On the Nexus of Sex, Suffering and Sankhya Philosophy (Part I)

Stubbornly seeking the next orgasm
To relish in every joyful spasm
Hours upon hours without woes
As pleasure cums and goes
Again and again and again…
Too bad, at some point, it has to end
But she’ll be reborn to cum again
As only women can
With or without men
Maybe once, maybe ten times ten

Philosophy can be understood as a system of thought. But can any system of thought, even an immoral one, be considered philosophy? Inherent to philosophy, from Greek literally meaning “love of wisdom”, is the notion of love, i.e. of a healthy (balanced) pursuit of wisdom, i.e. an equanimous and blissful existential guide. Not any form of thought or system of thought can be considered loving and wise. In the pursuit of philosophy, it is important to ask what characterizes a system of thought as love for wisdom. What is lovely about it? What makes it wise?

* * * * *

Haunted by desire, humans seek joy by having fun. But I sit down reluctantly to capture my impressions of Saturday’s erotic ball, where Lover and I partied hard.

Still, I made it to Mysore yoga class on Monday morning. But yoga only brought out my true state of mind beyond all distractions.

I feel severely depressed as I continue to mourn my mother, 9 years after her passing. On November 1^st, the day of the great Erotic Halloween Ball 2025, she would have turned 78. I celebrated life with other lovers instead of crying. Lovers of wisdom, lovers of sex and lovers of fun.

Still, tears hit me hard as I picked up my serious yoga studies and physically churned the ocean within. I had planned to devote the day to the study of Sankhya philosophy, to typing up my extensive Samkhya Karika notes from 3 years ago. But my youngest child was home sick, and I had to prepare Mexican chicken soup for the healing.

I do wish to get this writing off my chest, no matter how long it takes – it’s been almost fourteen days of distractions, including a full week of illness.

It’s important for me to write this down because, surprisingly, I realized during asana practice that the intoxicated events of the party weekend revealed a useful insight into my ability to be embodied mind, Samkhyan style.

* * * * *

Sankhya Philosophy astutely captures the essence of life (existence), which involves attention, awareness, observation, knowing, that is consciousness.

Life – and existence in a larger, universal sense – is a repetitious revolution of changes full of creatures (including apparently inanimate creations such as rocks, planets, etc.) interacting with the worlds that surround them.

Knowing (awareness of life) creates evolution. A dying gazelle in the grips of a hungry lioness will know what it’s like to succumb. It becomes a witness to its own death as well as a witness for the entire species. This knowledge will be passed on generationally and genetically because food-chain-events happen cyclically and inevitably – certainly in terrestrial terms; we could also consider other chain-events surrounding the physical universe. This knowing will benefit the species at large. Not every gazelle will be devoured by lions.

Furthermore, knowing (information, data) characterizes nature per se. Only what is known can be formed.

“According to the Sankhya Philosophy, a non-entity can never be made an entity, that is to say, that which has never existed can never be brought into existence […] Thus we find the effect is always […] related to the cause.”[1]

Thus, nature and the physical universe are engaged in a perpetual balancing act. Predators will know to pick their prey strategically, perhaps one that was going to die anyway. Canines and felines can smell illness.

Evolution occurs thanks to knowing, which arises through awareness, or perception. The perceptive phenomenon (being aware or observation) is constant. It does not change. What is perceived changes. How it’s perceived changes. But not perception itself.

Perception underlies all that unfolds in nature, which according to Samkhya encompasses the entire universe, whatever there is to perceive, to be known.

Knowing that arises from awareness is essentially yoga. Or, in the words of Sri Tirumalai Krishnamacharya, the Father of Modern Yoga:

“Yoga is an awareness, a type of knowing. Yoga will end in awareness. Yoga is arresting the fluctuations of the mind as said in the Yoga Sutras (of Pantanjali): citta vritti nirodha. When the mind is without movement, maybe for a quarter of an hour, or even a quarter of a minute, you will realize that yoga is of the nature of infinite awareness, infinite knowing. There is no other object there.”[2]

Such knowing can greatly contribute to a better life experience, one that is more balanced and thus more palatable and, perhaps, even blissful. I often wonder about the evolution of the female pleasure organ with the singular function of evoking bliss, albeit temporarily. But it is so specific and powerful that its temporality can be drawn out to great lengths, i.e. seemingly endless “multiple orgasms”. The clitoral complex is a very physical bridge to bliss. My lover has expressed envy at my feminine ability to cum so much for so long. He remains but a witness to my female pleasure that seeks to keep going undisturbed, as he has already exhausted his. I remind him that the female cycle includes the pain and discomfort of the severe bleeding that happens every month as well. Female cumarathons allude to bliss yet don’t encompass it.

Knowing, through mere perception, that we are sensible, sensuous, sensory creatures allows for a blissful pursuit and experience of living. Nature (and the Universe – which maybe is a multi-verse) seeks equilibrium, otherwise it couldn’t function. If the Sun is not at just the right distance of a planet, the conditions for life like we know on Earth will not be met. Which is why there is no life on Earth’s neighbouring planets Venus and Mars though the Sun shines upon them as well. The human species evolved to become bipedal, to walk upright. This greatly affected the position of the hips, which in turn made the act of birthing more difficult and painful. Humanity is also characterized by a reproductive strategy with a moonthly fertility cycle wherein an unmet opportunity to gestate is met with the bloody elimination of the unused reproductive organ, that is in turn remade every cycle anew. Ultimately, both the unused and used uterus be expelled from the female body, an organ that is but a temporary feminine creation with the sole purpose of housing an incoming soul. For the female body to develop a permanent organ with the unique purpose of generating unmeasurable pleasure is nothing short of a most ingenious balancing act of (human) Nature. It is clear that Nature is inherently loving and wise.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I was especially sensitive to my feminine pleasure. I had never given birth, my vulvagina hadn’t been stretched nor torn apart yet. I could only imagine the unbearable and torturous pain of giving birth. Still, I consciously enjoyed every orgasm and leaned into it purposefully and blissfully, aware that an inevitable experience of great suffering was around the corner. The female constitution dictates human form, not merely in terms of generating a baby body within a woman’s womb. For humanity, or any species to even exist, a procreative strategy must be in place. It is the female body that changes and expands with the creation of life. The human body must account for its procreative demands to exist at all. Thus, female anatomy is the basis for human anatomy (“The Female Proposition” – to be expanded and continued).

Knowing is captured by the limbs of yoga, i.e. svadhyaya (self-study), ishvarapranidhana (divine contemplation), asana (postural meditation), pranayama (concentration on the breath), pratyahara (abstract observation), dharana (concentration), dhyana (reflective contemplation) and samadhi (intensified awareness). It all revolves around attention, intentional or passive, around being and becoming aware. Observation and knowledge are inherent to study. Samadhi, complete absorption in the primal act of being aware, beyond even the senses, alludes to constancy beyond change. In a multi-verse where everything is constantly changing, constancy exists in perception per se.

Perception is the witness to all that arises and passes. Furthermore, it is this very awareness, this knowing that enables the changes to unfold, despite lying beyond change as a constant. This is why some human traditions speak of a creative force, such as a Goddess or a God. Sankhya Philosophy is not dualistic in the sense that two separate entities or forces or phenomena coexist. Nature and Perception (awareness of nature, i.e. all that is) inter-are. For, knowing through attention and observation (perception) also feeds evolution as the cyclical wheels of life spin and a universe manifests to the senses that perceive it.

* * * * *

I feel good in the nude. In fact, I feel better naked than dressed. Since the summer, Lover and I have been going to a natural hot spring where a group of nudists meet to soak, party and swim. Mostly, we revel in the freedom of being in the nude. The rules are clear, zero body shaming and absolute consent. This, of course, makes me think of the very first tenet of eight-limbed yoga: ahimsa = non-harm. There is no room for violence amidst the joyful living. Rule Number One: Don’t harm nobody.

Still, at the Thursday swim no cuddling is allowed, as it is not supposed to be an erotic event, which is wonderful because nudity is neither inherently erotic nor strictly sexual. But the intertwining of naked bodies can lead to things…

It is thanks to the nude neutrality at the springs that I experience a great sense of freedom in communion with other nudes. Nakedness fills me with joy in the context of a sensual community who exercises raw acceptance, respect and love. There’s no “body types” in this community, only bodies and no gender only humanness.

I was surprised to find such a community exists in this conservative American state. When we first moved here, I missed Europe’s naked saunas and baths. Soon, I will miss the casual and extravagant sensuality with which the body is celebrated in this wholesome American circle of naked acquaintances, lovers and friends, whose yearly Halloween Erotic Ball is by, of and for the people.

To be continued…

---

[1] The Samkhya Karika of Ishvara Krishna with the Tattva Kaumudi of Sri Vacaspati Mishra by Swami Virupakshananda. 1995, 1^st edition. 2021, 8^th print. Sri Ramakrishna Math Printing Press, Mylapore, Chennai-4, India. page vii.

[2] From an interview as displayed in: “Krishnamacharya His Legacy and Teachings 125^th Anniversary Video narrated by A G Mohan” –  Sep.13, 2014. Sthira Sukham Asanam @ YouTube.com

Philosophically Lovely

The philosopher is a remarkable man. You may not notice by looking at him in a superficial way, but he is one of the most gorgeous men I've ever seen. His spirit lights up when philosophy flows through his lips, radiating an enchanting elegance unparalleled by any contemporary standards of hotness. His appeal is profound. I don't think he knows. His spirit is pure, his intellect polished, and his heart is full of love.

I can only think of another philosophical man, a physical scholar, who rivals the philosopher's loveliness. He is attractive for other reasons. He exhibits a solid intellect and shares great insight. But he also inspires mystery. A genuine warmth concealed by cold facts. Passion, playfulness and existential chaos veiled by spiritual discipline and a devotion to truth. A philosopher at heart, no doubt, a stunning human work of art.

Clearly, these are not men for my day to day. But are meant to be loved and admired in an intimately philosophical way. Of course, I’d wish to spend more time with them to learn more about their thoughtful sway. Irresistible embodiments of philosophical loveliness they are! What an honor to be able to witness these philosophical men alive and in the flesh! How gay!

Thirteen years ago, I wrote a poem full of yearning and lament called “In Love with a Dead Man” (in German: Verliebt in einen Toten). It was about how I imagined interacting with philosophers past, missing them from a future when they’re absent, and I’m a lonely presence full of unfulfillable desire. But I must say, today, loving the living in fleshy philosophical display makes me gay. That’s the beauty of philosophy: Bodies may sway but philosophy will stay.

In Love with a Dead Man

Where was I when you spoke of form,
when you broke with the conventional thinking norm?
When you loved nature
and wandered with her in darkness through the night –
discovering the depths of being,
and beyond the six senses you awakened insight.

Where was I when, proclaiming the truths of life,
you ordered another beer at the bar? Or wine or liquor?
When your hand gave the table a drunken slap,
you turned away from the eyes of your bro
and with new words – your light giving him crap,
you made chaos order’s ho?

Where was I when, smelling the hair of your muse,
your power crawling free from society’s cues,
you forged new paths?
And you admired the fool with silent envy.
And you laughed at yourself, or cried?
When I wanted to tell you that our souls are tied.

Where was I when, a button falling from your liner,
you composed the next primer?
When you lived your humanness
and aspired to reach other levels.
When, bearing the painful aging body-clatter,
you transcribed your splendor into matter.

Where was I when you sank into the current of consciousness?
When, tormented by the passions of the living body-act,
you married beauty with fact?
When the river wet your foot’s crown
and, metamorphosizing, you jumped off the bridge?
With what last thought did you drown?

Where was I, lover, when God kissed your cheek?
When death, joy in your breath did seek?
Waiting was I
lurking in the future
where your absence is pure torture…

Verliebt in einen Toten (2012)

Wo war ich als Du von der Gestalt gesprochen,
als Du die Normen des leitenden Denkens gebrochen?
Als Du die Natur geliebt
und mit ihr bei Dunkelheit durch die Nacht gewandert-
die Tiefen des Daseins entdeckend,
die Sinne über den Sechsten hinaus erweckend.

Wo war ich als Du die Wahrheiten des Lebens preisgebend
an der Theke noch ein Bier bestellt? Oder Wein oder Schnaps?
Als Deine Hand dem Tisch einen trunkenen Klaps gebend,
Dich von den Augen Deines Gesellen wendend
mit erneuten Worten – Dein Licht ihn blendend,
Du Chaos in Ordnung gebracht?

Wo war ich als Du die Haare einer Muse riechend,
Deine Kraft aus gesellschaftsfreien Löchern kriechend,
Du neue Wege geschafft?
Und den Narren mit stillem Neid bewundert.
Und Du über Dich selbst gelacht oder geweint?
Als ich Dir sagen wollt unsere Seelen sind vereint.

Wo war ich als Dir der Knopf vom Mantel niederfallend
Du die nächsten Zeilen verfasst?
Als Du Deine Menschlichkeit gelebt
und nach anderen Ebenen gestrebt.
Als Du die Schmerzen des alternden Körpers tragend
Deinen Glanz in Materie übertragen.

Wo war ich als Du im Strom des Bewusstseins versunken?
Als Dich die Leidenschaft des lebendigen Leibes quälend
Du Schönheit mit Fakt vermählt?
Als der Fluss Deine Füße genässt
und Du metamorphosend von der Brücke gesprungen.
Mit welch letztem Gedanken bist Du ertrunken?

Wo war ich Geliebter als Gott Deine Wange geküsst?
Als der Tod sich langsam an Deinem Atem beglückt?
Wartend war ich
in der Zukunft lauernd
Deine Abwesenheit zutiefst bedauernd...

N.M.P

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?