Eric Hoffer
...there’s an old joke about a guy who quit smoking,
drinking, and sex, and, as a result, was in perfect health up until the day he killed himself...
...(of course, to be relevant to the twenty-first century yoga crowd,
it might be better to rephrase that as quit
wheat, gluten, and genetically modified foods)...
...it’s always easy, I think, to talk about other people’s
bad habits...if she knows how bad that is
for her, why doesn’t she quit?....next time you find yourself saying something like that,
it might be a good idea to pick something you love, something small, that, nonetheless, provides countless little moments
of pleasure to your life, maybe keeps you going day by day, regardless of
whether it’s good for you or not...reality T.V. shows...or junk food...or surfing the internet...or
masturbating...and quit cold turkey, starting now....then, after a week or so, ask the same question about that
alcoholic/cigarette smoker/crack addict you were talking about before, and see
if the answer might be a little bit clearer...
Rainer Maria Rilke
...reading Rilke, some more...sitting in full lotus...or listening to Beethoven...how very German...wonder where I can get me some good vienerschnitzel in this town...though guess it might be good to find out just exactly what vienerschnitzel is, first...
...been called lazy...by myself, mostly....some people seem
to admire my drive in certain pursuits...though those generally don’t involve
producing marketable goods and services of easily quantifiable value, and do little
to keep the wheels of the great machine of capital churning...
...then, a related problem might be that I’ve never been so
good at relaxing, either...despite so
much practice...lying propped against cushions with book in hand, wandering in the
woods or along a deserted beach, or sitting in a coffee shop....and yet it all
seems like an ongoing struggle to achieve the relaxation so badly needed without
ever...or, at least, rarely...actually achieving it...
...that was what Dharma Mittra got on me about...couldn’t
care less that I couldn’t do full lotus while in head-stand for ten minutes
like most of the people in the room, but was the first yoga teacher
every to criticize my savasana,
specifically the fact that my fingers and hands don’t really relax, most of the
time...
...work may be hard, but relaxing may be harder...
If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.
I tend to idealize Van Gogh—not so much for the prostitutes & syphilis, psychosis & depression, or self-mutilation & suicide aspects, but for the absolute go-for-broke, follow-your-muse-no-matter-what type ‘o thing. Of course, he had his brother to support him, but still had to keep asking him for more cash, and manage that cash so rent got paid, food and paint could be bought, and some was left over for the prostitutes and absinthe; and he didn’t just paint for God or his own soul, either. Apparently he got quite frustrated that Theo the big time Paris art dealer couldn’t sell his paintings. So, even passionate Vincent had some sense of balance with crass practicality. Which is not to say one has to compromise everything. Shortly after graduating college, feeling disillusioned with...well, just about everything...I was doing temp work—generally minimum wage crap clerical jobs for investment companies, the kinds of places where I was still far too idealistic to even think about getting a real job. Then one day I got sent to work in the mail room in the local office of some gigantic corporation, not realizing till I got there that this was in fact the company’s nuclear division. Not long before, I’d worked for Greenpeace, demonstrated against nuclear power plants, been arrested protesting nuclear testing. And there I was, wrinkled suit borrowed from my Dad, wondering if I was really cynical enough to simply go with the radioactive flow. To make matters worse, my supervisor liked me so much that, there on my first day, he fired somebody, figuring she wouldn’t be needed with me around. At the end of the day, I went to the temp agency office and told them I had moral issues with the gig. The woman in charge said it was too late to get somebody else, so I’d have to go back the next day. I refused, which seemed like it knocked the wind out of her; “well then we can’t use you anymore,” she said. I said “okay” and walked out. Later, her superior called me and said she shouldn’t have done that, given the circumstances, and I was reinstated. My guess is that it hadn’t even occurred to her that somebody might stand on principle to the point of getting canned, and so figured she could make the threat with no danger of having her bluff called. Of course, after that, they only called me when they were desperate—graveyard shift, breathing dust with co-workers who never failed to share racist jokes.
