Yoga Is Not Evil, Duh

I'm kinda mad at the Tea Partier guy for saying that yoga is evil. (ICYMI: http://aattp.org/tea-partier-do-yoga-and-you-get-filled-with-satan/)

Even though I'd like to think that most people will automatically assume that the guy is nutballs crazy, I fear there will be more than a few who will believe him, as well as a few who had already believed such nonsense.

And, sure, you could argue, so what? Let them have their crazy, nutball theories, how's that affect your life?

However, not too long ago I worked with someone who was highly educated and actually believed that if you did not pray or accept Jesus or whatever that while in a meditative state or while doing yoga, demons could invade your soul. Seriously? Demons?

But here's the thing... Here's why it bugs me. I notice things in the news like this all the time. I forget now where and such, but there were a group of Christian parents trying to get rid of yoga at a school because they said it was a religious practice and shouldn't be allowed in schools. Ironically, those same types of people want prayer to be allowed in school, as well as nativity displays. So, I guess "religious" practices are cool *only* if Christian. All else must go.

The dumb thing is, yoga, while it may have some ties to Eastern Philosophies (or "religions"), is really just a set of stretches and poses. It's a sport. A form of exercise. Nothing more, nothing less - if all you practice is the moves.

And it's incredibly good for you.

While experiencing some of the worst times of my life, yoga and exercise has always lifted my spirits.

Yoga poses are long, they require patience and inner strength - both physically and mentally. While holding those poses and stretching my body into odd positions, I feel all these negative emotions in my body unlock and just wash away. I feel freer, lighter, more focused, and more clear-minded. Not empty headed. There's a difference. And, yes, while you're clear-minded, your own personal "demons" from your past might bubble up, but not like actual, real demons. Sometimes I've even broken down and bawled like a baby, unlocking deep traumas. Afterwards I feel refreshed, more alive, ready to take on any obstacle. It's amazing, really.

Now, I suppose, if you're living a lie, keeping some dark secret hidden from the world, then maybe, just maybe, yoga would be evil to you, because it'll force you to face yourself in the quiet moments, in the silence of your mind. Force you to face your inner "demons." But that is a good thing!! You shouldn't be living a lie, you shouldn't have dark secrets.

I had dark secrets. Really, truly dark ones that shattered my soul into a million pieces and made me despise myself. I screamed, I kicked, I cried. I did not want to face them. I did not want to reveal them. To myself or others. But then one day I just let go.  I faced them and I overcame them and doing so made me stronger and enforced the positive relationships in my life, while driving out the negative.

Soon I had enough confidence to not only face all my own demons, but also own them, reveal them, share them with the world as a cautionary tale for others so that someone like me out there in the world struggling with her own "demons" could take solace in my experience and fight to get her life back on track, too.

Yoga, among many other things, helped me to become what I always wanted to be but was always too afraid to fully realize.

Perhaps, this Tea Partier guy has his own dark secrets he doesn't want to face and that's why he hates yoga so much. Or, maybe he's just an asshat. Either way, I challenge anyone struggling with trauma and other struggles to try yoga. It just might change your life...for the better.

National Poetry Month: day 30/poem 30

This last poem that I'm posting on the last day of National Poetry Month was written about a year after moving to LA in 1999.


Aerial View

Poetry is the one true word
The air is cool and soft
atypical of
a summer's day
in Southern California
A light mist
falls from
the blanket of clouds
shutting out the sun
I am sitting on my porch
I am soaking in the coolness
A breeze softly caresses
my browning aloe plant
and gently swings
the bird feeder
hanging over my head
but does not disturb
my guest
a rugged looking bird
whose kind I know not
but who's been with me
all day
unafraid
while my cats
closed in by the screen
cannot take their
little slanty eyes off
my new friend
Yesterday's paper
lays in ruins
on the white plastic
Rite Aid chair
across from me
with a half finished
crossword
My feet rest
on an ugly green
Sears cooler
that acts
as a makeshift table
and holds cigarettes,
matches, the cordless phone,
and perspiring iced jasmine tea
To my left is a half
filled Marlboro ashtray
sitting on the stucco wall
of the little porch
I can hear the
building's children
playing in the courtyard
but my view
is only of alleys,
other buildings' backs,
and our fenced-in pool
like some terrible tease
on hot days
The air brings
scents of far off
cookouts
and my mouth salivates
for hot dogs
and burnt hamburgers
(vegetarian, of course)
my mind drifts
back to my childhood
and 4th of July
cookouts at Grandma's
in Worcester, Mass
with games of badmitten
then trekking through the woods
to view the fireworks
at Worcester airport
A helicopter
searching the LA area
brings me back
and
the soothing sounds of Handel
switches to the fast paced
beats of the Dave Brubeck Quartet
I take a drag
on my American Spirit
Light
I see a car zooming
down the road to my left
destination unknown
a flock of pigeons
escape their rain shelter
when the mist
suddenly lets up
But my bird friend remains
seemingly bobbing
to the now cool beats
and ice cream sax
I wonder at the time
My days
home alone
tick by
seamlessly
into nights
metered by
my husband's tired snores
from long days on set
I contemplate my book
finished but still needs
more editing
I ponder my short story
not finished but needs
to be sent in by the end
of next week
for a writing contest
I spy cautiously
on my neighbor
across the way
who steps out onto
her porch briefly
eating rice with chopsticks
out of a colorful bowl
Life in LA is not
what I expected
but nothing
ever is
Life is what you make
of it
and that is why
I'm taking it slow
now
instead of jumping
into the fast paced
game of fame
and fortune
I stare long into
the bright
whiteness
of the sky
and I see
shimmering
moving pools
of nothingness
like electricity
I stretch my legs
and feel the muscles
in my calves
and the joints
in my ankles
and I marvel
on the beauty
the gift of life
and flesh and bone
and how so many women
don't see this beauty
in the mirror
only fat and disgust
We
are
all beautiful
We
are
all wonderful
No matter what
we look like
(Or think we look like)
And I feel
a vague sadness
stirring in my soul
when my mind
conjures up
hazy memories
of the Colorado
school shootings
and I don't want
to dwell too long
but I wonder at
what really went wrong
I recall
feeling alone
isolated and alienated
back in younger days
of school
and teasing boys
and hateful girls
and I remember
how I hated them
how I hated myself
and if it weren't
for him...
for them...
I'm older now
older, but still young
And the world has
so much
hidden beauty
that
I must seek
and I want
to tell
the world
to slow down
to listen
to music
soft and slow
and cool sweet jazz
and I want
to tell the world
to read
to ponder
to recite
to believe
poetry
And I want
to tell the world
to make art
and love
to smell
the sweet scents
of wild flowers
to feel
soft wet grass
between bare toes
or hot grains of sand
between sunscreened
fingers
to taste
salt water
and orange cream
popsicles
to hug
to love
their parents
and children
to relish
laughter and tears
to make every
moment matter
to live
to love
to be honest
and free
to harm no one
not even yourself
to remember the past
and heed the future
but live in the now
to
take
the time
to revel
in
all
these
precious moments
that combined
is a life
that is not
too short
if cherished
well
to love
all others
we are all
the same
equal
to relinquish control
to your heart
to feel the oneness
of all things
to find the poetry
on your own
back porch
and write the words
of your heart
for they are true
they are right
no matter
what anyone else
says
and to teach others
young and old
to do
the same
When you eat a peach
feel the fuzzy soft
taste the juicy sweet
smell the fresh scent
and let the sticky
run down your chin
and over your fingers
with no worries
this is life
savor each moment
savor the earth
savor your life
before it's gone
before you eat
all of your peach
A plane
flies low
and slow
presumably to land
at LAX
I think about the view
toy cars and broccoli trees
like a huge
elaborate
train set
An aerial view
to watch
and protect
Let it be
trust and believe
Peace

National Poetry Month: day 29/poem 29

I wrote this next poem on 1/2/1993 but it could almost be written today.

News Blues

I open my door
Step onto my trash covered floor
Run to my unmade bed
To rest my hung over head
I turn on the TV’s muted news
While the radio plays the blues
I didn't need to hear the newscasters
Only needed to see the pictures
Of a twelve year old’s rape
All on home video tape
As I step into the shower
I feel I have no power
Over what I hear and say
The pain never goes away
Bryant Gumble says with a smile
Don’t you dare touch that dial
More death and violence
God, can we ever have silence?