Art and Culture | Asana, Pranayama, and Yoga Practice | Food for the Mind (Yoga Philosophy, etc) | Poetry | Quaker
Found Quotation
I say without hesitation that Ravi Shankar is one of the influences that led me to the deep practices of yoga. When I was first exposed to it through the Beatles in my early childhood, the music appealed to me at a visceral level. Throughout my late childhood and teens, I loved to dance or allow myself to go into a trance state listening to Indian music. On reading of his leaving this body, I take a moment to honor Ravi Shankar.
When I was walking into work in the cold rain this morning, the song “Plastic Jesus” arose in my head. I thought that I didn’t know many of the lyrics, but when I got back and checked for recordings to see just how much I was missing, I realized it was because there aren’t many lyrics. Here is Paul Newman singing it in Cool Hand Luke. The Levellers have a great cover (with some variations on the lyrics–listen carefully), as do the Flaming Lips. The original is harder to find.
With it’s gentle tongue in cheek message, the song invites us to contemplate the real purpose of any spiritual practice (including the yoga — see, for example, Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra, at 2.46-2.48): to be sufficiently full of love and devotion and recognition of spirit, that we are not ungrounded or driven to suffering when faced with discomfort or inconvenience. And if we get really good, freedom from suffering in the face of true pain, loss, and outrage. That is, of course, a key reason for practicing.
I was glad I looked up.
I pulled no longer productive summer plants and planted lettuce, spinach, chard, and arugula. The birds have been eating my seeds, so I got seedlings at Eastern Market yesterday morning. I have planted some more seeds, but wanted back up. The grape tomato is still prolific, alone among the tomatoes. The cucumbers are completely past, making room for chard and turnips. It is time to make the last batches of pesto with the basil and parsley. Another blossom has come and not quite gone on the night-blooming cereus.
