Whimsical Paradox

One of my immediate goals this week it to get my goals in order. It sounds ridiculous but there are so many projects out there and even just life’s required tasks, it gets overwhelming. I want to explore what motivates me and keeps the gears turning, always pressing towards growth. Really would it be so terrible to know what sort of game plan to use to accomplish the many wonderful things I learn or hear about, or discover?  Probably not. Now, is it ironic that this project of creating a Goal Achieving System is something I procrastinate on just about everyday?

A dedication to one’s goals is so important when it comes to personal growth, I believe. Dedication in general is vital. Recently in my readings on all things Yoga [sources varying from e-zines, to textbooks, to blogs and newspaper articles] dedication of a practice has come up. Basically that means before you practice your yoga, you take the time to set your intention as a dedication to someone. It’s a very touching and intimate ordeal. The energy you apply as you move into each asana is in the name of that person, moving towards the universe to them and their soul. Be it healing or perhaps simply good-will and well-wishes. Love, even. It’s a connection between two individuals, or perhaps more depending on you dedicate and set these Wills. I’ve dedicated several practices to various people ranging from my father and my coworkers in appreciation to someone I haven’t been able to get along well with. I even ventured so far as to dedicate an open heart towards someone; an invitation to explore my heart through receiving the energy I exert during my practice. Try it. Just try it one time. Pick someone, anyone, for a reason, any reason, and keep them in mind as you flow. Promote selflessness and most importantly, an effort to grow and evolve your spiritual connection with someone.

BooKit:Living Yoga: creating a life practice by Christy Turlington

I’m really enjoying it so far. A large book with detailed pictures of asanas as well as explanations. Christy explains yoga and her experience with it as well as fascinating history not only from her personal account but quotes and texts from ancient textbooks as well as some modern takes from famous yogi around the world. It’s an easy read and great for learning about Yoga’s history as well as a plethora of information and tips regarding creating your own personal practice.




Salute the Storm


There isn’t anything I love more than summer storms. Well, that isn’t totally true. Diesel and Yoga and fried Twinkies fromDel’s are up there but you get my point. I adore them and find myself coming to a halt whenever one hits. I grow giddy; excitement pumping through my chest and anticipation as I breathe in the suddenly electric air as I watch the thick clouds roll in. Sometimes it happens quickly and a clap of thunder marks its arrival before the skies open and rain pours. Other times it takes days for the high, thick clouds to build over the earth and lighting is the only indication you have that it isn’t just the end of the world building up in our atmosphere. Maybe that’s why I love summer storms so much. They posses an eerie quality and we as humans feel it deep in our bones like a sort of anxiety before it burst open and unleashes it’s power.


When this morning’s storm started, unrolling my mat wasn’t a problem. I picked a nice spot in front of my sliding doors and threw them open. It was hard to hear the instructions on the tv over the thunder but doing a basic Sun Salutation was manageable. What an insightful practice it ended up being. A change of view or setting during one’s asana flow opens the door to a whole new sort of perspective, as most yogi know. When one draws their attention inward during such times, you explore thoughts and feelings you might not have noticed if it wasn’t for that change.


Working your way through a flow with a storm acting as your visual, an electric charge suddenly comes over you. You feel your skin prickle with that charge, each breath tasting of rain and the pressure in the air around you makes the whole inhale exhale flow noticeably different. You feel charged. You are lighting and you are thunder. You carry force like the winds just outside. Powerful. You feel powerful. You are the storm. And when it’s over, one can’t help but notice the change in attitude and color.

I highly recommend the next time a storm is rolling your way this summer; you grab your mat and Salute the Storm. Capture the lightning’s energy to take with you through out the day. Create a power source as loud as the clapping thunder; shake windows with your force. Be refreshed as rain, and embrace the change in your air. When all is said and done, let your outlook clear like the suddenly blue skies and start anew; pressure free.



New Project of Sorts.


She smirks from the backs of trees, pressed close and out of sight, breathless;

never daring to look behind her at her stumbling opponent, never needing to;
he busied his fingers always with an arrow and chord, ever patient.
Though not all were so successful, he surely would be.
He, like so many others, found it unfathomable how she moved,
unknown just how she thinks, even by those who consider her mildly,
or harmless.
It must have been the look of her.
Gentle features and the look of an innocent nature;
it could be argued that a man could shoot her,
and forever miss if he made the great mistake.
To gaze into those pale eyes, mesmerized in small yellow flecks
surely meant death, meant a broken arrow and a lost chance.

This however, was different, 
a this hunter had nicked her, on more than one occasion,
arrows wizzing by; how…

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Diesel does not Approve

While for the most part this piece of communication I have remains unorganized and nearly sporadic, I can’t untangle my want to cultivate it.  Perhaps that persistent feeling helped nudge me toward a change of color on my thumb. Gardening has never been something I’ve even cast a slice of attention towards. My Mother and Grandmothers have all been very talented in maintaining and growing impressive flower, vegetable, herb, and wahthaveyou gardens. They also possess traits of patience and will power, which isn’t what I can say about myself.  A large plot of earth at their disposal probably helped with everything as well.

Or that’s all a load of horse shit and while I can’t control my growth from the obstacles thrown at me, due to what I call the Universe or even Improbability Factor, (depending on my fickle mood and or the person I’m speaking to at that given time) I’m notorious for killing flowers. Even bouquets of flowers given to me or purchased by me decay and rot into a brittle mess of faded colors and reminders of what has been a hell of a lost faster than your average Gifted-Flower-Life-Span-Cycle. This trend is sickening and hard on morale on so many levels for the emotionally wild.

I found a collection of Peach andOrangearranged roses, long petaled flowers, and small white flowers in my possession. I’ve attempted to google and wiki the descriptions of the flowers in order to figure out what the beautiful things were exactly. No avail, unfortunately. After admiring the bursts of oranges and peaches and whites and yellows, it dawned on me I wasn’t ready to let these suckers just curl up and die without a fight on my part.

I’ve heard of the Trick where you toss a couple of pennies in the base of the vase once about an inch of each stem was cut. These particulars flowers having been delivered by a wonderful little boutique (whose delivery guy had a –fantastic- laugh on my behalf sparked by my reaction he explained. Apparently, my deer in head lights look and sudden inability to mutter noises over basic grunts and one syllable “uhhhh”s wrapped up his rather lovely Friday evening. Glad to be of service?) I didn’t think much of cutting them further. After a long debate – I figured what could it REALLY hurt if a bit more was chopped off. This sort of thinking could be why I have such a talent in aiding the coming Death of these plants.

Well, while this intention was all well and good and as much as I adored, spoke to, and thought about the vibrantly colored petals and leaves of my arrangement – I couldn’t deny the fact a brittle End was coming. Life’s way of reminding me What Can You Do About It?

At first, this question is intimidating. A large wall of No and Obstacle that can be overbearing at times; Impossibility and Doubt is what makes up it’s general structure. I was loosing this battle. My flowers were turning despite my following a very helpful guide from Real Simple.

Frustrated with my inability to control life and reminded of the sheer ridiculousness of having a God Complex, I had to expand my options. Scale this wall and figure out a way to somehow beat the system. I started to ponder this.. [i.e.: Searching Pintrest]


Upholding one of my many many theories regarding the Universe, plants suddenly invaded my life. Conversations regarding gardening and plants and methods and philosophies bubbled up during random conversations either at work, with strangers in the check-out line, and even the fantastic staff at the Family Video I frequent alarmingly too often.

Then three small cacti showed up. Succulent Cacti which thrive in the South [temps are already reaching 92 degrees!] and I fell instantly in love. These weird little plants with their awkward growths and many possibilities. [Including Living Wreaths!]  I’m nearly obsessed with the alien looking plants. What’s even better, I honestly think I can keep these suckers alive for longer than a season. That’s saying quite a bit, too.

And Returning to…:

So let’s fast forward. I cut, groomed, tended, talked to, nurtured, loved, and even begged but the Turn was taking place on my pretty flowers. I refused to let this go though. Two methods became my focus and are current projects. The first came about in a completely unrelated way, at least unrelated in the aspect of strictly gardening. Wanting to some how relate a message whose words I can’t find, the idea of Pressing the flowers bloomed and was easy to decide to roll with. Pressing flowers is something I love to do. Maybe it’s in my blood from Old Country or perhaps it’s just a quirk. Very rarely do I actually partake in the act but this is one of those times; one of those Worth it times. I’d kill two birds with one stone. Press and save the meaningful flowers and compose that letter without even having to fight the battle of locating the correct words.

Here Is a really great walk through on how to preserve and press flowers. I did not follow this method. In fact, I’m not all that certain how well my pressing will even go. Being a sudden light bulb moment or Aha! Moment as I call them if you know me on a personal level, the act of pressing my flowers was sudden and a whim. As with all these ideas, I reacted and simply got to work with the materials directly in my vision and reach.

First I cut the stem away so all I really had were the bulb and petals. Next I took a zip lock plastic bag since I could never remember to buy wax paper – which would have been my first choice, regardless of what the guide in the link says. Wax Paper ftw!

Carefully setting the flowers in, I covered the other side with another zip lock plastic bag and began the pressing process. Using several Yoga textbooks I’m not working through, my File box, and more textbooks – I created my Press. That’s it as far as my plan. Check under the contraption in about three weeks, maybe two depending on my Patience.

Now being as paranoid as I am about messing up my own Creations and Ideas – I couldn’t just settle with just one method. In case the Pressing doesn’t work or I fark it up – I also picked out some choice stems and tied them together using ribbon. Then I tied them up (hanging upside down) and am going to dry them out. Now the color certainly won’t hold as well as Pressing but this Air-Drying method is usually what I do to save my flowers. It’s the Panda Express compared to Pressing’s P.F.Chang’s in my opinion. Both of which I adore.

The results aren’t in yet seeing as how I started this particular venture early this afternoon. I’m excited about how they’ll turn out and will probably think of what to even Do with the lot of it when all is said and done. No need to sweat that now, however.

Ahhkay. Let’s see. Both my Mother and Father’s birthdays are this Memorial Weekend. A family dinner partaking tomorrow which shall include French badminton, Awkward and Embarassing stories for everyone (as with all Large/Extended Gatherings), and of course delicious food. My father has reached the great and mysterious 60 which is mind-blowing for his youngest daughter. Dad is the coolest person I know and I hope my Mom doesn’t try to hide behind the party she’s throwing for him. Her birthday having passed a day before his; She’s good at letting that fact slip but I’ll be sure to burst that bubble in the form of a loud and obnoxious copyrighted performance of Happy Birthday. No singing actually included. I do not sing. I was thinking maybe a rap and interpretive dance. I’ll have to see if I can employ my older and much more graceful sister into this scheme. Or I could simply give my Mom the birthday gift I’ve been really –really- excited about despite it’s simplicity.

I have no last philosophical questions to throw out. This week has been about being selfish and reflective about my own ponderings and self discoveries. I do want to nudge you over to my favorite blog who has updated despite an absence. Also, how can I keep a puppy/dog from eating my Baby Toes without spraying chemicals? All natural or zilch is how I’m handling this.


–         Howl [R] James Franco and a bunch of others. A biopic centering on Allen ginsberg’s poem Howl and the trial that followed. Artfully filmed, very different from anything I’ve seen before. Fast paced with quite a bit of animation between beautiful scenes in a courtroom (with an ALWAYS sexy John Hamm) and Franco’s Allen’s home as he explains what/why he wrote. Awesome movie.

Crunch: Candlelight Yoga [NR] Although the introduction to Crunch is horrifying with it’s large reminder of how uncool the early ’00s actually were – the yoga flow itself is really great. The first time I tried it, I was skeptical but fell quickly into pace and the right mind set after a few moments. The instructor has a pleasant and calming voice and her instructions are easy to follow for any experience level. That being said, anyone could try this. They even have a woman doing all alternative moves incase you’re stiff or not quite as flexible/ready for the actual flow.

Newly Obsessed With:  WHERE HAS THIS BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE???????


& http://www.youtube.com/embed/v6opP57xgU8

Title Rejected

Another sarcastic or sappy sentence to start off the rolling of events.

Each line another cliché, waiting for assurance and the push to continue

Throw in a “just like” something gloomy, obvious and pathetic.

But what would you do with out a question mark?

And what are you to do in times like these?

When your broken shoes are in the dirt, socks wiggling with the self-disrespect you float in.

There they sit, eyeing you just like they invented the glare and all its glory.

Why is just the question they all breathe, ragged breath and closing throats.

Why would you? Why would you not?
The sorrow continues here, throw out a pathetic



Mix of words that all mean sad.

Find the missing x to my theory.

The answer goes next, so obvious and to the point

Followed by a statement that throws them for the loop.

To add length and depth,

Purpose and meaning

, Want and desire,

Desperation and need,

Humor to bring it back the darkest shade of purple moods
If the lifter of the mood that has settled like thick polluted snow doesn’t show,

They, they, they, just all grasp the moment with void to make my unanimated object jealous

If x is the answer to our missing piece, lets square your thoughts then divide them by the hypocrisy

She’s bereaved, broken and blue, dejected and dripping with doleful downcast.

X is the boy. There’s your answer, shiny and unchanging. Sometimes even having great hair.

Or is he y? It was a trick question, followed by the sly of a smile and eyes so coy.

Baby girl has tricks

The different choices we have to make, effected by the applause or jeers all in your head.

Do you see what we’ve done?

As a group you can be an individual, at home you think like them.

Alone and lame. The need that drives and makes your limbs tingle, push you off the edge of reasoning

The inhale that burns, the toes that curl, This isn’t sex my friend, its curtain call of sanity.
Now here sit’s the one liner,

To pull in the witty swagger

And cover the over emotional hoodie of mutilation.

Another question for that deep feel of the kiddy pool

Toss around an ironic obvious, And a quote form a song, to keep the copyright from being as original as your thoughts.

Copy paste my friend, copy paste your trends and hair.

Copy paste your feelings

Copy paste your meaningless dribble of a half-formed thought

Such a sad potential will be lost

And you thought you tried.
We thought we could pull it together

Procrastinate like they laid it on thick in the halls of education

Go ahead, stick it to them my darling

Where do you go from here? Walking backwards and facing the wrong way makes the delay of the point.

No no no, baby girl, you’re at your best.

Toss the silky locks over your shoulder

Go out, intoxicate the stars with your caked on eyes

The eyes you had used to witness truth Truth of something as simple as a mirror

You and you choose to be blind.
Go ahead and giggle,

Save face, save time, save your life.

Carbon copies taste better at night when the pile of your personality lies on the floor

Brush, touch, and bite your way to victory

Let him drink you in, take you away

Join the rest of the Reject Alices

In a knock-off Wonderland named

Go ahead, you’re a legend with your friends.

The friends whose eye sight is the same as your own

Blind to the Mirror By choice baby girl.

By choice.



A big tough samurai once went to see  a little monk.

“Monk,” he said, in a voice accustomed to instant obedience, “teach me about heaven and hell!”

The monk looked up at this mighty warrior and replied with utter disdain, “Teach you about haven and hell? I couldn’t teach you about anything. You’re dirty. You smell. Your blade is rusty. You’re a disgrace, an embarrassment to the samurai class. Get out of my sight. I can’t stand you.”

The samurai was furious. He shook, got all red in the face, and was speechless with rage. He pulled out his sword and raised it above him, preparing to slay the monk.

“That’s hell,” said the monk softy.

The samurai was overwhelmed. The compassion and surrender of this little man who had offered his life to give this teaching to show him hell! He slowly put down his sword, filled with gratitude, and suddenly peaceful.

“And that’s heaven,” said the monk softly.



I am Yoga and it is me. The practice is a life style and form, a way of living. My body is the vessel of yoga’s life and in return, yoga moves my life forward. Balance between physical and mental thoughts and an alignment of mind, body, and soul. With the practice of inhaling positive thoughts and feelings, stretching further to reach my goals be it a difficult pose or goal off the mat, yoga has trained me how to put a confident step forward. Exhaling the negative, release of self-doubt, fear, distrust, I am one with myself and the world around me. The practice of yoga is not just a good habit I’ve picked up over the years, it is as much apart of my life as the food I consume and the hope I have for tomorrow morning.

            Through-out my teenage years and into the start of my new-found adulthood, I suffered from severe depression and anxiety. Self hate, mutilation, and so on. I was lost in the sea of the world and everything it had to offer with no way to hang on. Breath would lock in my lungs with no form of escape. Emotions were unbalanced and baffling all at the same time. The idea of even being able to properly express what I was feeling was impossible. My dark disease only grew; taking on such heavy artillery and just about anything was a trigger. I did not eat. I did not sleep. I did not feel. A void so deep, hate had free reign and it’s flame grew uncontrollably.

Life continued like this. Leaving my high school early to home school, I missed the important milestones such as prom, graduation, the summer before college, and even college. When I did try my hand at schooling, I became so overwhelmed with my insecurities and fears and self hate, I simply left and never returned. How could I decipher what I wanted to study and do with my life when at that point, I didn’t even want life itself?

Still struggling with these ever-present battles, I also took on working full-time and paying bills as everyone does when they accept life as an adult. It wasn’t even that I accepted it, it just was. It just was how life goes, I thought. The moment of my Aha! Moment is something I will never forget. On a sunny April afternoon, my boyfriend at the time’s mother noticed the above average state of distress I had been in. She suggested I try a Yoga DVD she picked up and she herself had tried a handful of times. What did I have to lose?

Power Yoga with Rodney Yee, a GIAM production, was the practice. It was tough as nails, too! Having been athletic and active in sports or dance my entire life, I didn’t expect how incredibly hard it was. Reflecting back, I’ve realized it wasn’t the physical activity which was so difficult. It was the emotional work-out I went through. The segment included a meditation piece at the end. My breath was uncontrolled, a wild and furious force of air that I was forcing from the flow moments before. Surprise had my ears wide open for Mr. Yee’s calm instructions. Hands settling upon either side of my worn out frame, my lids crashed closed and I quickly fell into compliance with the mediation process.

Three important things became crystal clear after my first yoga practice. The first being I felt good. I mean, Good; Really Good. Better than I had in years. In-tune with my long lanky limbs, I felt like I could focus on what it was I needed to do that day, week, and maybe about a month down the line. That came from control of my thoughts. They were no longer a caged bird fighting for escape.

This bled into the second gem I had uncovered. I wanted to continue to feel like this all the time, if I could help it. Yoga was my shining beacon upon an otherwise foggy and bleak outlook. Somehow it broke through that haze and penetrated my heart. I was hooked and it had been about forty-five minutes anything even remotely relating to yoga had entered my life.

Finally, it had me reassess my life fully. Meditation had opened a window and a fresh breeze blew in to shake the dust from their corners. Clearly I was unhappy and clearly it was something that could be changed. Commitment took on a new meaning that day.

Equipped with these tools of thought, I explored further. I researched blogs for the benefits of this new life-style I wanted. The life style I needed. Steady practice now taking place on the daily for me, my confidence sky-rocketed and more importantly, I started to discover myself as a person. My skin fit and I was learning how to laugh in those sticky situations. The process wasn’t over night, just asRomewasn’t built in a day.

Living on my own and working a full-time job that did not require any specific soft of education besides previous experience, I dedicate my time to yoga. Be it reading about its past and the philosophies which fuel it in books or articles on the internet or watching interviews with teacher and mentors. I have even started a blog to record the thoughts, ideas, and anything else that practicing yoga has inspired me with.

At the start of the 2012 year, I could feel my depressive episodes picking up again. This time I focused on what was causing it and how I could change that. Any way I looked, the answer was obvious. My employment. I was not happy or nearly as productive as I could be. I also am not doing what I love. There’s a saying my sister has told me often. Do what you love and love what you do, but don’t do it for free. The last bit wasn’t really anything I paused on for long but she did have a very solid point. Well, I asked myself, what is it I love to do? Sure I have a list of hobbies and passions I pursue but what is it I love to do all the time? That I would want to build my life around so I could dedicate said life? Perform at my best?

I pondered these questions over and over; mulling them as I practiced my yoga and meditation in hopes an answer would come to me as so many have before this way. No avail took place. It confused me since this method had worked before when I was struggling to find my answers. I did more yoga. More flows through out my day. A morning wake-up or sun salutation before breakfast and work. A de-stress and reenergize round in the afternoon after work and powerful or more challenging flows taking place in the evening upon my ever faithful mat. More and more yoga entered my life. I started purchasing books with more in-depth explanations upon poses or histories. I buried my nose in books written by experts about their own accounts and stories. Soaking all these things up, I started to forget what was fueling me to pursue such a large plate of yoga.

I woke up one morning and the answer was as obvious as it could be. What was I doing with all my free time? How many countless hours had I dedicated to studying already? How often did I encourage family, friends, and even strangers to at least give yoga a try?

The first time I said out-loud that I wanted to be a Yoga Instructor, my heart skipped a beat. An electric shock shot down my spine and pooled deep in my toes. It was thrilling so I repeated myself despite running the risk of sounding like a lunatic. What did I care? There had never been something I wanted so tremendously except maybe peace of mind. Yoga had provided me with that and now it was the answer to what my next step was. Where I was taking my life and what path I would walk upon. Where did I start and how soon could I be doing what I love all day everyday?!

Endless hours of research and comparison of styles, studios, and education value took place soon after. I’ve meditated and dedicated many long days and nights into where I should invest myself in. The achievement of my instructor license is something I insist on doing, regardless of what it takes. I know if I continue with my new life-style, which I’m certain I will, I can face any challenge in life. Fred Devito said, “If it doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you.” I couldn’t agree more based off of my personal experience that has brought me to this point in my life path.


This was my essay entry, albeit some cut from this post, for a scholarship for my instructor license. Any and all comments are highly encouraged and would be tremendously helpful. Thanks!

Blood Fire

These are the kind of days that the Sun sort of just sets your blood on fire. You can’t help but move and smile and DO. Go explore something new today, just so you can tell yourself at the end of the night you grew as a person. No-one ever regrets that. And why should they? Share one of your secrets, face one of your fears, and rebuild that bridge you burnt long ago.