Wolfsmesch - Humanwolf

 

Are we humans still interested in our destiny?
Have we lost sight of our original path?
As we circle around on a meaningless carousel of blind consumption.
As we turn the world into a carnival.
As we become maimed creatures, odd ducks and dancing shadows.  
(Nexistentialist, 2007)

A quote by Thich Nhat Hahn on Instagram made me feel uncomfortable when I first read it.

“Continue practicing until you see yourself in the most cruel and inhumane political leader, in the most devastatingly tortured prisoner, in the wealthiest man, and in the child starving, all skin and bones. Practice until you recognize your presence in everyone else on the bus, in the subway, in the concentration camp, working in the fields, in a leaf, in a caterpillar, in a ray of sunshine.
Meditate until you see yourself in a speck of dust and in the most distant galaxy.”

I felt put off by the first statements and swiped away without liking, sharing or saving the quote. But it haunted me. Later, I remembered having come to a similar conclusion in my youth. So, I searched through social media to recover the quote. I also searched my house for the old journal, wherein I’d captured my past reflection.

Germany, 2006

I thought I wrote it down in a red or orange ring-bound notebook from when I was studying Cultural Science in Eastern Germany almost twenty years ago. I had captured those thoughts right after I suffered a xenophobic assault, right before we moved to Berlin. I got beat up on a street corner in a small university town with neo-Nazi elements on the Polish border. A town that had gotten beat up bad during the Second World War, as German and Russian troops moved through it back and forth several times. There was an old underground bunker with the most awful vibe, the sheer memory of which makes me shiver. But instead of the red-orange notebook, I found two other items, which I had searched for on another occasion but never found, until now.

Haiti, 2005

The first item is a drawing I deleted from my blog years ago, because I was starting a new chapter. I wanted to leave a Mexican and Haitian part of my life behind, which made me feel uncomfortable. A past that nonetheless managed to resurface during a different phase in Switzerland ten years later, when I wrote the post. Unresolved matters demand dealing. Life is unforgiving. I had pretended to distance myself from a challenging phase in my youth, one that made me feel ashamed. Back then, I had toyed around identifying as a wolf. And I expressed my experiences through a series of comic strips called La Chica Mala la del Barrio, which means “The Bad Gal from the Ghetto.” 
It’s silly, I know. But I feel ashamed no more. For years now, I’ve been looking for this image to restore its presence on that fated blogpost where I wrote about how the human wolf came back to haunt me. Now, it reappeared on its own terms with complete shamelessness to be posted here. Life is funny. The two most controversial comic strips of this series are still missing. They’re not part of the stack of drawings I found. I wouldn’t know where to look for them either! Who knows where I stashed them? I guess they’ll reappear when it’s time, if they choose. Would I want my children to see them though? All the explaining I would have to do! My nine-year-old daughter, who considers herself an artist, was all over the drawings. I could see a slightly disturbed look on her face as she read through the strips. A lot of it wouldn’t make sense to her, of course. Suddenly, she asked:

“Why did you draw a penis?”
“Because nudes are common in art,” I snapped back, “and this is grown lady stuff that you wouldn’t understand so just let it be.”

Then, she went and drew a cat. My older daughter, the avid reader, at one point was very curious about my journals. I told her that she was allowed to read whatever matched her age. So, obviously, as a mother I have responsibilities. Will I hide who I’ve been from my children? No. But I will wait until the time is right to reveal the details of certain stories. They can learn from my strife to avoid some of their own. I hope.

The other item I found turned up in the form of a single question I had jotted down on a random page without a date. Memory of the event related to that question remained in my mind, a strange story I told many times, incompletely, due to the details I was unable to recall, including that very question.

On a cold day in Berlin, I accompanied my friend to a lecture on Greek mythology at the Humboldt University. The lecture hall was large and filled to the brim with students and faculty. An old white man, a beloved German professor went on and on about the Odyssey with a passion that made him seem like a genuine expert on the topic. Something I couldn’t really judge because, I confess, I never read it more than was required for high school assignments. I felt kind of inspired. Perhaps, as a result of the setting, a majestic old university lecture hall, ornate and stony. I felt a question bubbling up inside of me that I couldn’t help but ask. But there was only silence, and no one even moved an inch, all eyes fixed on the lecturer. The lack of participation seemed odd to me for a classroom, especially in the context of “higher learning”.

Perhaps, in patriarchal, pseudo-authoritative traditions professors like to narrate unquestioned. But I couldn’t remain quiet and raised my hand, the only one in a sea of heads, stretched up with determination to catch the lecturer’s attention. A feminist arm pulled by the old man’s narrative. To my surprise, the professor called on me. Sadly, he was so offended by my question, which he was unable to answer clearly, that he made a point to prohibit any further questions from being asked in a loud voice that echoed through the large stone-walled lecture hall. There was some shuffling and a few heads turned with frowny faces before we returned to the silence that would shield the moody man’s words. It felt odd that a seasoned expert at a school of higher learning would be put off by student participation. But young as I was, I felt self-conscious about not having carefully read the Odyssey. Could my intuitive questioning be warranted in the face of “expertise”? True, I know little about Greek mythology. But I know a lot about being a woman.

* * * * *

TriversX 10 - Patriarchal Angst (A) 

She flipped him off.
Then, shoved the finger up his ass.
And he liked it.

Sie zeigte ihm den Mittelfinger.
Dann steckte sie ihn ihm in den Arsch.
Und es gefiel ihm.

Le enseñó el dedo.
Luego se lo metió al culo.
Y le gustó.

* * * * *

Outside the building, book sellers were selling used books spread out on wooden tables. I went up to a book man and asked:

“Do you by chance have the book the Odyssey?”

He stared at me madly and began to yell:

“By chance!!!?? Nothing happens by chance!!!”

I was startled. The second man I managed to offend in a matter of an hour by merely asking a question.

 “So, you don’t have it?” I insisted, as I glanced over his collection of old books. He just continued to shout at me:

“Nothing happens by chance! Foolish verbiage of yours!”

He wouldn’t stop. My friend managed to buy a book from the neighbouring seller. We looked at each other with big eyes, slowly unlocked our bikes and walked away. I kept turning back as I climbed onto my bike careful not to fall off, hypnotized by his ferocious face. He continued to yell at me all the way to the end of the block, where I stood for one moment more, before turning the corner, to gaze at him as he screamed:

“Nothing happens by chance!!! Verbiage, nothing but verbiage!!!”

To be honest, I did not understand the German word he used for “verbiage” then, which is Floskeln, that is, expressions without meaning. I felt too embarrassed to ask my friend, who had witnessed me being made a fool twice already. It wasn’t until much later that I felt comfortable enough to ask another German university friend about the meaning of the word.

The two angry men insulted by my inquiry wouldn’t be the last. I have yet to read the yoga teacher’s letter after we fell out months ago because I annoyed him with my questions.  Who knows if and when the time might come? Life rarely leaves matters unresolved, I’ve learned. However, the hurt of humiliation stings deep. My daughter, protective as she is of me, read the letter immediately, but didn’t tell me what it said and insists that I must read it myself. Unfortunately, because the teacher was no stranger but so very dear to me, my heart became draped in protective pride. I don’t remember if I cried.

* * * * *

“If he already felt attracted to her, why would she have to seduce him?”

Is the question I jotted down in cursive blue ink back in 2006 or 2007. The question I asked the German professor of Greek mythology as he went on and on about a “profoundly erotic” scene in the Odyssey. Unfortunately, he made the dynamic between man and woman sound a whole lot like the old sexual assault cop-out: “Well, she shouldn’t have been wearing a mini skirt.” As if a man’s sexuality is somehow a woman’s responsibility. Hell to the no! A man’s sexuality is his own responsibility and a woman’s sexuality is hers. Both seduction and intercourse are inherently a matter of mutual respect and joint responsibility. The mythology professor’s unfair interpretation of the female triggered the feminist in me to speak out. My demand for male accountability pissed him off and he couldn’t answer properly, stuck as he was in his “unconscious” sexist and chauvinistic bias. As so many men still are. The truth is that I made a fool out of him that day. Because I may be ignorant of Greek mythology, but I know what it means to be a woman. And women, whether real or mythological, deserve proper recognition and respect.

* * * * *

Man-erism / Patriarchal Angst (B) *

He regarded her with curiosity, unsure about whether to consider her beautiful, as so many of her features did not correspond with the beauty standards he’d come to adopt. For one, she was no youth. He liked them young and skinny. Even though he was himself no longer young nor skinny. Nevertheless, his sense of beauty was as immature as the days when he would jack off to cheap porn, a realization that made him uncomfortable. As a result, he questioned the beauty of the magnificent matron radiating before him even more. Because it made him question himself, those parts he neglected in silence, afraid of growing up, of being the man he actually was.

* * * * *

I never found the red notebook, because it no longer exists. But I found a stack of pages from it that I ripped out. It is not unusual for me to leave unfinished business. Luckily, I also leave clues for future learning that will, hopefully, make sense later. I am a detective of my own thoughts, a seeker of my own philosophy. In the case of notebooks, sometimes I rip out the pages I wrote on and give the rest to my children. Thus, I found the reflection the Thich Nhat Hahn quote made me think of.

[As a human being] I live with being a criminal, abuser and adulterer. I’m also a child of fortune and a player, sometimes a swindler and a scoundrel. Sometimes I’m an observer, sometimes I’m the show. I love the existential carnival and want more. I also hate it and want to return to my mother’s womb.

Thus, I concluded that as a human being I cannot escape my kin. I am what they are, and they are what I am. In the meantime, I understand that beyond being merely human I am also biological, organic, terrestrial and cosmic. Now what?

* Hombrismo

La miraba con curiosidad. No estaba seguro si la consideraba bella, ya que tantos rasgos suyos no correspondían al estándar de belleza que él había adoptado. Para empezar, ella no era joven. A él le gustaban jóvenes y flaquitas. Aunque él ya ni estaba joven ni delgado. Por alguna razón su sentido de belleza seguía siendo tan inmaduro como en los días que se masturbaba viendo pornografía barata. Este reconocimiento lo incomodó y lo hizo cuestionar aún más la belleza de la magnífica matrona que irradiaba presencia ante él. Porque lo hacía cuestionarse a sí mismo, aquellas partes que había descuidado en silencio, temeroso de madurar, de ser el hombre que era en realidad.

Mannsbild 

Er hat sie neugierig betrachtet. War sich iher Schönheit nicht sicher. Viele ihrer Merkmale entsprachen nicht dem Schönheitsideal das er sich angeeignet hatte. Zum einen war sie nicht jung. Er mochte sie jung und dünn, obwohl er selber weder jung noch schlank war. Irgendwie war sein Schönheitssinn noch genauso unreif wir in den Tagen als er sich mit billigem Porno einen runterholte. Diese Einsicht beunruhigte ihn. Deswegen hinterfragte er um so mehr die Schöneit der herrlichen Matrone die prächtig vor ihm strahlte. Weil ihre Gegenwart ihn dazu herausforderte sich selbst zu hinterfragen, die eigenen Züge die er im Stillen vernachässigt hatte, die Angst vor dem Reifsein, davor ein wahrhaftiger Mann zu sein.

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.