I realize that the last post was about silence, and then I said nothing for months. Not that I had nothing to say, just nothing that seemed to matter, and that has not changed. It's clear, I write this for myself, to hear my own voice. As a child I was accused of liking the sound of my own voice. It was brought forward as though it needed to be corrected. I was supposed to like the sound of someone else's voice maybe? The sound of silence perhaps, which I have mostly experienced as deafening.
Hoping to bring some friendlier noise into the silence, or actual silence, I embarked on a Yoga teacher training, with no clear end in mind. This was all in all a good thing, but because there is the word bitch in the title of these posts, I have things I see that again need adjusting.
In the movement from one pose to another, a voice of self competition comes up, pushing past the idea of doing my best, to not doing enough. Comparing what ashtanga was like for me 15 years ago before I slid down the long dark tube of depression, to what it is now, sometimes feeling as though I am hanging by my fingers over an abyss of decay and rigidity.
Somehow afterwards, I feel full of light and clarity. The edges of peace are continually assailed by the stories that the ego loves to tell.
One improvement is that I don't feel as though that monologue is my ego specifically, if it is, he [it has a man's voice] is very unoriginal, because everyone who will talk about it is being read the same list of shortcomings. It isn't enough to bond with anyone in a community of people who are all tormented by the same noise, but instead to look for the ways in which each person is seeking liberation. It was my first ever experience in what is turning out to be kind of a long life [not complaining about that] of being in a group of people who all, or mostly seemed to want the same kind of improvement.
Not sad about it, but wondering why the hold up?
Well, desire, obviously, craving, attachment, and after all, those things are still alive and well; just trying not to let them steer the vehicle. [good luck with that] the noise says.
So. still old, stiff, craving chocolate, wishing I were young enough to fall in love, dreaming I can fly, waking up to find I can't.
Hoping to bring some friendlier noise into the silence, or actual silence, I embarked on a Yoga teacher training, with no clear end in mind. This was all in all a good thing, but because there is the word bitch in the title of these posts, I have things I see that again need adjusting.
In the movement from one pose to another, a voice of self competition comes up, pushing past the idea of doing my best, to not doing enough. Comparing what ashtanga was like for me 15 years ago before I slid down the long dark tube of depression, to what it is now, sometimes feeling as though I am hanging by my fingers over an abyss of decay and rigidity.
Somehow afterwards, I feel full of light and clarity. The edges of peace are continually assailed by the stories that the ego loves to tell.
One improvement is that I don't feel as though that monologue is my ego specifically, if it is, he [it has a man's voice] is very unoriginal, because everyone who will talk about it is being read the same list of shortcomings. It isn't enough to bond with anyone in a community of people who are all tormented by the same noise, but instead to look for the ways in which each person is seeking liberation. It was my first ever experience in what is turning out to be kind of a long life [not complaining about that] of being in a group of people who all, or mostly seemed to want the same kind of improvement.
Not sad about it, but wondering why the hold up?
Well, desire, obviously, craving, attachment, and after all, those things are still alive and well; just trying not to let them steer the vehicle. [good luck with that] the noise says.
So. still old, stiff, craving chocolate, wishing I were young enough to fall in love, dreaming I can fly, waking up to find I can't.
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