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In War There Are No Unwounded Soldiers
How do you live to lessen the causes of war? I believe this memorial is meant to glorify soldiers and their grit. I find it a call to wage peace.

Image of panels from American Veterans Disabled for Life Memorial, Washington, DC. ββIn war there are no unwounded soldiers.β - Art and Culture | Asana, Pranayama, and Yoga Practice | Community and Family | Food for the Mind (Yoga Philosophy, etc) | Meditation
Two Ways of Looking at Things (and Women: Count Your Apertures)
My studies today (it is a very rare day that I do not read some of a yoga text or commentary) included a mention of the body’s nine openings. The yoga treatises ubiquitously mention the “nine openings” of the body through which prana enters or leaves (is dissipated). Certain practices are designed to open the tenth, which is an energetic opening that corresponds to the fontenelle at the crown of a baby’s head.
A few month’s ago, my astute friend Jane, who has given birth and nursed, pointed out that a woman has 12, not nine openings.
What is a woman to do in response to this apparent disconnect or male exclusivity? Reject out of hand the teachings as only being misogynistic and of limited utility because they originated for male physiology and not female? Interpret the teachings and correlative practices as being based on the anatomical and energetic openings common to both sexes? Deeply explore the practices relating to this teaching and discover whether there are subtle ways to modify and reinterpret and apply the teachings and practices to address the lack of reference to and recognition of the three crucial additional openings that are fundamental to a woman’s being?
Guess which of these I am most likely to advocate and practice.
Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
My Saris Are in India
Seeing photos of my saris (which are now journeying with a friend in South India) brings memories of scents–incense and dust, burning ghee, dung and jasmine blossoms, and the feel of hot stones underneath my bare feet. There it is (evidently newly pressed) among the nagas–serpents, tendrils of myth and memory arising desires from our deepest [un]consciousness. Perhaps I will dream of such tonight.




