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:
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