Committee of One

Manju Jois chanting vande guranam

“Well…what happened is”

 I look at this beautiful photo, and my immediate sensations are ” delicate, rustic, warm, ” and I am awash from the beauty of it.  

So, bathing in the beauty, after awhile I start to want to break it down, to find the deeper significance in each piece; in short, I appreciate it so much, I wanna finda way to appreciate it more. 

So intellectually, I start thinking, “what makes this piece look inviting and comfy?”.  Obviously there is the red , that looks glowing in the yellow light in the center, and it is encircled by this lovely forrest-green rustic (is it wood? is it metal? Would it matter?!) cage. It’s like the heart of the earth, and it’s pink dusk, with the hot orange streaks just 30 seconds off.   “Although it sounds lovely, what make’s it inviting?”.  Okay, it’s like the red heart in the center continues  then the red continues out of the space to the observer like a magical red carpet through the clever placement of those rugs on the on the gravel entrance”. And then I look more closely at the rugs to discover that they are not any sort of Persian-“magic”-rug, at all.  Instead they are of a more contemporary feel.  No gold or geometric bordering -(where was I?, Even I had to take a thirty minute break writing that shit, man.  That is some development at the risk of the entire story) - ah yes, upon closer inspection, in fact, the rugs had no hint of borders or crowns.  Instead, these rugs were indeed contemporary, and one realizes that what the eye originally glazed over and labeled ,”borders” is in fact different patches of pale pink and as one looks closer, one discovers a strong white line of carpet, that this is a low grade portrait of pink carnations on a red back-ground, not the nouveau Japanese cherry blossom in abstract at all! And then, as all this information comes to you in an overpowering wave of wax covered liquids and grape-flavored triaminic ( the worst waxy dull artificial taste in the world, from shitty gums to shitty sodas to shitty grape jelly and back again), you suddenly realize, “you’ve been hosed - and an impressive way - and you are a fucking adult and haven’t been so caught up in the truth of something, in way more than ten years.  And your ever cynical mind, determines the obviously most likely source of this is not some hocus pocus magic proving faith in the divine and providing evidence of the one of all the universe, no someone just bamboozled you, and to be fair, in a very sligh, technical, elegant way. 

Immediately your attention turns outward, as you gaze around the room, trying to discover what magician?, what seer of truth? what truly enlightened human being pulled the wool over your tired, well worn eyes of discretion? Has your 5 second quality detection system failed to register another twisted-brilliant-brethern-soul mate in your midst? So, in a determined hush you whisper, ” Who created this fabulous space!!!!”.

And your luck?, It would be someone like me, and I would immediately take the cue, coming forward in a slightly 80’s bland blue spaghetti-strapped  dress, horrible gold rimmed circle glasses, and an unpleasant shade of bright red corn stalks where hair would be, with the texture of straw, wofting down my small frame, making frizzy erratic jutting angles along the natural line of dry, grizzled hair.  

  In a mousy little movement, I, Joan of Maybe Mormon, wiesel my way forward to say, in a shrikishly awkward tone, ” Oh, you like it? Well, yes, I did it.  Actually, what happened is I was at the Stienmart one afternoon, and I saw this, -she says in a zombie like trance on the crudest of offenders- and, I thought, Geeze I love this, it’s so sophisticated-looking.   But how will I coordinate it with anything? So I decided I couldn’t possibly buy it, and then I thought, I don’t really love this rug, that much, after all.  As I tried to reposition it on it’s top place on the stack, two other differently shaped and styled and colored versions of my same rug fell right off of the stack. I tried  I thought, “this is some kinda sign, and then I tried to be realistic,  why would I or any one else need a very specifically colored set of rugs? “.

So anyway, I decided to at least find the price tag, because you never know, they could actually be $5.00 dollars or something, and it never hurts to check.   And of course, they were, like, 5 dollars a piece or something.  So, I bought them, with no plan or known purpose, but I mean that is cheap, you know?

I guess it wasn’t a terrible purchase because today, when I was putting things together, I thought of those red and pink rugs, and got them out, and I guess I’m just lucky it worked out”. 

And all of the beautiful, inspiring moment you just had, is gone as fast as a mousey flash in the pan.

oklayogi:

Primary Series with Sri K. Pattabhi Jois

So I am staying in San Diego for the week, with my best friend from high school.  And she has a five year old boy.  And by boy, I mean a five year old huge boy dog.  And, he is so lovable and cute, and friendly, and immediately showed me his toy when I got here.  Precious, but the kind of particularly precious only a one-hundred and fifty pound dog can generate; he is more than precious, so precious that you totally forget his size.  But I digress.

After meeting Mongo, and spending a few hours in his particularly lovable brand of company, we go outside, and my friend starts telling me an itemized list of Mongo’s kills.  A few possums, and a raccoon.  “And the raccoon, was, so bad, “ she says.  I’m immediately confused, but before I can even frame a question, she goes on, “ the raccoon one went on for atleast 45 minutes, and it was loud, and you could hear all this scrambling….and it took so long because, they were hurting each other.” “Oh my God,” I jumped in, cause really it had never occurred to me that “kills” sometimes involve fights to the death.  This of course makes me feel so dumb because, of course things battle for life and death, it’s just that the concept is so removed from my reality.  Not because I am the one doing the kill, but like, people take down other people professionally all the time.  And the killed is like that gazelle in the nature movies, that realizes like 15 minutes to late, that it has exactly 30 seconds to outrun the lion, never even saw it coming.  Or like rich people and the tax laws, it’s not even really difficult, the tax laws have just created indentured servitude for the rest of us, there’s really no fight about it.  I mean, that is why I like watching sports.  Sports is where I can appreciate that there is an actual challenge and struggle and something to overcome, and the potential for the killed, not to be. 

So, this occurs to me as she goes on to described the grizzly fight, Mongo’s right heal was chewed almost clean through, and he had repeated bites all over his lower legs, and his under belly.  The raccoon had clawed two huge incisions on either side of his right eyeball, so my friend was so worried that the raccoon had damaged the blood flow to his eye or some part of his brain, or the raccoon could have been rabid.  And the worst part (or it would have been for me) was throughout the entire bloody battle, she could only stand at the door, and watch and not intervene, because what would she have been able to do? So she called him, and called him.  She begged him to come inside, but he was so angry that even after Mongo had taken the breath from the raccoon, she yelled as loud as she could to him, “ MONGO COME IN THIS HOUSE NOW!!!!!” , and she said , Mongo finally took his attention off the raccoon, looked over his shoulder at her with one eye, and then stepped on the raccoon and started tearing its limbs from its body, savoring the last humiliations of ripping apart the raccoons bones. 

6/15/12

What does One have to do, to be left the fuck alone….sometimes.  And only during the times of my choosing.  The rest of the time, I appreciate constant, unbroken attention.  But occasionally, I have to do stuff on my own, and the constant barrage of being nice while continually letting you down is a drain on my schedule.  

Yes, I can feel your eyes burning a hole into my face, but it doesn’t make me like you, in fact it is oppressing, it makes me physiologically need to tune you out.  So now, you are far worse-off then you were before in any hope of establishing a friendship, much less what you want.

And look, I’m sorry.  I do it too, and sometimes I forget how smothering it is.  But trust me, it is.  Plus, don’t fool yourself now, my entire body, conscious and subconscious is involved in defeating your attempts to make eye-contact.   You will lose. 

People are so fucking shitty sometimes.  Complete haters.  There certainly is consolation in the fact that their lives must be so hate-filled and empty, but not really that much.  Fear.  Being close-minded.  No personal accountability.  These are the consuming items of interests in a shitty person’s life.  They’re like drug addicts, or gamblers, or salesmen (generally), they are always cutting corners here, rolling on credit there, always just minutes away from the big score, or the huge debt that is gonna stop their roll in it’s tracks.  It’s like they have a mask on top of a mask in society, the top mask being, what they what you to think their mask is.  Wouldn’t it just be simpler if you just started out being genuine, and then let people decide whether they like the whole cavalcade of dark and light and rainbow of gray that is your complex true self?

I am so weighed-down and over it already when drama comes to meet me.  I like roll my eyes, when there is even the slightest mention of her.  Why, people? Like, really, making people’s lives difficult is a cool thing? Really? Or does it just rot out more of your already blackened heart?

Why can’t we all just get along, in love and harmony and open-mindedness and taste?

Everything I have to do, ever.

(via th3-w0rld-w3-liv3-in-deactivate)

(via th3-w0rld-w3-liv3-in-deactivate)