To be a good yoga teacher, you have to be a good person. Sure I could get by on what's been embedded in my mental and physical memory from years and years of practice. And what of the energy in my heart and mind, body when I approach these other beings. Am I thinking of something that was said last night, a drama that's ensued in some other part of time, or a not-so-distant future? Judging myself as I move and sound? Or totally taking care of you, teaching you how to do such, for the next hour and some? Sure, I could get comfortable reciting a script, following a formula, hardly deviating from the structure and flow of 'what works'. But then it becomes a job. And jobs lack value because they are founded solely on their financial worth. And this can apply to anything. Any field, any talent, any relationship, any art. The technical skills can override, replace the fun and in-the-moment inspiration necessary to supply the heart & soul of the whole operation. The tired, vulnerable human gives way to the efficient, technically perfect robot. And some days, it's just gotta be that way. But over time, like feeds like. The robot sucks away the potential for joy and now-won satisfaction, and the human becomes more tired, feels more vulnerable, less capable. Its spirit memory has been overrun by the repetitious hard memory, which in the meantime, has been, technically speaking, getting the job done So, what's in 'result'? How much does it cost you, and in what value system?
To be a good person, you have to make good choices; do the right thing, as it were. This is not so easy; even if you are 'technically' a good person. And here, I mean good as in maintaining, not replenishing and balancing (what the GOOD kind of good does). And I face the repercussions of falseness in waves, in my own mental, spiritual well being. Sure, physically I'm fit and I eat right but the roller coaster still kicks in every now and again, and happiness built on faulty grounds tumbles easily down. What's more, happiness built on love is a hell of a climb up a mountain.
And what if? Would the views not be majestic on the way there? Or would your eyes be closed, creating colors, passing through bodies at multiple rates at a time. Would you be doing it for the views, of them of you (looking back at you)? Or for the sweat, the burn and occasional vista of fresh air? Pointed one-focus eyes at the top? Perhaps you'd take a helicopter up there? Whaddha you got that I don't and how do I get that? Or better, are you levitating? Perhaps your eyes are down to the view below. Working out ways to make it better. You can't help it, it's your compassion. Or your know-it-all-ness. Where do we get that from any way? Ok now you're rambling. [editor's note: let's leave those last few out before publishing maybe?...]
The thing is, in this world we live in today, bad choices are front and center. Bad choices are in disguise. Bad choices are so easy and available. It's hard to really grasp the fact, make a difference, label your act as such, as bad, because 'bad' has underpinned established lines of thought, behavior and impulse. It is reflected in our establishments but it starts with individuals. It is reflected en masse and the trees cannot stand alone in a forest. [editor's note: You mean 'materially' bad?]
Bad has no immediate consequence. In fact, bad facilitates. Immensely. That which is, essentially, good, right, and healthy is inconvenient. Takes time, patience, and discipline, can't be bought or paid for (or it can but you're not getting the results, they are. You just get the product, instead of being the product.). Takes a trained eye, heart, and sense of self. A sense of self that has achieved a clear reflection through dedicated self-study. Who has time for self-study these days? And what do you mean, anyways? Well, many people are turning their lives over to it. But many more are consumed by the medias they consume. Are replacing their soul-searching and talent-developing with easy entertainments. What's more, the soul-searching and talent-developing is only a platform, not the end in and of itself.
Art is a wonderful, beautiful tool for understanding ourselves and the worlds we create and sustain but art and garbage are replacing each other, it could be argued. What is considered art by many may have started as such, in a room, in an energy-filled location on this planet, in an experience, an insight and revelation sourced in many people; synthesized by one person, they, dipping into the mysticism of a moment marked by informed webs, an ah-ha where a ready mind and heart can assimilate this collection of chance encounters, over-heard words, quotes, run-ins, fights, flights, causes and effects. Then: the creation creates, becomes whipped and spun into a product. God complex much? Unbeknownst, the spark of divine inspiration generates a new species: industry upon industry built to sustain and propagate something you can't touch, once so essential you used to be able to feel it in your heart when you just lived your own life. Yes! You're living your own life, ah there it is back again.
But we've overpopulated this place. And money is the new old chase. And nobody wants to live with guilt and judgement so we say "to each his own". How do we get to a place where truly good can emerge to lead with the same success as Lady Gaga (at this very moment in history). Who, by the way, has in a large way, managed to somewhat obliterate a noble thesis purely via the medium in which she's chosen to represent herself and those so-called humanitarian statements. Is she successful? How do we measure success today? And is that not helping our case? She may be supremely successful in her inner world, satisfied with the energy she emits, the relationships she forms, the objects she interacts with, and the energy of performing.) But where do action and result reflect? They never really could, correct? Cause is not effect. Effect is a new entity from equation, equanimity perhaps if you're lucky (a real man makes his own luck) [editor's note: Quoting Titanic again?].... Site hits. Video counts. In short, eyes. Attention. Bodies. The more of them you've got, the more your success to pass on your wiseness. Is that it now? But where? I ask, where are these bodies? Google will tell me. And moreover, what could turn them all on in an inherently beneficial way? What a question to be asking, you should be ashamed. Who are you, anyway?
Why are the polarities so distant? Why is material existence so gratifying and increasingly 'necessary'. We're building higher up thanks to it but why this rapture of it coming down?
SO? How do we get good?
Am I about to write (right) the craziest thing ever or will I let it pass into the ether and forget its own name?,
she says aloud
By golly I think that's how Shakespeare may have written so many wonderful plays.
Where's a a recorder it'd be so much easier if I could have a microphone and record it all. Oh dear I think I'm falling into the river. Ah yes here it is. Or will there be no battery left, for me, to get self-conscious instead of Self conscious? No -- it's out. Better to use your inside voice. Shall I pull out a piece of my hair from the side of this neat bun and accentuate the crazy? Staring into her own eyes as reflected on the screen she asks, "Why are you smiling? Conversations with God?" and blows smoke right in her own face. Pulling her hair out of the bun she lets a cascading darkness fall to the right side of her face, reflected left. "Let me turn up the volume," she then says, and, realizing the double entendre, switching on a dime, begins to shout, into a sung, "Ahhhhhhhhhh". Reaching for her phone, she recalls something she'd written and now wanted to share. Begins to type into the note's 'Find:' bar: No, ah yes,
I am a hypocrite
I know very little, nearly nothing
I am naturally selfish and must muster up effort to be selfless
Unnatural effort causes me stress
I like making people feel good, but only when I know, when It makes me feel good in return
Dancing is most enjoyable, it makes me feel free
Feeling free is most important to me
People give me energy, I feel good around others
Being alone for too long, or in neutral/poor company makes me into a destructive monster
Having a secure, lavish, even, material foundation is important to me
But then again camping, 'roughing it', paring down existence draws my heart
Travel, freedom, these are luxuries I cannot relinquish
I become irritable, disgruntled, cynical once routine knocks
I was slightly spoiled as a child
Because I insisted on getting what I wanted
I only care what others think of me when I feel amazing
When I'm in a shitty mood the world could fuck itself because I don't give a damn about its opinion
I'm a know-it-all but, as I said, I know nearly nothing
Xenophile, through and through
I am still immoral, or I was, at least
Honesty is relative and truth takes a strength I can't insist upon past the present
My love of ____ ____ (blank blank) has been met with much resistance, by family and friends (they're stupid, I am stupider), by the ____ (blank) himself, and I beg for signs when I want to give up so I can be free somehow [editor's note: I know you're not, but you sound desperate here, maybe take it out? P.S. are you talking about God?]
And when proof emerges I want to prove it to everyone
But I'm alone in this love
And I hope I don't go crazy
Because I think it takes a crazy person to have taken it this far
I'm fucked up, it's fine
I'm intoxicating, like wine
My personalities are multiple, thank you, ear for accents
I am human and I have my limits, especially in the United States of America, where an expansive, connected sense of self has been replaced by Facebook-gawking. And isn't it ironic
I was abused as a child, can you tell? [editor's note: big deal who wasn't? look how much we're abusing the planet]
Ugh I hope not, what would the neighbors think? [editor's note: Mars has repeatedly sent us messages that they hate us, it's in the Roswell files but shh don't tell anyone I told you, OK?]
Tipping is a pet peeve, that is why I love France
I am pretentious, with things that matter (like my ideas of what 'matters')
Let's laugh at how fucked up we are as humanity [editor's note: I think you should tone the negativity down, I know you think you're being a realist but it's not very progressive and isn't that what you love touting? Ok fine, let's talk later, I know, you have a rebuttal]
Fuck you! Who told you you could laugh?!
My love can't be bought. But my time can
Hmm. Fuck [editor's note: they're gonna want to edit the curses out, you know that right?]
Maybe I should sell some love and buy back the last 3 years [editor's note: Ok, well at least you offer some possible solutions. What if we changed 'the last 3 years' to 'the rest of my life'?]
I can be fake but I'll coat it with sarcasm to seem real. Wait, I'm confused
::::: D N R :::::
you gotta be fearless
can love save the world?