So, as if I needed one more project to occupy my time and mind and energy...
I've decided to run with and develop an idea which implanted itself at the end of last year (oh man, 2013 is last year, isn't it?).
The idea came out of the ether, where, of course, all ideas float and stalk, awaiting a perfectly idle yet engaged mind upon which to descend. I connected with this idea mostly because I love to interview people (read: get into their heads and feel out what makes em tick) and then share those findings, usually in totally disparate ways and places, like as an anecdote in a yoga class, or a totally vague and obtuse metaphor in a poem. Usually, I'm just having a conversation (secretly interviewing) and that conversation informs me about much more than that person; myself, society, life, that vibe/lexicon/tendency that no one consciously gets yet but is still happening right now. Natural born sociologist.
Any whooooo. I make you, dear reader, wait so long to find out what the F*Ck I'm ever actually talking about in these posts of mine. HAHA. HAHAHAHA.
It's this:
I'm on a quest to extract and expose the makings of a 'yoga teacher'. Whatever that 'is'. Whoever they are.
Inspired by the Proust Questionnaire. Tailored to the yogis out there, to inspire an understanding of yoga, in all its colors, shapes, and makings. Because, as you may or may not know, it's more than moving around on a plastic mat. And, I'd venture to say, yoga is our natural state, regardless of profession, occupation or beliefs.
Musicians losing themselves in their instruments, the sound. Yoga.
Improv performers responding so intensely that they can't even hear if the audience is laughing. Yoga.
Writers pouring out words to paint a story to move you and you and you and silently cheering and laughing and fist pumping to themselves because they're in the flow. Yoga.
Investment bankers manipulating stocks, wholeheartedly consumed. Iw. That's a kind of yoga, tainted, of course.
You get me.
I Love Yogis. World-wide. The panoply of styles and schools of thought.
Dig it here (tumblr). And here (facebook).
Maybe one day it will be a purty little book. With portraits of some of those teachers. Because I also love faces. And zooming in on them and painting them. But that's a whole other level of commitment/art. So for now, it's another blog in the sphere.
Hope you find something in there to connect to, to converse with, to inform your life.
Love,
A
I've decided to run with and develop an idea which implanted itself at the end of last year (oh man, 2013 is last year, isn't it?).
The idea came out of the ether, where, of course, all ideas float and stalk, awaiting a perfectly idle yet engaged mind upon which to descend. I connected with this idea mostly because I love to interview people (read: get into their heads and feel out what makes em tick) and then share those findings, usually in totally disparate ways and places, like as an anecdote in a yoga class, or a totally vague and obtuse metaphor in a poem. Usually, I'm just having a conversation (secretly interviewing) and that conversation informs me about much more than that person; myself, society, life, that vibe/lexicon/tendency that no one consciously gets yet but is still happening right now. Natural born sociologist.
Any whooooo. I make you, dear reader, wait so long to find out what the F*Ck I'm ever actually talking about in these posts of mine. HAHA. HAHAHAHA.
It's this:
*shoutout to my sista-sista who used those photoshop skillz to help make this logo*
I'm on a quest to extract and expose the makings of a 'yoga teacher'. Whatever that 'is'. Whoever they are.
Inspired by the Proust Questionnaire. Tailored to the yogis out there, to inspire an understanding of yoga, in all its colors, shapes, and makings. Because, as you may or may not know, it's more than moving around on a plastic mat. And, I'd venture to say, yoga is our natural state, regardless of profession, occupation or beliefs.
Musicians losing themselves in their instruments, the sound. Yoga.
Improv performers responding so intensely that they can't even hear if the audience is laughing. Yoga.
Writers pouring out words to paint a story to move you and you and you and silently cheering and laughing and fist pumping to themselves because they're in the flow. Yoga.
Investment bankers manipulating stocks, wholeheartedly consumed. Iw. That's a kind of yoga, tainted, of course.
You get me.
I Love Yogis. World-wide. The panoply of styles and schools of thought.
Dig it here (tumblr). And here (facebook).
Maybe one day it will be a purty little book. With portraits of some of those teachers. Because I also love faces. And zooming in on them and painting them. But that's a whole other level of commitment/art. So for now, it's another blog in the sphere.
Hope you find something in there to connect to, to converse with, to inform your life.
Love,
A
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