Back in the city, back to work, back in my crappy little apartment. Subways and cabs. Walks with Rufus. Interesting people on the street. Leaves on a tree on Bleecker street turning brown and falling already. How can I be back to this now? This whole revolution has occurred yet, here I am again. When does that mighty wind sweep through and change it all?
It doesn’t. We are our own heroes. We change ourselves. Or don’t, and suffer. And probably cause others some pain in the process.
Yoga’s good, tho. Helps me put it all aside. The swirling thoughts and worries. Yoga people are so weird, self included. I love the wackiness of it all. I don’t like fake city Yoga places, however. Where they are chanting words they don’t even know the meaning of. And people get competitive over mat space. Namaste … or nasty, bitches? Passive aggression is a factor. Of course, lots of chicks do Yoga merely for aesthetic benefits, which is counter to the true spirit of the practice. Tara called it “Skinny girls stretching,” which I thought was a great descriptor of what often seems to go on in certain studios. Regardless, in the proper setting, Yoga works for me.