Have you ever seen the movie The Fog? It's this like 70s or 80s horror flick in which the fog rolls in to this coastal town and people start dying left and right. But not like the pansy carbon monoxide kinda deaths you might expect if you were thinkin' that maybe people died b/c the fog was poisonous or something. In this movie the townspeople have these full on gory demises by virtue of THE FOG. Which is inexplicable since it's not like the fog grew any sort of discernible hands or sprouted knives as limbs. Anyway, it's really foggy here tonight. Noooo too scary!
Last night I realized, while I was laboriously putting pen to paper, that maybe what I'm writing now will all be thrown away and this is merely groundwork for what will become a book. That takes the (totally fabricated) pressure off.
But this struggle, it's got me thinking...in this practice of writing, through thickness and in flow, how do I know the difference between my will and Universal will? Meaning, if I'm forcing words to come out isn't that being willful, like maybe the timing isn't right? And maybe I should just wait for the days when the words drip steadily onto the page? I don't really know the answer, but something tells me I should keep going anyway, even when it's sludge. And since I don't have my own sage maxim for just this moment, I'll use Gandhi's experience -- that a commitment should be kept unless there are moral grounds to break it. I suspect boredom doesn't qualify.
Since Shiva's back in town, I've been taking her class regularly over the past few weeks. This is fun b/c I'm learning new yoga tricks. And just in case we get too big for our yoga britches, she keeps it real w/ push ups. No joke -- I'm not talking chatturanga here. Push ups like in the military. On Sunday I did over 100. My pecs were screaming in that owwie-it-hurts-gimme-more kinda way.
I'm still a Baptiste girl through and through -- but making the choice to find something I like about every class has been a great decision. It's really helped me to look inside and it reminds me why I love yoga so much I want to marry it. I'm not replacing Cambridge -- I'm just opening up to what's in front of me.
And because I think like a 13-yr-old: one of my favorite t-shirts is an old Spoon concert shirt from their Girls Can Tell tour. This shirt is fine on its own, but when I pair it w/ a vest (because it's not quite 70 outside), the lapels of the vest hide the "S" and the "N" so that it looks like my shirt says "POO". Sometimes only the "S" is hidden, which isn't much better. (I've also noticed that a scarf has the same effect as a vest.) It's the worst. I could change my shirt but this one is so comfy.