Now, let us define Ashtanga and cry and curse

As I proscribed a couple types of Ashtanga, although I didn’t put it to the forefront, there was a healthy level of irony to it all — due to trying to define yoga, even asana; because everyone has their own opinion on such things; and because it’s just a blog post, after all.

Here’s what was in my mind during both “types” of Ashtanga posts. This is by William Blake:

London

 

I wander thro’ each charter’d street,
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow.
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infants cry of fear,
In every voice: in every ban,
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

***

Yes, bad things happen when we charter, map, order, define things. But we can’t help it. It’s just one of our original sins/falls from grace/divisions from the universe/trappings on the karmic wheel.

For some cosmic order, check out Tim Miller’s blog post this week.

Posted by Steve

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theconfluencecountdown

Two Ashtangis write about their practice and their teachers.

One thought on “Now, let us define Ashtanga and cry and curse”

  1. “Longing Ceases Ass In The Air” ~ Cesar Vallejo

    Longing Ceases, ass in the air. Suddenly, life amputates itself, abruptly. My own blood splashes me in feminine lines, and even the city
    itself comes out to see what it is that stops unexpectedly.
    –what’s going on here, inside this son of man?–the city shouts,
    and in a hall of the Louvre, a child cries in terror at the sight of another child’s
    portrait.
    –What’s going on here, inside this son of woman?—the city shouts, and in a statue from the Ludwigian century, a blade of grass is born
    right in the palm of its hand.
    Longing ceases, at the height of the raised hand. And I hide behind myself, to spy upon myself if I slip through below or if I maraud up high.

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