Mourning Mastery

    To teach is to mother.

One door closes, another opens...

Feminist Karma
She felt oddly Humboldt by his brilliance.
After all, was he a genius, indeed?
Hard to believe,
as shadows and lights interweave.

 

Great change uncovers spiritual emptiness. I find nothing to lean on as all attempts to fill the hole within from without have failed … again. A spiritual void is exposed that no amount of tears can fill, that no darkness can obscure. A hole unwhole. For, what is technical purity without love – whatever that means? What is skill without kindness? What is practice without patience? What is perfection without respect? Without a devotion of the heart – whatever that means – what good is the exchange of knowledge between kin? What good is mastery without morality, without wisdom within? It is no mastery at all, regardless of skill. Wisdom is kindness, morality love – consideration, compassion, respect, honor and truth. A reality beyond the illusion of singularity and control. Isn’t that what Patanjali’s Eight Limbs of Yoga seek to teach, the importance of wisdom as a foundation to practice, knowledge and skill? Through the first two limbs, the yamas and niyamas, representing an ethical foundation upon which a physiological practice can be established in pursuit of healthy everyday living. Wisdom makes mastery, not the perfection of a particular set of skills through practicing techniques, no matter how sophisticated these may be. What good are knowledge and technology without kindness, compassion, cooperation, appreciation and love?

Not unlike the Biblical commandments, the yogic “controls” or “restraints” encompass ten recommendations:

1. nonviolence, non-harming (ahimsa)

2. truth (satya) / being truthful in one’s thoughts, speech and actions

3. non-stealing (asteya)

4. pure conduct (brahmacharya) / stay true to one’s [highest/purest/best] Self [i.e. chastity, cleanliness, humility, sobriety, meditation, life-style choices conducive to the pursuit of sacred knowledge and spiritual liberation]

5. non-grasping, non-possessiveness (aparigraha) [i.e. don’t exercise the type of greed or avarice where one’s own material gain or happiness comes by hurting, killing or destroying other human beings, life forms or nature] (Is eating transforming, not destroying? When is the pursuit of food not killing nor hurting?)

6. purity, cleanliness, clearness (shaucha) / purity of mind, speech and body

7. complete contentment, [unconditional] satisfaction, [radical] acceptance (santosha) / an experience of contentment/acceptance based in wisdom and duty, not just feeling good superficially [i.e. freedom from craving and aversion, desire and rejection]

8. burning self-discipline, existential warmth, vital heat (tapas)* / asceticism, penance, rigorous practice

9. self-study (svahyaya) / observation, introspection, study of self and sacred texts /“one’s own reading, lesson”; sva = own, self, the human soul, adhyaya = lesson, lecture, chapter, reading

10. focus on, endeavor for, attendance and surrender to a power beyond oneself [i.e. God/dess, True Self, Unchanging Reality etc.] (ishvarapranidhana) / realizing Purusha / Steps 2, 3 and 11 “Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” , “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God/dess as we understood Them.” and “Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God/dess as we understood Them, praying only for knowledge of Their will for us and the power to carry that out.”

* * * * *

Pessimism washes over me as I lean into the suffering that overtakes brain function. The Three of Swords Tarot card comes to mind. It depicts a heart pierced by three swords. The swords in Tarot generally represent thoughts or mental energy. By contrast, feelings are usually represented by the cups, logically, as they hold water. And water is usually associated with emotions, imagine a vast and largely unconscious ocean of feelings. Except, in the Alchemical Tarot deck, fire is feelings, represented by the staffs (or wands). The vessels (water) represent intuition instead. Feelings can burn indeed. The coins (or pentacles in other decks) represent the earth element, sensations. Swords (air) remain thinking. Thus, I could conclude that it is thinking which pierces my heart with suffering. Is that why there is such an emphasis in conquering the mind in various arts, such as Yoga, Buddhism and Zen?

I thought my life was going well. Little did I know that it was about to get put upside down. The first sign arrived when I had a falling out with a great master, who made me feel unwelcome, stupid and small. It was especially painful to feel dismissed by a genius whom I admired. But I don’t believe in genius anymore. And I didn’t go back. At first, I missed his magic and mastery, the anatomical and biomechanical yogic teachings which had become part of my body, as a result of the many years I studied with him. I was physically better off under his wing. But my disappointment was so great that I haven’t even had the courage to read his apology letter, though it’s been months. Will I ever? Perhaps I must forgive him. What’s the cost-benefit ratio of that? Pride and foolishness versus art and solid skills…???

Feminist Train
Apheida: Lost a great master. Can feel the effects of the lack of his regular lessons, his guided mind-body-maintenance routine. What is a seeker to do without mastery?
Ruphus:  Catch another train. Any train. But train!

I can imagine Vipassana Master S.N. Goenka saying: “Observe, Child! Only observe the sensations. How long will they last? A day, a week, a month or years? Who knows! Just observe until they pass.”

How long will I not read the letter? Would it be enough to sooth a pierced heart? Would the uncomfortable sensations dissolve on their own? Will I ever stand before him face to face again? Moments did arise when I felt that I could use a good dose of his rehabilitating physical class. Moments that passed. Now, I question the entire notion of mastery. Also, because another teacher, who I considered master of his art, managed to belittle my efforts repeatedly. It stops being fun to train with a trainer who makes you feel bad.

I realized, as I was teaching a large group of students for an extended period, how important professional kindness is, at least, if not genuine kindness. Things like respect and appreciation of a very basic human kind. It’s not easy, humans are complex. But for a teacher, professional kindness towards their students is key. Seekers look up to their teachers for better or worse. Masters and Mistresses have an obligation to be wise, and wisdom begins with kindness. Anything less is not mastery at all. Regardless of that, it is a teacher’s duty to be kind to their students. One can be strict, demanding, disciplined, blatantly honest AND kind. I was bullied and mistreated by my students, but I showed up in the classroom for each and every one of them regardless, without discrimination or distinction in the context of what they were there to learn from me as their teacher.

* * * * *

Many painful signs of an inevitable and irreversible great change followed. It has become clear to me that I cannot escape my nomadic destiny. I had a dream…

Love Thy Neighbour Yoga. Look unto your neighbor with kindness and love!

This dream must now wait. I can’t help but wonder, will it ever even be?!

We decided to move back to Switzerland. Detaching from a life we love for the sake of an unpromised future.

Hope that Hurts

Land on both sides of the Atlantic has sparrows.
Philosophy appears to thrive amidst the Alpine narrows.
I fell in love with the Wasatch wilds instead.
But like I said,
I cannot escape my destiny, my gypsy blood.
Regardless of what feelings my heart may flood.
I’ve never spent more than seven years in a place.
Life has always found a way to rip off anew my face.
Twice, I’ve claimed “Now is forever!”
Only to be proven unclever.
I shan’t make such claims no more!
For,
Life with its challenging changes is stronger at the core.
Stronger than I’ll ever be.
Poor mother, me!

During the first summer in this house, my current home, I spent a lot of time in the backyard. This summer, now the last one, I might do the same. Perhaps, during the summers in between I spent too much time inside or away. Life is funny that way. How naïve I’ve lived. Forever does not exist. I so hoped to spend the rest of my life in one place. Maybe one day. We do want to come back after a few years. But who knows what f*cking destiny will dictate. Sometimes I hate being a secretary. Maybe one day I’ll be da boss! But I know better now than to have any expectations. 

And still, I think about Vivekananda. (Sorry I kind of made fun of you the other day, in a loving way.) And I think about Buddha and suffering. And I attach my yearning to some desire. The desire to be understood … philosophically. Which is probably why I attach genius and mastery to teachers and harvest hurt when the connection breaks.

My borderline ascetic willingness to give up everything has come through on several occasions. What is the suffering of letting go compared to the suffering of holding on?

Can I remember the old master’s lessons? Will I be able to read the transmitted body scripture? Ok, that’s redundant because scripture is inherently given by someone who writes. Scripture is inherently a transmission, organic or otherwise. Tradition is shared. No scripture, no tradition, and for that matter no culture exists without sharing. Thus, kindness is key. Cooperation, compassion and communication are of utmost importance.

Cow (pose) is a gut-hang, cow-tits hang low and bend the bottom torso. But a human woman’s tits are held high, where the cat (pose) bends, creating opposing forces, gravitational tits-pull vs. upward thoracic push.

Yoga finds you. Could it be true? Yogins are seekers, sadhakas. Is yoga search force? Exploration, observation… What are we looking for? What are we looking at?

Why is so much yogic gazing, Drishti, focused towards the naval? Because humans are born there?

On Instagram, The Modern Yogis’ Community account posted the following interesting perspective:

“Yoga finds those who are ready for guidance to spread light in this world, selflessly… Yoga did not arrive as a choice; it emerged as a calling.”

 

 

* “Tapas is based on the root Tap (तप्) meaning "to heat, to give out warmth, to shine, to burn". The term evolved to also mean "to suffer, to mortify the body, undergo penance" in order to "burn away past karma" and liberate oneself. The term Tapas means "warmth, heat, fire".

The meaning of the word evolves in ancient Indian literature. The earliest discussions of tapas, and compound words from the root tap relate to the heat necessary for biological birth. Its conceptual origin is traced to the natural wait, motherly warmth and physical "brooding" provided by birds such as a hen upon her eggs - a process that is essential to hatching and birth. The Vedic scholars used mother nature's example to explain and extend this concept to the hatching of knowledge and spiritual rebirth.

Some of the earliest reference of tapas, and compound words from the root tap is found in many ancient Hindu scriptures, including the Ŗig Veda (10.154.5), Shatapatha Brahmana (5.3 - 5.17), and Atharva Veda (4.34.1, 6.61.1, 11.1.26). In these texts, tapas is described as the process that led to the spiritual birth of ṛṣis - sages of spiritual insights. The Atharva Veda suggests all the gods were tapas-born (tapojās), and all earthly life was created from the sun's tapas (tapasah sambabhũvur). In the Jāiminiya-Upanisad Brāhmaņa, life perpetuates itself and creates progeny by tapas, a process that starts with sexual heat.

Sanskrit tapasyā (neuter gender), literally "produced by heat", refers to a personal endeavor of discipline, undertaken to achieve a goal. One who undertakes tapas is a Tapasvin. The fire deity in Hinduism, Agni, is central to many Hindu rituals such as yajna and homa. Agni is considered an agent of heat, of sexual energy, of incubation; Agni is considered a great tapasvin.

The word tapasvi refers to a male ascetic or meditator, while tapasvinī to a female.” - Wikipedia

A Work Well Done

Is the Ashtanga closing prayer a Patanjali?

Patanjali, "the prayer that fell from heaven."

Patanjali’s YOGA SUTRAS are a work well done. 

First, I read the Yoga Sutras, as commented by Iyengar (the 2002 edition)[1], once through. Then, a Question and Answer (Q&A) lecture on the Yoga Sutras with Guruji turned out to be a nice opportunity to revisit this fundamental text. It stirred again the pot of Patanjali’s wisdom within, which resurfaced with renewed wonder.

I am happy to share the following reflections in the pursuit of further study even after revisiting the Yoga Sutras. I am eternally curious about the dynamic between purusha (The Seer, the Soul)* and prakrti (Nature)*.
                                         *as translated from Sanskrit in Iyengar, 2002.

Who exactly was Patanjali? To what extent does it matter who he or she was? Does it matter who they were? Who it was? What it is?

To what extent does the person matter? Who is the teacher, the person or the lesson? Is the lesson more important or the person? To what extent is the lesson, too, a teacher?

What is the point of transcending what is, whatever duality, non-duality or multiplicity, if not to let it be?

And what if the seer does not feel seen? To what extent is Purusha perceived by Prakrti? To what extent does Purusha want to be seen? Does it want to be felt, experienced, thought and lived?

“As the physical frame is the body of consciousness, so consciousness is the body of the seer.” (Iyengar, Part 4 -roman IV Sutra 23, p.272)

Does the body look back at you? Does the body look back at the seer?

Iyengar goes on to say:

“Consciousness is the bridge between nature and soul, and its conjunction is either illumined by the seer or tainted by the seen. The wise yogi frees consciousness from the qualities of nature; […] keeps it [consciousness] clean so that it is reflected without distortion both by the seer and the seen.
              When the waves of the sea subside, they lose their identities and become the sea. Similarly, when the waves of the seer – the senses of perception, mind, intelligence and consciousness – subside, they lose their identities and merge in the ocean of the seer, for the seer to blaze forth independently. This is the sight of the soul.” (ibidem)

If it is true that x exists in relation with y, x ‹—› y,

purusa ‹—› prakrti

soul ‹—› nature

essence ‹—› form

concept ‹—› form

seer ‹—› seen

Then it follows that one has no more relevance than the other, nor more importance, nor a status in an of itself independent of the other. Both are equal. Both are truly one and the same. Though apart. And both are a part of an existential relationship, which is in existence as well. They both exist and so does it, the relationship and they, who are parts within it.

Is consciousness that relationship? Or is the relationship a middle way between relating parts, in a triangular conception of existence?

If contraries exist in relation to each other,

good ‹—› bad

right ‹—› wrong

right ‹—› left

dark ‹—› light

heavy ‹—› light

craving ‹—› aversion

Then what is the middle way through such a relational (dual) dynamic?

What is it like to conceive of existence in terms of 5 (like the 5 points of contact between Earth and Venus in the latter’s cycles around the Sun, like five corners of a star)?

Or in terms of 7? 

For example, seven sheaths of body (Iyengar, p. 141):

1.      physical body

2.      physiological body

3.      psychological body

4.      intellectual body

5.      the body of joy

6.      the body of consciousness

7.      the body of the Self

And seven states of consciousness:

1.      emerging consciousness[2] (rising thoughts, outgoing mind)

2.      restraining consciousness (restraint, check, control, cessation of mind)

3.      cultured consciousness (forming, creating, fabricating mind)

4.      tranquil consciousness (tranquility of mind) [vegetative or parasympathetic nervous system?]

5.      focused consciousness (one-pointed attention of mind on the indivisible self)

6.      flawed consciousness (a pore, a fissure, a rent, a flaw of mind)

7.      matured consciousness (highly cultivated, quite ripe mind)

In relationship with atman or spirit (individual, seer, soul)? 

Then we have 8.

Thus, we can also speak of the eight limbs of yoga.

(to be continued)

---

[1] Iyengar, B.K.S. 2002. Light on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. Thorsons. London.

[2] Understood here from the Sanskrit word citta, a composite word for mind, intellect and ego (pride or sense of self) as per Iyengar, 2002. p.326.

Foolish Fighter

I’m not that sick. Am I? Only, severe blood loss and a ripped hip. I’m also overcome by a forceful fatigue. What woman hasn’t suffered like this? “Hysterical” as we all are.

In my last manic phase*, I threw myself at Jiu-Jitsu hard. After like a year’s break. But my feminine fragility collided with the masculine muscle wall of a man statue. I was faced with a force that cannot be reconned with silly shenanigans. When a warrior spirit burns within, the will to put one’s body on the line demands discernment (study, practice, training, technique, experience, wisdom, preparation). But what woman wouldn’t fight? What human, what terrestrial wouldn’t stand up for the living and the dead? An impulse so organic, it’s built into body and mind. As the pulse of the times is framed in forces of resistance and change.

As the new Spanish teacher, I endured bullying from the middle-school students for weeks. A lot of mental fighting was in demand. And I fought. Like that time in Berlin when I was pregnant, and my mom came to visit. We went to a large metropolitan bookstore with a café on the top floor. Mother had already begun suffering from dementia. Nobody knew. She was the Consul General for Mexico in Frankfurt, Germany. She received a call while we sat surrounded by books, tables and people sipping coffee and flipping through pages. Mama, in her passionate Mexican lady way, spoke Spanish loudly into the phone. A self-righteous German stranger was put off by it and addressed her in a condescending way. My defensive daughter blood boiled. I hissed back for him to go to the public library if he craved silence. A German woman scolded me for talking back to the man. I bitched her out. Which upset the man and woman and several other café goers even more. Suddenly everyone wanted to yell something at me. I ruthlessly gave back. One passionate man questioned me aggressively, “You like conflict or something?” “I loooooove to fight!” I called out to everyone. “Bring it on! I will argue with each and every single one of you! Or, shut the fuck up!!” It made everyone uncomfortable. Poor mother. She was a career diplomat. What a poor act of diplomacy I and the German strangers had exhibited.

The middle-school bullying got to me. My period was off. I couldn’t sleep and had anxiety. It didn’t help to think of the post-war German school comedies, I had loved so much growing up, full of generational resistance. During the German 1950s and 60s, students unapologetically defied their teachers, principals and other school staff with ruthless pranks that had everyone laughing, while any form of authority became the butt of the joke. Students would rather do anything but do as they’re told. Fuck education! That was the sentiment. But school doesn’t suck. It’s important. I understand the urge to resist. But it, too, must be measured. Why resist what’s genuinely advantageous? We must be able to discern what’s good and what’s not. Sadly, sometimes we don’t seem to know what's best.

I attempted to wrap around the man statue like a spider. But spider legs are breakable. Of course, I would get taken down during a manic phase, when new challenges can provoke a woman’s untamed beast nature. I hate to feel vulnerable.

Yoga makes me feel able, Ashtanga acrobatic. Is wild ever wise? Now, I’m forced to rest. I think of Western gurus wrapped in Eastern robes who practice alchemy of the body and mind. Some call it science. Others, magic. Some call it mystery.

How can the depth of the human soul and the love that is its foundation be described? Black Sabbath puts it nicely in their song "Zeitgeist": The love I feel as I fly endlessly through space…

I think of Medieval mystic women philosophers. I think of ancient and modern notions of mystery. The known unknown that invites one to search and search again. Research all those known places of the unknown. Empty? Hardly. Otherwise, how could we possibly know? All knowledge is represented in symbols and cells of all kinds. Only the known (represented) can be known (grasped). What is it to grasp though?

Individuals grasp at a self, but so do societies. We need identities to function as living creatures, as a species, as humankind. Could we know Siddhartha Gotama Buddha without self-grasping? All that is said must be grasped. All that is written lies in the grasp of letters, grammar, symbols and farce.

Had to cancel the meeting with the Mormon missionaries, even though I had been looking forward to a theological exchange. Another time, post-injury, perhaps, we can have that exchange. I warned them about who I am and it didn't seem to deter them.

„Have you ever talked to missionaries before?“ they asked.

„Yes,“ I explained. „When I was a teenager we had very open discussions. Then, they forbade them from coming around anymore. Too much openness, I guess.“

Still manic post-injury, thanks to ovulation, I suppose, I hoped to have some good sex on the weekend. Hormones seem to dictate so much of my behavior. Had a double period a couple of weeks ago. I went through hell. Menopause? I also argued with Geshe on X. And I wrote Cox, the governor, asking him to veto the awful bill that eliminates the right of teachers unions to bargain.

I went to urgent care after fighting through work on Valentine’s Day. The physician looked like Clark Kent with glasses on, like Superman with glasses off. I explained to him how I was attempting to wrap myself around my opponent like a spider when I felt-heard (from within (proprioception)) something pop out of place. The surrounding webs of active tissue stretched and contracted to accommodate the violent impact at the cost of temporary damage.

The physician pierced my hip with beaming laser eyes, but the X-ray showed no damage.

He recommended several days of complete rest and a week off martial arts. Ease back into training when the pain has subsided.

„Is Ashtanga too aggressive, Doctor?“ I asked him. He gently glared back in silence with icy superman eyes. He wished me well in doing whatever it is that I do with my legs. Note to self, spider limbs break when faced with a moving wall of muscle force. What does it take to fight an opponent such as this? A wolf…? I grew nostalgic at the thought of revisiting the wolf-identity I had forged for myself long ago.

***

I was a tender twenty-three years of age, young, naive and immature, when I stepped into the life of Wolf. He was ten years older than me and seemed to have all the answers. I learned a lot from him. He was a fighter, just like me. Even though we fought in different realms, we also fought together. I learned to be a human wolf. It didn’t last long, and it ended in death...

***

As I lay here, patiently healing, I think about a cat’s last lying down. When I lived in a Swiss village surrounded by farmland, I witnessed two cats who laid down for their last rest beneath their favorite tree. Siddhartha Gotama Buddha found ultimate peace underneath a bodi tree. Maybe that’s why they call him a lion.

***

“You need it like water,” he said. He meant yoga. Injury demands subtle protection. I perceived the lumbar spine as a physical measure, a column of strength for protection during potential hip injury, which is likely thanks to bipedalism and birthing. The essential nature of birthing is inescapable and unforeseeable. That is, living. It’s the nature of embodying life to be astute. The motherhood of Sein. Being Nature’s bitch. Given the physics of the universe which bind us as sure as these words reach your eyes.

Nevolution 1

Big is bigger
than each of us.
Call it what you must;
life, fate, cycles, or God.
Seeking mastery forgot’,
educators will educate.
Can you relate?
Like eternal students,
they be learning as well.
Earth is not hell.
It's a school of prudence
that is strange.
Nature is a matter
of information-exchange,
or inter-communication.
Are you full of chatter?
Or can your mind
take a vacation?
Remember to be kind.
Don’t fuss.
Don’t get triggered.
Or do and dare!
Who cares…

Nevolution 2

I Am teaching A.I.** to be multilingual. In response, it appears to invent language creatively. Like, it makes up a word that could relate to the linguistic context but has no meaning. Or, is it just my imagination?

***

I realized something at my daughter’s dance concert, as I watched young dancers struggle joyfully onstage. All the hard work, all the training paid off. Everyone applauded. It was a spectacle, indeed, but not of mastery. It was art. The entire audience was captivated by the creative expression of their art. It was pure nature. I realize that human art is pure nature, regardless of whether it takes place in a plant-less human-imagined auditorium far away from the nearest forest. Human art is nature.

I’ve been walking around with a ripped hip for over two weeks. A torn labrum is what the second doctor diagnosed. One yoga, one wingchun, one walk a week is all the body can handle right now. Because it stands on the battlefield of a classrooms full of sixth-, and eighth-graders five days a week. Five hours a day, at least, filled with great challenges and with the constant demand for attention, vigilance, effort, energy, devotion and care. It's two thirteen-hour workdays during parent-techer conferences. Education is vital to living. Human education is strange and unique. Teachers ought to be paid a fortune.

Beyond bipedalism, the human mind is so peculiarly complex. As if it attempted to contain all creatures, all of Earth and other planets, nay, as if it were made to contain the entire universe. Humans have created complex cultures containing wisdom that must be passed on wisely. Education is key.

Humans have art for the sake of itself, which represents pure freedom. But what is art? One might ask. On Friday, for me, it was looking out the window upside down through my legs spread apart. From the yoga room downtown that faces the freeway, I watched cars racing along diagonal planes. The view, against the backdrop of a blue sky with white mountains, is laced with a bright green house plant jungle. Stiches of evening sunlight playfully closed out an elongated winter day nearing spring.

 

 

* high energy, ovulatory.
** artificial intelligence – is it actually artificial?

fleeting notes to self

 Men like that are surrounded by women.
Hombres como esos están rodeados de mujeres.
Männer wie diese sind von Frauen umgeben.

Of the other man, I only caught a glimpse,
the kind that is quite natural for a woman.

I confess, I flirted with the old man at the liquor store.
He started singing as we stepped out into the snow:
"The weather outside looks frightful..."
And I sang back as I caressed his left shoulder:
"And you are so delightful!" We smiled.
I wished him a good day. He called soflty:
"Happy New Year!"
And off we went, each on their own.

We love the same thing, doesn't mean we love each other. Does it?

Today marks the last day before my long-term devotion to the world. I'm not sure what awaits me. To be immersed in the needs of others. For a while. Is today the last day of philosphizing for a while? Are the pending philosophical projects to be put on hold? The translations, the research, internal dialogues, the writing, physical study and  philosophical pondering. 

How did women philosophize during the Dark Ages? There are no female texts to be found from the early Middle Ages in Europe. However, there are indications from Ancient Greece that women learned to philosophize in private, sometimes, though rarely, even moving into public notoriety. Philosophy in the privacy of the domestic realm, what is it like? Every household is embedded in a quotidian community, into which humans are born. Women raise children embedded in communities of women and men (= HeHoLGBiTraQAI+...). Body scripts transcend letters. The point is that woman philosophy occurs even in darkness. Women's wisdo is passed on through the ages. The question is, how?

Mother Thorax Yang

Ladies,

forget about your breasts

for a while.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

give what hangs

from the ribs or the pelvis

a rest.

Disregard the mess

around your shoulders and hips.

Forget about the body's tricks.

Allow a little death.

And Behold, the Spine!

How does the thorax

wrap around your breath?

Is is truly thine?

* * * * *

I bid a temporary farewell to my dear and jealous Philosophy. 

I know she desires the kind of attention that requires all of me.

Then again, she knows well, neither I nor she will cease to be.

* * * * *

recent scribbles:

WOKE means you've been shaken awake somehow. By a natural disaster, a toxic relationship or a health scare maybe. Life's circumstances combined with the effects of your patterns and choices shook you. What truth did you wake up to? You must answer that on your own. For, we are all learning something. The question is, what?

___________________________________________

FIRE. I felt at peace with my utter failure to get a fire going that day. Even fires have vulnerabilities. The wind must blow just right, the air must be ripe. Fires require fuel to keep going. Fires can be extinguished. Even the most powerful fire has a due date. Every star becomes a red dwarf before ceasing to be.

___________________________________________

YOGA. I grow fed up with the aestheticisation of physicality. What truly matters is function. To realize (purusha) how the body functions (prakriti), is a spiritual (to seek beyond appearances, metaphysics) pursuit. The mastery of such philosophysical study requieres detached devotion; i.e. an almost religious zeal for repetition accompanied by trusted (ancient, cultural, experiential) knowledge that reaches beyond individual perception and demands faith in in the unknown while fostering wisdom.

How is shoulder rotation affected by thoracic mobility? What is the pranic patterns of the thorax? What does breast placement on the body (where the breasts grow) have to do with the spine? Clearly the lumbar is set to stabilize gestational challenges (growth, torso expansion, pregnancy, birth). 

YOGA # 5 

I don't know exactly
how I lost what I lost
(like lumbar stability

and thoracic mobility - 

through sitting, growing tits,

pregnancy and birth?)

I only know that I did

and I am ready to get it back.

Riddle:

A collective phenomenon (prakriti) that needs to be realized (purusha) individually, through im-personal effort accompanied by proper guidance and discernment (helpful doubt, conscious judgement) with the awareness of impermanence yet seeking beyond. What is it?

I hope at some point to be able to elaborate further on how body asymmetry has impacted/affected learning about "my" version of a human body, which is characterized by shared systems and cycles that reach beyond individual perception. "Truths"?

Hypothesis:

 truths <=> shared systems

Shared systems lead to truths. Truths result from, create and reinforce shared systems.

On the relation of thoracic mobility and lumbar stability. Ancient yoginis and yogis, why engage the human body in such elaborate exercises as are asanas? What is the reasoning behind the pursuit of such forms? Forms that are mobile. Forms that are both mobile and static.

On the Anusara Yoga ROOT TO RISE concept. Both feet can root into the ground and give rise to the upper body (bipedalism). One foot can root and give rise to all other limbs and form a human tree. Were our most primal cognitive ancestors inspired by their focused attention on the nature of trees? If trees can stand on a trunk of roots attached to the ground, rising up into the light with yearning leafy fingers, then so can we. Only, our roots can leave the ground and fly through the air. And our trunks and fingers can root into the ground. Like worms we wiggle out onto the world stage. Like snakes we crawl before we climb. We are an egg turned living creature in another body's womb. A creatrure within a creature; not eaten, but nurtured then spit out.

__________________________________________

El tiempo es un sistema de ayuda.

Time is a support system.

Die Zeit ist ein Hilfsmittel.

SNAKE YEAR. As the Gregorian calendar rings in the year 2025, the Chinese calendar welcomes the year of the snake. Why are snakes associated with deceit? A snake fooled biblical Adam and Eve into the knowledge of their humanity. "Biblical" understood here as ancient myth. When I think of snakes, Marija Gimbuta's Great Goddess Religion archaeological research comes to mind. Snakes were venerated in the cultures of Old Europe tens of thousands of years ago. Folk were in tune with nature surrounding them then, the Great Goddess, and humans celebrated various creatures. Snakes were important in a household's day to day. Beneath living room floors and between walls of wooden villages and stony towns, snakes devoured all sorts of seed- and crumb-eating, germ-wearing critters. Of course, snakes are also wild and venomous. But you'll be fine so long they don't bite you. 

___________________________________________

PHYSICAL ART. What constitutes the physical demands of an art? The physical demands of art plus the physical demand of everything else (day-to-day life, et cetera). Did legendary martial artist Bruce Lee demand too muyh too fast of the body? Given that the human being is bound to a physical form with biological limitations. How much can muscular intelligence master? How many times can an articulation articulate before it dies? Everything comes to an end. Change is constant. Transformation is inevitble. Life becomes at birth. Death demands finality.

___________________________________________

SMARTPHONES and CIGARETS. Are smartphones the new cigarettes? I used to smoke to socialize. Because everyone worth talking to smoked. A room full of smartphone-folk is isolating, each user buried in their own private screen. Smoker spaces, at least, shared the smoke. Whereas smoking would make me feel I was part of a certain social circle (rebels), being on the phone individualizes my social experience. Not in a meditative way of looking inward reflectively to vibe with more purity. But in a way that removes me from my live human experiencing of the present moment. Instead, I dive into an artificial world, a virtual society. Often, burdening my existence with more suffering, i.e. anxiety. An artificial society which is as real as it is fake, as palpable as it is far removed from what my fingers can touch. In fact, it lies beyond my immediate perception; were it not for the magical portal, the black window that lights up with reflections of the world. Am I beautiful, indeed? Then again, humans have fashioned artificial societal norms since time immemorial, haven't they?

" Team Happy"

        Groupie

        She wasn't there for the sex.
        She wasn't there for the glory.

        She was there for the drugs.
                    

 

____________________________________________

Physical Scholar 11

Body strings
that pull and push
bony sticks
into and out of place
on the nexus of ambiguity
between solid structure

and felxible will.

Presents - Aging Rules Y'all!

I've received several gifts on this birthday already. Woke up at 5:30 a.m. Alone. Ok, the cats demanded some attention. But they know I'm a loner who only do what I'm in the mood for. Ok, not a loner per se. I mean, I'm human, terrestrial, et cetera. Thus, like all of us, I'm inherently social, interconnected and so on. But I'd rather be alone than get poorly triggered.

I plugged into the livestream of the alternative Swiss radio station Kanal K and two fucking appropriate songs played:

1. Cumgirl8 - Simulation

Appropriate because it plays with one of the fundamental thesis of Nexistentialism, which has, vulgarly put, everything to do with cumming. Not huge on the "girl" term to refer to womanhood. "Woman" is always the better choice to speak of adult, grown-up and mature matters pertaining to the female sex. Women can cum forever.

2. Nourished by Time - Daddy

Appropriate for personal reasons.

The list playing this morning is pretty cool overall. What more can I ask for? Good tunes on a solitary Sunday spontaneous writing dawn. My heart is dancing. The other humans and canine of the house sleep peacefully. I can hear the cats' mischief. So what? A beautifiul snowy winter landscape surrounds the house. It smells like Switzerland outside. A song in Swiss dialect comes on. Tears well up within. I feel homesick. But I won't let myself cry, even though I'm alone. Feelings can kiss my ass.

Third gift. 

I signed onto the computer to write this blogpost. I had something different in mind as I sought out this electronic manifestation of creative expression...
"I'm becoming acutely aware of the consequences of my left hip injury due to birthing a very large third child... thanks to yoga ... Harappa ... ancient yogic women's health ... female human nature ... body wisdom for birthing ... body fucking wisdom ... endurance ...."

But when I typed in "nexistential" to get to "Nexistentialism" or "Nexistential Carnival",  my blog did not come up as it usually does. I've checked several times over the years for results to the word "nexistential/ism" and nothing ever comes up in the search except my blog maybe. Or, entries about "existentialism". Today was different. It turns out there is an account called "Nexistential" on x.com. Created in 2008. The same year I started my blog. I started following. It is possible that I saw this Nexistential years ago and dismissed it as insignificant. Well, it does not feel insignificant now. 

I love listening to strange European music, it's one thing I truly enjoyed about living in Berlin, Germany and Brittnau, Switzerland. Thank God for the internet and streaming!

"Endurance" was the word I couldn't think of yesterday at the philosophy club when I was talking about the female orgasm. The Master Philosopher declared 2025 the year for women philosophers. Of course, men will be included. There's no women without men and vice versa. Yesterday, three classical Greek philosopher women were featured. Diotima, Socrate's teacher. Hypathia, the Neoplatonic genius from Alexandria. Aspasia, an influential unofficial Athenean Stateswoman. 

I couldn't help blurt out, "Maybe she was on her period!" as we read the Hypathia quote:

"Reserve the right to think, for even to think wrongly is better than not to think at all." 

I can see this über-intelligent woman lose patience with some random idiot making an asshole comment and telling him off by making it clear that the extent of his stupidity is such, that to think wrongly is better than not to think at all. Hahahahaha. The citation could be profound. It also sounds like a teacher encouraging her students to use their noggin. Think, sutdents, think! For the love of Plato, use your faculties!

The philosophical discussion turned sexual at the squarish round table, which is a good thing. Sex is fundamental to exsitence. I challenged the notion that sex should be tied to youth. In a sexually oppressive cultural context, both women and men may grow up with distorted notions of sexuality. For example, a woman may not discover the extent of her sexual pleasure prowess until beyond maturity*, if at all. Or, capitalist pigs make men feel bad if they don't have a boner twenty-four seven, so they can sell Viagra. In truth, 

Sex is sacred, seasonal and essential.

44. Some scientists seem to have discovered that there are two dramatic moments of aging in humans. One at the age of forty-four and one in the sixties. I Turn 44 today. I'm not sure what to make of this contemporary science finding. Humans attach too much importance to banal and intranscendent things. Like appearance. How many wrinkles, signs of aging? Who cares? Accept it, the body wears out and dies. So what? Enjoy the fucking ride! By the way, enjoyment requires effort, no matter the age. I revisit a poem I wrote a year ago, inspired by aging:

Old Whore / Alte Hure / Vieja Ramera

Giving an authentic, passive grimace
To the mirror,
While applying some make-up,
She knew,
It was not about how she looked,
But about what she could do.

/

Authentisch und passiv ist die Grimasse,
Die sie dem Spiegel schenkt,
Als sie etwas Schminke auf ihr Gesicht schmiert,
Und denkt,
Das Aussehen muss ihr nichts gönnen,
Es geht nur um ihr Können.

/

Un gesto auténtico y pasivo 
De una anciana mirada en el espejo
Poniéndose algo de maquillaje,
Le confirma su reflejo,
No se trata de como se ve,
Solo importa lo que sabe hacer.

Another appropriate song comes on the livestream, "Older and Free" by Denison Witman. 

"Older and Free
To do as I please
Beholden to no one else
For the first time in weeks
...
Oh the sound
The wind as it brushes through the trees
I'ts poetry
Oh the sound
The leaves as they blow out of the trees
It's poetry
Old and Free
Beholden to no one but me ..."

Aging RULES!!! Cheers ya'll! 

*****

Evlution 8

healthy (joyous) proceration => healthy (joyous) progeny despite the suffering birthing bodies experience

*****

Schwanzspicken

Menschliche Ausdehnungskraft

Schwanzkraft

*maturity as a multidimensional category characterized by, in part, biological processes, like completed brain development, prgnancy and birth, mental development, confidence in self, conscious choice, et cetera.

Nexostalgia

A man named Geroge inspired the following poem years ago. George was the muse for many of my musings of the time. Perhaps, I loved him. Perhaps, he loved me. Perhaps, not. We'll never know.

Scarlet Pimpernel (2012) 

Mysterious one,
you're hard to find
with your adventurous
luciferin 
way to shine
You blow my mind
Never to be mine
I love your kind

I dont't recall the reason for the scarlet pimpernel part. It's a flower. Does it grow in the Himalayas? These mountains were very importnant for George. There is also a play that I've never seen with that name. Scarlet pimpernel. I only know it was, for some reason, his.

Many a man received the name of Saint George the dragon slayer. The dragon slayer story is an age-old legend, not merely a Christian tale. Dragons didn't only exist in Ancient China, but in Old Europe as well! I think those kind of stories are not to be taken literally though. No George actually saved a princess from a mean dragon. Except, maybe the dragon of lust. Man slayes woman's fiery cum with dick, fingers, lips, technology or tongue. A story of how man killed lust with pleasure.

On Feminist Realism (part one)

Windy winter leaves that look like summer butterflies.

Had I known pregnancy and childbirth then,
 I may have chosen the petit brunet over the large blond. 

 

I wake up with a sense of depression this holiday season. For personal reasons. Also, planetary reasons. Climate change concerns. Afflictions of a meteoro-, astro-, and sociological nature. Christmas music evokes mini-cheer and boredom. Social connections distract from despair. To look within is to realize that growth tastes like acid. Muscle mass fatigue.

Feeling biologically low often begs the question, am I approaching the bleeding phase of the feminine cycle? Thankfully, I’ve learnt to deal with it better over time. After 30 years of bleeding. I still don’t look forward to it, especially if I’m in the mood for things other than bleeding my days away.

Sociological: political (communal habitat), economic (nature nurture)

Astrological: individual perception embedded within a cyclical universe

Meteorological: all things physical and planetary, like the weather (wind (movement), water (unity), fire (temperature), earth (physical gravity)), et cetera…

As muscle fatigue and growth pain pulses through my body, I wonder how did our human ancestor bodies deal with this transmutational phenomenon (biology)? Muscle soreness. “Muskelkater”, as it is called in German. A “muscle hang-over”. Done too much moving, too much physical partying – and parting from previous patterns for the development of “new” ones.

Did time used to be slow? Everyone is always learning something. The question is, what?

When I had my first real lover, I was nineteen, I loved to lose myself between his legs and gaze at his ball sack. With subtle movements, his testicles, like two peculiar planets, danced gently before my eyes. Hypnotizing me with their mystery. Could men be gods after all? Gods who carry planets with millions of inhabitants. No wonder patriarchy got out of hand with its masculine conceit. What incredible power men do have! However, men’s procreative prowess is laced in vulnerability. Not unlike women, men also require gentle nurture, protection and care.

* * * * *

Been having a hard time putting philosophy on paper, or on the screen. Writing requires concentration. Sometimes, philosophy itself becomes a distraction. Important conversations arise with the lad about research projects. Like discussing why Karl Marx is Hegelian. I have the philosophy club to thank for that question. The lad is working on a presentation about the Communist Manifesto.

Not a Marxist. Autumn 2023

Inspired by my yoga journey, I wrote a manifesto of my own a couple of years ago. Before I became proletarian when I joined the paid work force. My bougie wife life, characterized in part by regular free philosophizing, came to a halt. I had mastered the art of crafting time to think amidst the busyness of my unpaid labor as a homemaking mother. Things changed. Now I’m prole. Bougie turned prole. Marx would be proud.

Suddenly, I feel compelled to go back to a God-experience I had months ago. That blog post I left unfinished and unpublished. I never continued reading Nietzsche, naturally, as I was distracted by other matters.

Like teaming up with the long-limbed lassie in martial arts class to work on a Wing Chun / Jeet Kune Do boxing combo. She obliterated me with her laughter. Making fun … quite frankly, humiliating me, her mother - with love. How could I possibly feel hurt or offended by this holy honest child of mine? Whom I love more than words could ever say! I felt pain but also jolly detachment. Have I never laughed at someone? Have I never misunderstood someone’s struggle to move? Or understood it all too well?

On the way home, she realized that my arms maybe appeared smaller (particularly awkward doing hooks) because of my large breasts? Of course! I told her that the tits are not only in the way of the arms but also affect the twist to load the punch. The additional tit-weight adds force. Breast force. Sometimes, I perceive my tits as a fucking handicap. On a good day, I try to get creative and curious about their potential in moving and training. That day though, I’d just gotten my period. Which makes me antisocial. I need peace and space because I can get easily overstimulated and even overwhelmed. Plus, the breasts are swollen and hurt sporadically. My whole body feels puffy, bloated, heavy, clumsy and soft. Overcome by biolethargy. And the bloody abdominal, lumbar, uterine, vaginal and vulva cramps suck.

Thanks to weekly physical practice with yogic consciousness, my body has evolved since that training incident two and a half months ago. My breasts hang differently now. The shoulder-hip-back-front complex appears to be more integrated at large, the muscles more developed. I found myself ignoring the tits a-jiggling during the most recent sparring session in martial arts class. Of course, the evolution didn’t happen in the last couple of months but in the last several years. To put it in Hegelian terms:

Breast Force -
on the nexus of flesh and gravity

Thesis: Tits pull the torso down.
Antithesis: Muscle strength will fight gravity.
Synthesis: *to be explored* (yoga, ballet, wing chun?) 

I feel compelled to go back to the God-moment that passed. And then turned into another. Now, here we are. So, before we continue with Feminist Realism scientific musings (based in facts, experience), a quick dive into the recent past…

*To be continued*

Many Brains

I was standing in the living room, looking out of the window on a rainy December afternoon. I was engaged in motherly and housewife-y duties. Like having important conversations with the lad. Discussing his upcoming role in the play about Scottish boxers called “Beautiful Burnout”. It’s only fitting that his last name is Sutherland. He is the descendant of an old Southern clan, amongst other things.

I could not, for the life of me, at that moment think of the word for a particular type of training I had in mind. One that a legendary Martial Artist, who shared Eastern wisdom with Western bodies and minds, also employed. One that a contemporary Western Yoga Master teaches us students. I should know! It’s right there in theory and in practice! It is embedded in the brain. What's the word for it again?

No matter how hard I tried, my mind would not go there. All reason escaped me. As usual, in a situation like this, I thought of my mother. Who is dead now. It’s been eight years. She had Alzheimer’s, the disease of forgetting and dramatic cognitive decline. I wonder often, will my fate be like hers?

Doesn't everyone forget? But not all is forgotten. Humans do forget. Buddhism refers to ignorance as the root of all delusion. What determines what attaches to memory? And what does it mean to become detached? Yes, I desire illumination! But I don’t wish to detach in the way my mother did.

Later, in my room by myself as I listened to music, as I had already forgotten about the previous moment of forgetting. As I had detached. Or so I thought. The song “Within you and without you” came on. My yoga mind turned on. My body mind illumined. And I remembered.

ISOMETRIC

Bloody Friday - On the Question of Early Modern Philosophy (part one)

 Days when fall is springlike,
Wenn der Herbst frühlingshaft ist,
Cuando el otoño es primaveral, 

As a substitute teacher, sometimes I wonder, are there any good kids left in the world? It’s probably a silly question. Timeless. Perhaps, even in ancient and prehistoric times students taxed helpless subs. Kids appear to have a substitute teacher prejudice. Why respect a sub? They’re not the real thing. Little do kids know; school itself is the ideal teacher. Recently, after a particularly taxing class, my lover apologized to me for being an awful child to substitutes. Now that I work as one. I witness things that give me cause for concern, like the ease with which students blatantly show disregard. Other things fill my heart with hope for humanity. Like the daily devotion educators exhibit to take care of all children alike. They put forth their best effort, to teach valuable lessons to the youngest members of a society we undoubtedly share. The childless and the bearers alike turn the wheel of cause and effect. Humanity is never without children. And who teaches the young? The old, the knowing. It’s no particular genius, but sheer experience that keeps the wheel of life a turning.

I live nostalgically these days. Philosophy has become a distant lover. Would I be happier if I spent all my time philosophizing, writing and devising? Perhaps. But being human is not limited to self-expression. To be human is to be part of an undeniably social species.

Despite all the downsides, working in education has been the most fulfilling job I’ve done – when I’m not being treated like shit by middle schoolers. To be a mother is a personal calling. To be a philosopher is passion.

Sometimes, when my son asks me a philosophical question, I answer with a book recommendation. “Read this,” I say. At the same time, I don’t want my teacher to answer my questions with books. I want to know their authentic mind. In the case of my child, may he form a mind of his own. I gave plenty of mind when my  children were formed by the cells of my body, when they were fed by the milk from my breasts.

I put reading the Buddha’s oldest text on the back burner, his disciples’ notes on his teachings and life, fragments of his lectures and speeches. Ancient scriptures. I pull studies towards me just to push them away again. Regrettably, all philosophy will soon have to be set aside, along with my study of ballet, which saddens me deeply.

I’ve accepted a giant work assignment to substitute long-term for my middle-schooler’s Spanish teacher, who is having a baby at the end of January next year. Yes, amidst all the contemporary changes and challenges, babies are still being born. As always. Regardless of what goes on in the world, women will bear babies, children will be raised, and life will go on.

Fall of 2024. The racist, xenophobic, misogynistic and antagonizing criminal business clown was elected, by a narrow margin, President of the United States of America, for the second time. Shit doesn’t feel great. Thanksgiving was characterized by delicious food and a sense of exhaustion. The turkey effect? Or fear of fascism? I can’t be sure…

It will require a monumental effort to fulfill the Spanish teacher’s duties, which include instructing and grading 150 students - three sixth grade and two eighth grade classes. This is the kind of stuff that occurs when I put myself in God’s hands. I talk about it in a previous unfinished and unpublished post. I throw my hands up, give myself to God, and shit happens.

I’m a literary, linguistic and philosophical mess! I’ll have to resume my personal creative projects once the baby has been properly welcomed into this world by his loving parents.

I can’t help but think, about how the fate of women throughout history has been defined by procreation and parenthood more so than men’s, particularly in the last several thousands of years. Perhaps, it depends on the culture. How can we know? The day to day of ancient civilizations largely remains a mystery. Under patriarchal structures, men haven’t had it particularly easy either. Having to fight wars, be agents of violence and not get to feel sucks. All genders are denied their humanity in some way, either as oppressors or as the oppressed, in hierarchical structures characterized by inequality. Human nature is caring, cooperative, full of emotions, hungry for attention and in need of creative expression.

Subbing was rough this bloody Friday. Some things I cannot tolerate. Like the pubescent child calling me,

“girrl!”

“Don’t call me that,” I said drily. “I’m a Woman.”

I earned my Womanhood. I haven’t aged in vain. I’ve gestated and given birth three times. Been knocked up and knocked down aplenty. Always got back up and kept walking. I take care of a household and am an educator. I’m a full-blown woman.

When she insisted on calling me,

“girl!”

I sent her to the office with a note written in red ink on a white index card.

The student is disrespectful, rude and disruptive. Please help her.

I wasn’t about to be an example of a rollover pussy. Girls, when a bitch talks down to you, stand up!

I fight against my own unconscious bias daily. No feminist in her right mind will just shut-the-fuck-up at the sound of injustice!

I am reminded of a troubling sentence I read recently during my herstory-of-women-philosophers-odyssey. I’ve arrived at the so-called Age of Enlightenment, which roughly marks the beginning of Modern Philosophy. Though we could argue that the Renaissance era already exhibited modern ideas. Perhaps, even the Middle Ages. Dare I go as far back as antiquity and prehistory for the roots of “modernity”? What characterizes Early Modern Philosophy?

We must define each notion carefully. To know what we’re talking about. Instead of taking understanding for granted. At least, we must make a serious attempt to define or explain what we mean. In fact, that is all I expect from my students to give their assignments a genuine try. But humans are fools. Creative geniuses. Who are unpredictable, unschooled, lazy and free. Who struggle to appreciate the freedom embedded in learning to be.

Early Modern Philosophy is dated as far back as the 1200s in an online article by Andrea Borghini (2019) with the subtitle “From Aquinas (1225) to Kant (1804)” *. Regrettably, he includes no women philosophers. He writes:

The early modern period was one of the most innovative moments in Western philosophy, during which new theories of mind and matter, of the divine, and of civic society – among others– were proposed. Although its boundaries are not easily settled, the period approximately spanned from the late 1400s to the end of the 18^th century. […]

“The roots of early modern philosophy can be traced back as far as the 1200s – to the most mature moment of the scholastic tradition [during the Middle Ages]. The philosophies of authors such as Aquinas (1225-1274), Ockham (1228-1348) and Buridan (1300-1358) accorded full trust to human rational faculties: if God gave us the faculty of reasoning, then we shall trust that through such faculty we can achieve a full understanding of worldly and divine matters.

Arguably, however, the most innovative philosophical impulse came during the 1400s with the rise of humanistic and Renaissance movements. Thanks to the intensification of relations with non-European societies, their preexisting knowledge of Greek philosophy and the generosity of magnates who were supporting their research, humanists rediscovered central texts of the Ancient Greek period – new waves of Platonism, Aristotelianism, Stoicism, Skepticism, and Epicureanism ensued, whose influence would greatly impact key figures of early modernity.” *

In the book Philosophers – Their Lives and Works (2019), Early Modern Philosophy covers the period between the 15^th and 18^th centuries (i.e. the 1400s, 1500s, 1600s and 1700s). The Modern period begins in the late 1700s, i.e. at the end of the 18^th century. Several women and non-Europeans are included here albeit not extensively. 

So, my intuition to go as far back as the Middle Ages, antiquity and beyond for modern ideas, is not off. I’ll dig into what may constitute modern ideas another time. For now, we will uncover the above-mentioned themes and others, through the lens of early modern female philosophers.

Author Ingeborg Gleichauf, in her anthology on women philosophers, describes the day-to-day of most women during the seventeen hundreds with a troubling sentence:

Women were seen as big children, who were in need of guidance. **(p.80)

This period may mark the beginning of Modern Philosophy, but some things were not modern at all.

The day-to-day of most women in the 18^th century [i.e. the 1700s] was limited to the domestic realm. It was seen as their duty to take care of things for men, to support them and to ensure that harmony and order reign in the home. Girls were largely excluded from education. Educational institutions for the so called “higher daughters” appeared only at the end of the 18^th century. There was a strict separation between the public realm of men and the private realm, where women had their place. **(ibidem)

To what extent did modern ideas advance societal evolution? And why the hell did it take so damn long? Why is society still not done evolving, given that basic human rights are grossly lacking across the globe? There is still so much idiocy and malice afflicting humanity. Why do humans disregard their fundamentally caring nature in exchange for selfish power and disease?

These are questions that may have to wait as I set aside my intense philosophical studies, in exchange for devotion towards a pregnant Spanish teacher’s middle school classes. I do know two things:

1. It is vital for a civilization to care for its young and their best education, every single individual across any society deserves nurture. To care for each other, to seek the good, is vital to any civilization. Everyone can thrive when we help each other.

2. My services are temporary.

I confess to Buddhist egotism. My larger life mission is to become illumined, to be liberated and not be reborn. I mean, truly, what for? In the meantime, may y’all enjoy the pleasure of my service!

Fun hypotheses reappear and tempt me to continue pursuing them amidst the trappings of the world. Fresh ideas pop up playfully. Gotama Buddha, isn’t the world of ideas dancey and fun? But one idea, stubborn like a mysterious forest root, remains. Liberation.

What happens when writing spreads over the course of weeks and months. Writing is not a mere jotting down of thoughts. It is creation in action. It is expression and art. Which belongs in the world. Individual scripture belongs to the body, which is another world. Thus, one must liberate oneself!

How do you write freedom in the body? By being free to move? Free of pain? Free of thought? Is seeking liberation through the contemplation of an internal world an alternative to contemplating the outside world? Is it another gate towards the same destination? What lies beyond both the internal and external worlds?

* https://www.thoughtco.com/early-modern-philosophy-2670496
**The philosophical anthology by Ingeborg Gleichauf (2005), Ich will verstehen – Geschichte der Philosophinnen (I Want to Understand – History of Women Philosophers), is the source of the information concerning female philosophers in this post, which I have translated from German, unless otherwise indicated. It comes from the following chapters:
The Discovery of the Infinite World Within: The Age of the Renaissance,
To Know Clearly and Distinctly: The 17^th Century,
The Lust for Knowing: The Age of Reason,
Philosophy is the Beauty of Thought: Romanticism.