If you subscribe to Kripalu Magazine like I do, you can check out the yoga clothing, although I cannot read the print. I still like looking at the pictures. They do have magazines on talking books, but I never ordered any from the state library, because I cannot imagine reading an entire magazine, back to back, every article. Men sometimes say they only get Playboy for the articles, but the only men who are being truthful, are blind men. Seriously.
Anyhoo, when it comes to yoga clothing, I think if you teach yoga, I can see spending money on really great yoga clothes, such as Beyond Yoga and PrAna, but if you are just taking a class or doing it at home, I think yoga pants and tops from Walmart or Target are good enough.
The summer before last, I went to Charleston with a girlfriend, to visit one of my friends from the school for the blind, and we stayed with a lady who is a doctor. I never get up early, but I agreed to get up early to go to yoga with her. She had beautiful yoga pants, which she said she bought online for about sixty dollars. I coveted them. They were the kind with slits in the back, and really quick drying, wicking material, easy care, pretty, etc..
I ended up finding a pair of teal green ones for a little over thirty online, from Beyond Yoga. They were the only slightly expensive yoga pants I have bought. Now I am longing for a pair of straight ones in orange, but I am being good and patient. It has been a year and a half, but I suppose that since I am not going to classes right now, and did not get my teaching certification, I can just do yoga in anything that stretches. I even do yoga in my jeans sometimes, the ones with stretch in them, but I prefer to wear yoga pants.
I think just regular tanks and teas, both long and short sleeved are good enough. I do not find shelf bras comfortable. For men who might be reading this, that is a built in bra, which many yoga shirts have. I have two like that, both from J.C. Penney's, one purple and one gray and pink, with matching pants.
I like the kind of yoga pants that fold over at the waste, and I kind of prefer the shorter ones, because I am 5'3", so I have actually had to hem yoga pants. I can sew with an eyeless needle, stuck in a cork, a trick I learned in Columbia, at the commission.
Speaking of Columbia, I took a wonderful ashtanga yoga class there, advanced, at City Yoga in the university area. It was an intense time, and I ended up crying during shavasana every time, which is actually a good thing, a release of all that is no longer serving one, or what Eckhart Tolle calls our 'pain body.'
The instructor had gorgeous yoga attire, the best I had ever seen. They also sold yoga clothes, which I looked at longingly, while waiting for my ride. They had royal blue, cotton pants and absolutely gorgeous tops.
About five years ago, I went up to Calabash, North Carolina, to a consignment shop, where we found a gray and red yoga outfit, that one of my girlfriends got me as a birthday present. We were celebrating my birthday. That was a really cute one, too, and not too expensive, being at a consignment store, another option for finding great yoga clothes. I do not suggest Goodwill for yoga clothes. I haven't seen any good ones, and I prefer not to have someone else's energy on my yoga clothes. They tend to be more personal, since you sweat on them, etc..
Well, that is enough about yoga clothes for today, I suppose. Next time, perhaps, I could discuss yoga mats, blocks, bolsters, Mexican blankets, straps and other props, not to mention yoga carrying bags that you sling over your shoulder.
Eckhart Tolle says that when we do not like someone, it is our ego struggling for survival. Of course, that is what the ego does. We take others' inventory. We may be right, and yet, only the ego is what is threatened.
Still, I see a lot around me that makes no sense. I see people clamoring for spiritual success and prestige in the eyes of their peers in their insular community. I see so much of this in the Meher Baba world. It is strange. They line up to embrace someone, just because they met Meher Baba, but not the people who met Meher Baba, the ones who they approve of. I see so much unpalatable behavior around the Meher Center, that I find it utterly shocking and disappointing. I wonder how they can be this stupid, this insane, this ridiculous.
I realize that my ego is judging all of this, but I know deep down that this is all sick. It is all so strange to me. I see the egos of others, so desperate to defend their important stature, perceived by self or others. I see them play into the game. I observe, and it sickens me, literally.
I see the hypocrisy, the lack of morals and ethics, the lack of compassion or insight. There is no one in that entire community that I could reach out to, that would understand anything I am saying, because they are so caught in the 'bull shit.'
Again, I know this is ego, which makes me perceive this way, and yet it is so dark and false, that it saddens me. I wish one person could see the insanity. It would give me some hope about it, some ease to the horror of it, but I see people who are supposedly intelligent, playing into these silly things, these games.
I realize there is nothing I can do about it, and I have to just let go of it, and just walk away from it. I need to let go. I have no power, and I do feel a sense of separation, but in a good way. There are so many agendas going on, that it baffles me, and not one bit of it is honest or sincere. If it is, it is very naïve.
When Margie entered the bar in her low cut red dress on Christmas Eve, the men smirked. They knew her. Laughter even erupted a bit as she walked gracefully across the room, her wild red brown hair framing her heart shaped face, eyes done up.
"Who wants to buy her a drink this time?," Benny cried out, and everyone laughed loudly, raising their glasses.
She sat down on a bar stool next to Johnny. He looked over at her. He was the nice one, of them all.
"Hey Johnny," she gushed.
Johnny hugged her around her shoulders. He had tied on a few already. He had been sitting at the bar since 1:00 that afternoon, drinking gin and tonics. It was six o'clock now.
"What are you drinking, Margie? Merlot, as usual," he asked her.
She nodded as he lit her cigarette.
She blew out the smoke into the misty blue air. "Yeah, that'd be great."
Rudy came over. He was a regular, an Italian guy, who did construction for a living. He had liked Margie in a romantic way when she first started coming, but when he saw how pathetic she was, he just began to pity her somehow. Everyone did, and yet some would say she was a person who just used everybody to buy her a drink, to flatter her, whatever it was she needed at the time.
"Hey, Margie, why aren't you home with your kids?," he asked. She had two teenagers.
"They're probably partying right now as we speak." She took another drag on her smoke. Truthfully, although that was usually the case, tonight she had promised to watch It's a Wonderful Life, their usual Christmas tradition, but somehow drinking had become her way of life, and the bar had become her haven, rather than home. She did not know why. She just felt alone sometimes with no man in her life, when the kids were partying with their friends, and she was by herself.
She had had men in her life, but they were always abusive in one way or the other. They either hit her, stole money from her, had a drug problem, or cheated on her. One was just completely berating and psychologically abusive. She was tired of it all. It seemed like this bar, The Oasis, was her only refuge these days. She did love her kids, and she would die for them. At forty-four she still wanted something. She just did not know what it was.
"You should go home, Margie," the very sober Rudy muttered.
"Oh, go sit down," Jamie, the bartender, told him. He did not want Rudy and Johnny getting into it, which they did from time to time. Rudy had a way of trying to tell everyone what to do, and how to live their life. Jamie knew that although Rudy could handle his liquor, never even got drunk, he could be a handful.
He did, and Margie continued to talk and laugh with Johnny.
People did not know what to make of Margie. She lived in her hometown, but the people who knew her longest even, did not know what to make of her. Some pitied her. Some loathed her. Some loved her out of some sort of noble idealism, but no one truly knew her or even took the time to.
To some she was a gypsy, even though she had lived in the same place longer than anyone else. To some she was a witch or a sorceress, a wiccan with her Stevie Nicks style clothing. To some she was a new age hippie free spirit, who had no rules in life, and therefore she threatened society, their view of it. The truth was she did have rules, she just did not play by their rules. That was the distinction they did not understand. She was a good person in many ways, but she was constantly judged as not a good person by her community, because few would take the time to really know her, as though she were beneath them all somehow.
She was not attracted to Johnny, but he was a friend, or a least she thought so. She was joking about going to a strip bar with him. She really had no intention, but she joked about it, and he did too. Where else could they go when the bar closed? She certainly was not going to go home with him or vice versa. She just did not see him that way. She truthfully, never really picked men up, anyway. He would have to be a serious boyfriend to even come to her home, and meet her kids, except that one cute young guy she met at her friend's party. She literally had walked into her house that night, holding his hand, saying to her teenage son, "this is my boyfriend, Brendon," like they were in a committed relationship already. It was really quite comical. Still, even then, she had gotten her wits about her and sent him on his way. Not to mention, she was a bit messed up and paranoid that night. That was not like her at all.
The bar closed. "Look, I'm going home to my kids," she slurred. Johnny lit her cigarette. They stood outside the bar.
"Oh, come on Margie. It'll be fun."
"No," she said, and stomped out her cigarette with her high heel boot. "Here's my cab. Merry Christmas, Johnny."
"Merry Christmas," he drawled as he watched her close the door and ride away in the passenger seat of her cab.
When she walked in her front door, the kids were still up watching television. "Hey, let's have some coco and watch It's a Wonderful Life," she said, throwing down her red woolen wrap.
Relieved to be home, safe and sound, she threw down her purse and kicked off her boots, while the kids got out the movie.
"I'm glad you didn't forget, Mom," Daniel, her younger son said. She smiled at him, still a bit tipsy, but glad she made the right choice. She put the water on to boil in the kettle. The Christmas tree lights sparkled, and everything was alright in the world for now, she thought. It was alright for now, and now was all there was.
The End
Author's note: I originally had a tragic ending, where she decides to drive drunk with Johnny in the car. She had decided to go home, but he came and got in the car anyway. I guess each moment is a chance to do the right thing. I guess I rewrote my own story in a way, but gave it another chance for her to do the right thing, but of course I have many times done the right thing. I have been watching lots of dark films with strange endings that make you wonder. I just did not want to depress everyone on Christmas. I did not want to depress my readers. Life can be hard enough for many of us. I hope you liked my story anyway, even if it was a bit unusual.
In my last blog, I talked about change and moving on. I am a strong believer in this. For years I have studied the I Ching, also known as 'the book of change.' In Chinese philosophy and other philosophies as well, even Christian, change is always going to be the state of the world, life, existence.
As much as one may want to resist change, that will only exist one, because change is inevitable, in one way or another.
Recently, I have changed my life in many ways, not all by my own choice exactly, but fully knowing what was best for my soul. I cannot be anyone I am not. I have been there, done that, in relationships in the past, and the definition of insanity is repeating the same mistakes over and over, expecting different results.
I would never ever try to be anything or anyone I am not. At one time, I would. I was sort of born in the wrong time, wrong place, wrong family, wrong everything. Many people feel this way, and so we seek out wrong everything and everyone, because we think we do not deserve better than always being second best, second fiddle, and less than all the time.
Those of us, who are not from loving homes, seek people out, subconsciously, because we do not feel we deserve any better than this. This is very sad, because every person is a beautiful child of God. They just do not know it.
Our society and culture preaches and teaches, 'specialness,' something obsolete in its falsehood. A Course in Miracles explains this well.
There was a time in my youth, no matter how gorgeous, intelligent, and talented I was, I would feel less than a man, and feel lucky to have him at all, because I was never taught in any way, to love or value myself.
Things have not changed, in terms of sexism. As many videos I have produced for my Youtube channel, the only one that got many, many hits, was the one interviewing my brother. Why? It is simple. He is male. I am female. Females will always be less than males in the world's view. We have an African American president, but will we ever really have a woman president or even vice president?
Stop being who your parental figures in your head want, or a stupid spouse wants. Be who you truly, truly are, a beautiful child of God. They cannot touch that, no matter how hard they try.
Many, many people come from far from perfect upbringings and parenting. From the reviews on Amazon.com, Toxic Parenting is a helpful book for many. This is an example of how so many people have barely been able to overcome their difficulties, much of which was caused by a lack of enlightened or loving parenting.
From the time we are born, our nerve synapses are taking in information, learning, experiencing, intuition, call and response. It is the age old topic of 'nature vs. nurture,' how identical twins raised in different surrounding, if given up for adoption, can be so different, even the same exact DNA, if identical. You know how, on crime shows, the perfect murder is sometimes committed by the evil twin. If there is no way of proving who's DNA, than how do we know?
I am not hear to vent or to talk about my own life, or whatever may be or could have been. Still, some people, given what they are given or not given, are almost doomed from the start. I consider myself one such person. Yes, I know I am very semi-successful in certain circles, but if you look at my life as a whole, you would see that in many ways I have failed to achieve the things I set out to.
I realize that I am not unique in this way. Still, as a mother, I know what being a mother is about. You know how Obama said, "anyone can be a father, but it takes more to be a dad." He is right about that, and that includes being a mom.
Many women in our society have had to let the father have custody for a period of time, and that does not make you a bad mother, not in my book. It is not about us, the mother. It is about the child.
Their are two kinds of mothers that are dysfunctional, the collapsed mother and the child mother, who is such a child herself, that she cannot be an adult. Some mothers grow out of this, while others never can, and remain adult children all their lives. who cannot comprehend, nor value the feelings of their children or even grandchildren. I do not want to get all pop-psychology, but these mothers are usually narcissistic, and this may not be entirely their fault, because the legacy of bad parenting may not have started with them.
In the book, Women Who Run With the Wolves, Pinkola, PhD., talks about how women who are not properly mothered, can heal through relationships with other women, as well as older women, who may be mentors to them, as well as friends. It is very important that women bond with women of all ages, young and old.
Now to talk about my topic, I guess to heal the heart, one needs to forgive, all the while, still protecting oneself through healthy boundaries with the people who have hurt us consistently.
If we forgive and move on, we can find a place in our hearts that is open to love and feel compassion for others. People would be amazed how many people on this planet are psychopaths, meaning they cannot feel empathy. But, you know if you are not a psychopath, what it is to have a truly compassionate open heart, and that is all that counts.
Although, one can never truly overcome hardships of their past, pain of it, we can overcome the anger, the holding on. We can love ourselves, even if that is not how we were raised. We have to learn sometimes, but if we want to have healthy relationships ever, with others, we need to love ourselves, and even forgive our parents, especially mothers, who we craved nurturing from the most I think.
The biggest thing is that you survived, you, you made it. You have feeling for others. You can be a good parent. You can overcome a legacy of pain, and you can break a cycle of dysfunction.
Recently, I have been really interested in the best colors for the bedroom, Feng Shui style. According to blogs I have read, the combination of warm, earthy brown and robin's egg blue are most effective. White is also a good color, especially combined with brown. However, for children's bedrooms, brown is not recommended.
Brown is also good in kitchens, and speaking of kitchens, I was at my sister and brother in law's for dinner, and their home belongs in a magazine, so country, so southern, so rustic.
I watched her make a large chicken. Once the giblets were out and on the baking pan, chicken seasoned liberally, vegetable strewn about for roasting, I observed her stuff rosemary, straight from the garden, right into the chicken, as well as a whole lemon, cut in half.
The result was amazing, tender, earthy.
So, on to bedrooms, I will say that high thread count sheets are better, in my opinion, than microfiber. Although they have thread count up to one-thousand, I find that four-hundred is great, and cheaper, but sometimes, one-hundred, eighty can be enough.
If you have shopped for a throw this year, you may have found Sherpa, which is fake sheep's wool. You know, the wooly stuff, with a velvety exterior. It is warm, lovely, and if the package says hypoallergenic, the more reason to buy it.
Jackets are also made of Sherpa, and they are especially worth buying for warmth. I happen to like Dickie's brand of jeans, kakis, and general work apparel, tee's, etc..
I hope you find this blog helpful, for shopping and household.
Much can be said about coffee, and much can be said about the lack of coffee. Mainly, many people, such as myself, drink coffee, especially one cup in the morning.
I learned in school that coffee originated in Arabia, and that the cows were eating the beans and getting hyper. It is hard for me to imagine a hyper cow, all jacked up on caffeine, but they say that that was how they figured out that it was edible, but that it would give you a jolt of energy.
Edgar Casey, the renowned psychic from Virginia, who died years ago, said that coffee was good for you, as long as you drank it black.
Over the years, especially back in the eighties, when I was young, I have met many people who thought coffee was really bad, like a drug, and that included my ex-husband, so we did not drink coffee until I changed that rule. In California, I used to sneak out for a cappuccino, because my ex forbade me to drink coffee. I was tired, because I had a toddler, worked, and life in Los Angeles can make you feel lousy, especially when the smog was bad, back in those days.
After a life of making drip coffee, making coffee in a French press, etc., I started drinking instant when I went to stay at a friend's house, who does not drink or keep coffee around. I found that I like Nescafe.
Although coffee is definitely common in Europe, if you go to India or South America, they just have Nescafe, and coffee drinking is less common.
Of course, at five star hotels anywhere, you can get any coffee you want, but not in general, such as people's homes and restaurants.
Some yoga retreats did not used to have coffee on the menu, such as Kripalu in the Berkshires. My yoga teacher studied there, and said that if you got a headache, they had a secret stash.
Well, enough said about coffee for today.
