess that's not a terrible track record. Be patient, I am going somewhere with all this.

  I felt miserable and just couldn't get comfortable but I had some movies to catch up on, one being Evil Dead (the new re-done, re-envisioned, regurgitated or whatever-you-wish-to-call-it one), the other was Django Unchained, a Tarantino flick.
  I'm about as art snobby as art snobs get, and try as I might to deny or downplay this fact, I simply cannot and my critical nature gets the best of me. I was watching Evil Dead and all I could think of is how terrible this is; it's like every new-school horror movie to come out in the past 5-10 years. They all have a lot of gore and camera effects/CGI for enhancement purposes and for the sake of being "shocking". Add into that the recent trend of popularity in demonic possession movies and you have another cinematic abortion of what was once a fiercely original (and hilarious) film. See, I say 'film' instead of movie.. proof of my snobbery.
 
  Now. Even with all that said, with the lack of off-beat humor from the original, lack of charismatic lead men and grandiose scare tactics, my rejection of it was almost visceral; it just really put me in a bad place after watching it. I texted my best friend and felt the need to debate about it. I wanted to pick a fight.
 
  Why?

  He was getting a little perturbed with me, I could tell, as my contrarian nature can be pretty frustrating to deal with at times (especially when it comes to debates on artistic merit or quality), and he finally just said, "It's just a movie and you're a tough critic". Then changed the subject. It was a tasteful slap in the face, which I could do nothing else but laugh at, and I whole heartedly agreed with him.
 
  It is just a movie, and I am a tough critic. On myself, on everyone else, holding the world up on its unattainable pedestal always, forever looking up the skirt of my own ridiculous ideals which I'll never touch myself. I'm on a quest for the holy grail, and I will die many deaths along the way until one day I finally learn that it doesn't exist. It's just another myth, a legend made by the hopeless to give hope to life, or at least some greater sense of meaning and purpose. That it can always be better or different than what it is, that somewhere out there something is holding all the answers I've been continuously seeking.
  This is a bit of a far stretch to go on after just talking about a movie but it's really not, in my mind. It's very much one in the same. Instead of just watching it and appreciating (or not appreciating_ it for what it is, I went on this mythical mental quest for its perfection, and all the ways it didn't add up to that for me. Thankfully, Scott inspired me to pull my head out of my ass by calling me out on my nonsense.

  What's the moral? Chill the fuck out, and if you're sick and feeling shitty wanting to critique something, turn that spotlight on yourself instead: Look at all your negative habits and find ways to turn them into positives that work for everyone, call yourself out on your bullshit and stop it before it starts.
  I also want to simply show how even such a small and seemingly innocuous occurrence of every day life can be such a huge and meaningful personal revelation. We need these daily revelations to keep evolving and re-inventing ourselves, so don't sweat the small stuff but do take it into account. It could be your next big revelation.


p.s. I watched Django Unchained later and loved the shit out of it. But, would I have loved it as much if I watched it earlier when I was still in my mood? Before I got  a reality check and got over myself? Ponder that.