Whelk Procession

...a line of broken whelks placed like some holy procession the day before Thanksgiving...where, a couple weeks ago, water whooshing back to sea created a kind of sand ridge intersecting the shoreline....some say anything can be a sacred object....I don’t know, but see no particular reason to disagree...

...too cold to go barefoot...battered hiking books press down in wet cold sand...some seepage through worn out soles...but hardly more than the idea of wetness and cold... though that might change if I don’t keep moving....barely anybody else out but the metal detector guys...one in Bermuda shorts, though I’m wearing three layers, and the strong icy wind makes me doubt I’ll get anywhere near the point...but no worn out soul, as yet...still walking... dark tumultuous, thoroughly ominous cloud roof looming above yet ending in a straight but bumpy line just a foot or so above the horizon, where there’s no blue but an odd species of luminescence...clouds, still...but glowing...bare gilded outlines in white light....rotten wooden pilings so dark against the water lapping down below...all that light and dark in sharp distinction but what lines are in between gradually fading...

...had a deep sad thought last night...like someone wrapping me in a chilly, damp quilt...but then watched it dissipate, like a winter rainstorm...

...in better moments I think I’m on the road to enlightenment...then drop the pretense, think maybe I’m just not depressed...though, really, at this point, I can’t say the distinction matters to me much...

Every Last Leaf (Autumn Rivulet #5)

heard the people who live on the ceiling scream and fight most scarily;
hearing that noise was my first ever feeling that’s how it’s been all around me...
the Clash

...had a friend named Michael when I was seven or eight...first kid I ever met whose parents were divorced....he told me, I remember, one time when we were playing up in the treehouse my dad built in the woods behind our house....didn’t know many kids who talked about serious stuff like he did, either...

....at some point, heard my mom telling somebody, another adult, something his mom told her...about how she’d had to quit her job to look after the kids because the sitter’d been doing something sitters aren’t supposed to...which I didn’t think too much about at the time...

...another time I slept over a couple nights...don’t think I’d ever been in house like that...really bare and run down...toys lying around, mostly broken...holes in the walls his mom plastered over herself...said some bachelors lived there before, and apparently punched the holes with their fists....he lived there with his mom and two little brothers, and this guy who was living with his mom...dark beard, ponytail, tattoos, kind of quiet, soft-spoken when he spoke at all...had a workshop in the basement and an ashtray shaped like a hand with a middle finger sticking up at the back....nowadays, I’d call him a biker, though I don’t remember if he actually had a motorcycle....Michael and one of his brothers, a year or so younger, looked a lot alike...skinny white kids with long stringy hair down to their shoulders...first boys I ever knew with long hair...but his other brother, who was maybe three or four, had dark skin and an afro....Michael said he just came out that way....the first night I had dinner with them, that brother spilled some milk, and their mom turned red, stuck a big fist in front of his little eyes, said see this? this is gonna go right in your face...

...late that night, hearing footsteps in the dark hallway, she shrieked, high pitched and threatening, through the door...then opened it, said oh, it’s you in a voice turned gentle and soft, and pointed me toward the bathroom...

....the next day, Michael and I jumped up and down in a pile of leaves his brother’d raked up, scattering them all over the yard...his mom yelled at both of us, said we’d better get up every last leaf...so we started raking....then, after a while, eager to get back to playing, I said I doubt she really meant ‘every last leaf’...with a nonchalance that grew naturally in my world...but he kept working...he was in his world, and he knew it...

...just happened to remember this story, recently....sorry if it's a bit dark...

Things I Don't Have

John Muir once declared that he was better off than the magnate E. H. Harriman. “I have all the money I want,” Muir exclaimed, “and he hasn’t.”
Clifton Fadiman

A thief can only steal from you, he cannot break your heart....
Gram Parsons

...Thanksgiving just around the corner, thought I’d take a minute to offer a few words of thanks for things I don’t have...

...most diseases or major injuries, of course...no alimony to be paid or outsized mortgage unlikely ever to be paid off...no price on my head, charges filed against me, warrants out for my arrest, alcoholism, addictions to hard drugs, loved ones on death row...no job I hate or marriage I hate...no broken bones...no broken heart...(for now, at least)...

...no desperate daily struggle to find sufficient food, safe drinking water, or shelter for bare survival...no particular need to hide from invading soldiers or death squads, nor to sneak across the border, nor seek asylum in an unknown land...

...and yet not a lot worth stealing...no Van Gogh etchings requiring fancy security systems and astronomical annual insurance premiums...no Dead Sea Scrolls or first editions of Leaves of Grass I’d be afraid to touch, much less ever read...no vast mansions with countless rooms, and the endless hassles and expensive upkeep such places entail...no particular taste for fine cuisine, fine wine, or fine cocaine...no oil wells, diamond mines, or poppy fields...no third world plantations likely to be nationalized if the rebels manage to take the capitol...no politicians doing my bidding only ’til a bigger donor comes along...no legions of fans demanding I get back together and tour with hated former bandmates...no paparazzi showing the supermarket check-out world how flabby and out of shape I look in a bathing suit...no vast corporate empire with so many holdings, so many underlings, and so much money that you just know some trusted employee’s ripping me off for millions at this very moment...

...no weapons of mass destruction...nor any real potential to build weapons of mass destruction at any time in the foreseeable future...no ties to international terrorist groups...no guns...no bombs...no poison gas nor deadly biological agents...no hidden kilos of heroin or weapons grade plutonium...no suitcases full of hundred dollar bills, marked or unmarked...no slaves...no maidservants nor oxen for neighbors to covet...no exotic pets that’ll take a bite out of me while I sleep...no abusive friends or lovers I spend time with only for fear of being alone...

...no fear of the dark...no desire to go on American Idol, star in my own reality show, be elected President of the United States, win the Tour de France, or be sixteen again...no desire to murder, rape, molest, or seriously maim...not nearly as much anger or hatred as I used to carry around with me...fewer enemies, fewer people I’m unwilling to forgive....no belief that I’m inherently better than anyone...and I’m working on getting rid of the belief that I’m worse...

...might sum it all up with thanks for nothin’, but suspect I’d be misunderstood...because nothin’ has always been underrated...

Dogs (Three Different Ones)

...what often happens when hiking with human friends is I’ll get a cool idea...like hey, let’s bushwhack through those pricker bushes, across that swamp, and up that rockslide...only to meet with sardonic responses like huh?! or what?! or why the hell would I wanna do that?!....in sharp contrast, my dog friends answer with characteristic enthusiasm: yeah!! great idea, Jay!!! let’s do it!!!! you rule!!!!!*...which is why I'm always happy to go hiking with a dog...

...dogs don’t necessarily get the yoga thing, though...which, for some, might raise the question of whether they’re waiting for yoga or past it and mastering it...to misquote Walt Whitman...either way, it can make things difficult when dogsitting...as the dog in question might see getting down toward the floor as indicating a desire to play, and respond in kind...or, perhaps, there's a logical argument there, like what the hell do ya need downward facing dog for when ya got the real thing right here?...

...and, certainly, plans to begin the day sitting quietly, incense burning, Monk & Coltrane playing low in the background, may be derailed when it turns out el perro has other first-thing-in-the-morning priorities....then, I’m still far from convinced that an early morning dog walk can’t be as good a meditation as any...


*free translation from the original dog

Morning Haze

been thinking about
thinking about thinking, and
winter’s coming soon

...Massachusetts was a lot colder than Philly’s been so far this fall...saw some white on the mountaintops driving in, as well as remains of a snowman...or snowperson...snowbeing...on Kripalu’s back deck....still, had to get out and take a brisk hike down through that chilly air to the lake as soon as I arrived...causing already irritated early November sinus passages to just about scream...

...was surprised the next day to hear somebody mention his head had been hurting all morning...somehow, it never occurred to me that I might not be the only person in the entire place with a headache...

...y’know...when yer in a totally mellow spiritual holistic type setting like that, ya just tend to assume that everybody else is positively blanketed in wellness and good feeling...at least I do....then, I also tend to think I’m the only person in the yoga class thinking about lunch instead of fully inhabiting whatever asana experience we’re supposed to be having...the only person at the party feeling lonely and out of place...the only person on the sidewalk lost in worry instead of striding purposefully toward success success success...

...of course the irony is that I’m anything but alone in feeling that way...and the same goes for all of our headaches, our awkwardness, our doubts....and, certainly, if there's one thing we're never, ever truly alone in, it's our loneliness...

The Highly Prestigious and Karmically Significant Floating Glowing Being of Pure Love Award

...before getting this post started, I think I need to say something about a controversy currently raging on other blogs with yoga in their titles...that is, the highly acrimonious subject of competitive yoga...which, to many, is a bit of an oxymoron...so, let me just say right now that you won’t find any of that here....that’s because I happen to be the least competitive yogi on the web...one might even say the World Champion of Non-Competitiveness.............and if there's anybody out there who thinks you’re less competitive than I am, all I can say is bring it, bitch...

...ahem...as loyal readers know, now and then this humble blog receives awards from fellow bloggers...(with very little money changing hands...usually)...and, generally, that involves passing on the award to other deserving bloggers...known as blog love...which I’ve been far too uncooperative and un-loving to do....and so, the time has come to atone...(even though I’ll no doubt end up doing more harm than good by forgetting people who really deserve awards)...so, since nobody’s actually given me any awards lately...drum roll, please...

...Yoga for Cynics is, like, totally thrilled to present the highly prestigious, karmically significant, and not at all tacky Floating Glowing Being of Pure Love Award... redeemable for 15% off orders of $100 or more at participating International House of Yoga™ locations...honoring blogs and bloggers about whom I can think of something funny to say at the moment...

Holly's Earth to Holly is kinda like the blog version of that mellow friendly house where your mellow friendly friends live with their mellow friendly dog...you wanna stop by without calling first, you wanna hang out, you wanna borrow CD’s, you wanna crash on the couch...it’s all good...

Brooks' appropriately titled Yogic Muse is where half the posts here started out as comments...seriously, if this blog ever started making money, I’d worry about a lawsuit if Brooks wasn’t so full of that yogic lovingkindness and stuff...

Melinda's Melindaville offers such well-written, often hair-raising first person accounts of drug abuse, prostitution, and other really serious stuff that all the jokes I can think of are coming out way too offensive...

Iranian poet Human Being at Thus Spake the Crow appears to be further out there than I am...which I find kinda threatening...

Clutterquake is Lydia’s other blog...and it's getting the award instead of her main blog ‘cause that’s how edgy I am...

Seeing Eye Chick at Apocalyptics Anonymous is seriously pissed off...do not fuck with Seeing Eye Chick...she will fuck you up...

Lisa at Ecoyogini practices yoga in Canada, kinda like Roseanne at It’s All Yoga, Baby, which means...jeezus, I’m right on the cusp of making some lame-ass joke about curling, Celine Dion, and locust pose...which means my well of creativity is just about tapped....so that’s all for now...we return you to your previously scheduled internet activity...

Seriously Pushing the Boundaries of Acceptable Outthereness

If you can start the day without caffeine or pep pills,
If you can be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,
If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
If you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it,
If you can understand when loved ones are too busy to give you their time,
If you can overlook when people take things out on you when, through no fault of yours, something goes wrong,
If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,
If you can face the world without lies and deceit,
If you can conquer tension without medical help,
If you can relax without liquor,
If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,
Then you’re probably a dog.
Quoted by Tara Brach, from an unknown source

...so...drove up to the Berkshires for a weekend at Kripalu...did some yoga, got lost in the woods a couple times, hot tubbed, and took part in this radical acceptance thing led by famous mindfulness person Tara Brach...in which I had a series of really really intense experiences...like, the kind where, attempting to describe them to people back home, I appear to be seriously pushing the boundaries of acceptable outthereness....then, I’ve kinda been doing that my whole life...

...biking downtown for a yoga class Monday morning, though, I was surprised at how easy and enjoyable it all was...the yoga class itself as well as the ride....though only my intention was particularly different...

....setting an intention is something yoga teachers like to talk about at the beginnings of yoga classes...at which point grumpy yoga students whose names won't be mentioned grumble silently about some bullshit positive affirmation I’m supposed to come up with...often ending up with something along the lines of hopefully feeling just a little bit less crappy so I can make it through the rest of the day...which is perhaps closer to desperation, if undeniably real....this time, I was simply there because I felt like it...nothing to do but enjoy...

*photo of my friend Fargo (who has no blog of his own, but is okay with that) gratefully stolen from my friend Aviva*

From the Muddy Shore of Lake Mahkeenac (Autumn Rivulet #4)

...picnic table on the muddy shore of Lake Mahkeenac...water rippling grey, below gray skies...so many shades of grey...enough, I think, to make a distinction between gray and grey almost meaningful...though the specifics are rather gray....always so hard to find meaning and distinction...and so easy to get lost...

...I don't intend to get lost in the woods, generally speaking...it's just that I don't try very hard to avoid it...and rarely regret when it does....mud seeping into my boots in a marshy stretch, less solid to walk on than it looked....trails keep disappearing into fallen leaves this time of year...no telling what might be underneath....anyway, you're never really having fun until you get dirty...

...walls are easiest to walk through when you've forgotten they're there...momentarily, at least...and think you're going somewhere else entirely...there may not, in fact, be any other way...

*blogcasting live from the coffee shop, Kripalu, Massachusetts*

Autumn Rivulets 2 & 3

...keep finding myself in conversations like this:
Complete stranger: Whadja think o’ [somebody who apparently plays baseball] in the seventh last night?
Me: Uh...he was great...
Complete stranger: Whaddaya mean great?! That douchebag mighta cost us the series!!
Me: Oh...right...yeah...he sucks...

Chilly November
Philly’s in the world series
And I just don’t care

...was reading this newspaper article about somebody who, it said, had an unfinished life...which is the kind of thing you say about people who die before their time....as if life were a novel...and a conventional one, at that...a coherent narrative with proper beginning, middle, and end...exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, denouement...and something seems very wrong when it doesn’t turn out that way...when the final chapters we were expecting turn out to be missing....maybe it ends halfway through a chapter, a paragraph, a sentence...leaving no neat, cozy message to tease out in English class...except maybe that life and death have no interest in the stories we create...the leaves are gonna turn and fall whether our summer plans have been completed satisfactorily or not...