Month: November 2012

Tick Tock: Time’s Almost Up

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So many times we’ve told to follow our bliss, follow our passion. We make an attempt, often finding ourselves in situations which reflect back quite the opposite.

A few weeks ago I was promoted to a full time job in an office/corporate environment.
For years now I’ve been fighting that very notion. I feared that my freedom would be cast adrift forever as I became another lost statistic to the “the man”.

(someday someone will have to explain to me who this “man” is. I keep visualizing this 3-foot stogie smoking, pin-striped suit wearing, little old bald man. If he’s isn’t sitting behind this mammoth of an ornate desk barking orders, then he’s struggling to get out of his chair so he can start kicking some shins)

Isn’t it funny how life always lays an ironic twist, and everything I reject I eventually have to face?

This time around part of me knows that this is just an adventure. A stepping stone of sorts.
It’s an opportunity to see what I don’t prefer, and turn it around so it becomes fun while I decide on what I truly want to do with the rest of my life.

I know this is just temporary, like everything else in life. So I choose to make it fun, and exasperating, and educational, and someday a distant memory.

Making the best of a situation and accepting it for what it is (with a healthy dose of grace) allows me to move on from it faster.
Especially if I get excited for what is to come, cosmically knowing that it is already here.

(… and that’s my fifth blog entry for the week! Eat it!)

Yoga Pose Of The Week

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I have two more posts to submit, otherwise I’ll be letting potentially marrying gay couples everywhere down!
So at this point I’ll just panic and make it up as I go along…

Actually a “yoga pose of the week” isn’t such a terrible idea. However, since I just came up with it I’m going to pull it out of my ass, and I promise to have some sort of explanation and “raison d’être” next time.

So sit quietly.
Choose your spot.

The bare floor, a meadow, the beach, your couch, whatever inspires you to cross your legs, sit up straight (use a wall, a tree, or a bolster for support) close your eyes if you wish and start breathing.

Yes, we’re just going to sit here and breathe. Don’t try to quiet your mind. That never really works right away anyway, but breathe you will.

We hardly pay attention to our breathing, and why should we?
It comes naturally, big freakin’ deal.
Actually it is a big deal.

So many times we don’t notice how shallow it truly is. Therefore never filling our lungs with oxygen and using them to their complete capacity.

So just breathe and just be. Deeply.

Take comfort in the knowledge that cultivating a proper yoga practice takes one breath at a time. After all, it is the fourth of Patanjali’s Eight Limbs Of Yoga.
No, I’m not going to explain who he is. That’s why they invented Google.
Look him up. And don’t forget to take your breath along with you…

Christ, You Mean It’s Not A Pager?!

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I’ve never blown off anyone I’ve dated in my life. That’s until today… I met “The Ranger” on Ok Cupid back in February, and at the time I was cock-hungry and up for almost anything. Thank God I never fucked that hot Canadian male prostitute, I’d be shopping for a casket right about now.

But that’s another story…

The Ranger and I hit it off from minute one. He was fresh off a break up and lonely. I was… did I mention I was cock-starving?? Ahem… I suppose I did. He was sweet, with a big belly, baby chipmunk cheeks, and eyes like Leonardo DiCaprio. At least that’s what my mom said when she saw his photo. Hey I ain’t picky, but he was funny, had a great voice, and went to Yale if you can believe it. So I guess I settled. Everyone knows I’ll fuck an Oxford University graduate on principle alone. Education by proxy babay! *wink*

Cue bed scene: Both naked, great soft California King sized bed, sheets with innumerate thread count. (You must understand, at the time I was sleeping on a rinky dinky futon. I would’ve gone down on Rush Limbaugh if it meant a one night’s sleep on a bare full-sized mattress).

Fireplace burning, glass of water accompanying a plate of cookies on my side of the bed. My God, it doesn’t take much to make me feel like a princess. So one thing leads to another, yadda yadda yadda… Ohai, if I squint hard enough I’m having sex with Leonardo’s older bearded brother! Until I see it lying next to us.  A pager?? No way! This guy’s stuck in the early 90’s! Wait what’s this? The pager has a cable attached to it, and I’m curious enough to follow that “yellow brick road” to see what’s on the other end of that rainbow.

OhMyGodOhMyGod! It’s a disc on the other end, and it’s inside his side?? He’s a Borg! He’s a Mutant! He’s a fucking extra from David Lynch’s Dune! Ok, the truth wasn’t as sexy but I’ve never seen an insulin pump before dammit! Not the best way to find out about his condition, but definitely original in execution. His pump in my hand, and I’m dead-eye staring at the ceiling all the while lying there being defiled.  I finally wondered to myself how much lower is this situation gonna get.

“Fuck it” I thought. “It’s an adventure, and he seems really into me”. You desperate cow *eyes roll* I almost let out a laugh when I later saw him hanging his “pager” on the dog tags around his neck while cooking a burrito naked, later that evening. Good burrito though, I’ll give him that. (Hey… Get your head out of the gutter pal!)

In the beginning I secretly wanted it to grow into something lovely, but I quickly realized that it wasn’t going anywhere. I think the breaking point for me was when I saw the family size Almond Roca he picked up from Costco. In my opinion it is tantamount to a suicide attempt by caramel chocolate. Ok, I don’t expect for any man to be solely responsible for our relationship or be my “rock”, but if he inspires to be the best and most beautiful self, within and without,  I cannot ask for more.

Although I might…

So my darling ranger, wherever you are tonight and whatever you do with your life, I truly adored you. But I adore me more.

Once In Yoga Class…

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Hey remember in the 5th grade when you had a whole two months to write a book report, but you waited until the Sunday before it was due on Monday morning?
No?
Shit, I must be the only one in the whole free world who procrastinated even way back then.
Hey, why do you think I joined this cockamamie stickk.com challenge?

So let’s get this goin’…

Post # 3 of this week:
(post # 2 is still in draft mode. I just can’t find the idea of sharing my issues with “my little diabetic burning man ranger” THAT interesting, really.

Usually, Sundays are solely dedicated to yoga.
If anyone knows me, they’re well aware that it’s my long-time passion, and that I’ve been a dedicated practitioner for four years. I still have a long way to go, but I have a lifetime ahead of me as far as I’m concerned.

I had already mentioned last week’s 108 challenge and the pleasure I had in reconnecting with my previous teachers. However, there’s a particular issue I had not touched upon which I find extremely important in anyone’s yogic’s life lesson.

A little over two years ago, before I started working for K***, I used to attend the Sunday afternoon community class at Purple Yoga in Long Beach.
Regardless of the teacher’s physical beauty, her lesson-approach was formulaic and her personality was as monotone as her voice.
The last time I chose to endure her class, I made sure to graciously thank her after practice and then she asked me why I had not been there for so long.
I replied that I was spending a lot of time in Santa Monica, and that I was still practicing regularly but wherever I had the occasion to do so.

That’s when it got eye-openingly yeecchhh.

She began to read me the riot act on the wrongdoings of having too many teachers. Almost to the point of guilt tripping.
She felt that I should stick to one studio, and learn from all I could form that one style and keep the purity of my practice in that manner.

Needless to say I thanked her for her “wisdom” and never went back to her class AGAIN!
Who’s ever heard of growing by remaining in one place? I’m sure it exists, but why?

So here’s my piece of advice. If you truly love yoga, do not allow yourself to fall into the limitations of one teacher or one style. It’s a journey into transformation.
Suck that marrow baby!
Take all you can from everyone, and leave the rest behind. Every teacher has something to teach you, even the bad ones. They, above all others, show you what you DON’T want, and for some THAT is the most important lesson.

Yes, please, stick with what or whom you resonate with the most. But learning from other teachers allows you the mental flexibility which goes in hand with your body. It opens your heart up and like water it allows you to flow.
So go. Try. Do.
Move over. Move under. Move around. Flow through.
Shape your body, your heart, your mind the same way water shapes and smoothes out a river stone.
Effortlessly. With love, gratitude, and gentility.
After all, he greatest power, requires the lightest touch…

Namaste bitches!