Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On

Oh holy crap. I'm tired of myself. I find that I have nothing to say. Who would ever have thought that I'd say that?

I know that Ann Coulter is on a rampage about liberals. I don't care. The 4th anniversary of the war in Iraq has passed. I care, but have nothing to add to the hand-wringing and despair. People are being executed. We're still polluting the planet. Priests are still inflicting pain on children and other parishioners. I care -but only sort of. I do my work -but only sort of. My house hasn't seen the appropriate end of a dust mop in more time than I want to admit. What is WRONG with me????

I've decided that the only place where my whining shuts the #_)$ up is on my yoga mat. It certainly doesn't happen at church, which would be the other likely choice. Living alone has not brought out the best in me. Oh, you noticed, did you???? Well, it would be hard not to. I can get on a real rampage about how pathetic I am -that I don't know what to do when the car makes that noise, when the dryer won't dry, when there's a picture to be hung, when there's company that I want and don't have.

But yoga focuses on what is right with me. You can't sort of hang a picture or sort of dry clothes, but you can sort of do triangle pose (or whatever). There are modifications that work with whatever your body offers today. And since I can't see myself do yoga, I fondly imagine that I look like Shiva Rea or Desiree Rumbaugh. (Delusions R Us!)

So... maybe what yoga teaches me is that I need to modify my world so that I can live fully in it. I don't know how to do that, but I need to do SOMETHING. So I'm giving myself permission to create boring blog posts for a little while. Perhaps my brain and compassion and my ability to take someone else's perspective on injustice just need some props and assistance before they can fly on their own again.

Now, if only those props were available at amazon or Target, like my yoga props.... Alas, no.