Mycroblog • 1 January 2011

1.1.

9 Comments

  • Posted 1 January 2011 at 6:59 am | #
  • Posted 1 January 2011 at 2:35 pm | #

    Al buen entendedor, pocas palabras bastan

  • Posted 1 January 2011 at 3:28 pm | #

    SUCH a great link (“now”)!

  • Posted 1 January 2011 at 6:38 pm | #

    Thanks! Diving in..

  • Posted 2 January 2011 at 2:40 am | #

    wow, have a great time in Mysore.

  • Posted 4 January 2011 at 10:27 am | #

    🙂

  • Posted 12 January 2011 at 8:32 am | #

    Hmmm, where is my voice? Lodged in a bubble down behind my sternum, it seems. Still some tears left in me, maybe holding off until they dissipate.

    Yesterday at Amruth, while I watched the chai man ladle that liquid crack, there was a sharp sting on my throat. I shivered and flicked at the sensation, and my friend Elise went wide-eyed and pointed to the floor. A large green caterpillar rolled up and then inched away along the tile.

    Why was there a caterpillar crawling across my throat? Still figuring out what my subjective symbolic lexicon says about that. Today there’s a bit of tenderness—but no mark—in the place she was biting.

  • Posted 12 January 2011 at 8:56 am | #

    Meantime, here:

    “Louise.” We’ve known each other by sight – in webspace – for a while. But when we met over an evening coconut last Friday, we didn’t recognize each other. Louise is Rebecca’s sister, though, so somehow she pieced our one-degree connection together when i mentioned LA. She has the best ashtangi eyes in Mysore here (and she roams very different pathways than most others, thankfully). And here is her blog.

    Karen Breneman. Here. This only scratches the surface of her experience. There is a new book project, too. And—yet another angle—she has a bead on Mysore’s hidden disco fringe. I am considering acquiring a bicycle so that I can stalk this woman. (Just a little bit.)

    Great account of conference last week. Angelique, I’m not sure we’ve met, but our mutual friend Marcelo SB linked this.

    Sonya is here. And she’s also just down the road from my house, probably tele-working this very moment.

    Jaime is here, as most of you know. And she’s many other places too. Really enjoying her presence here lately, especially since our rhythms bring us together frequently. Last night, we hung out on my rooftop at sunset and I started to see a new dimension. She’s as brave and contemplative as she is sharp and funny. A blessing, and a beautiful person.

  • Posted 12 January 2011 at 9:09 am | #

    BTW, speaking of blocks.

    Remember last year how there was all this attraction/revulsion around really learning Devengari? I don’t want to let myself get too interested in the technicalities of Sankrit. That shit feels dangerous – as if there are a number of possible delusions or distractions into which it might draw me.

    My solution to the fear of liking Sanskrit (and, a fortiori, the ancient Hindu scriptures) too much is to suck at it. Being a bad student is something I do very well, so when the teacher ridicules me in class, I actually like it rather than being inspired to work harder.

    This isn’t a joke. My default samskara = terrible student. No perfectionism is here; and there is usually no interest in pleasing teachers. Rather, I only learn at my pleasure, and feel misunderstood when I’m seen as some sort of achiever. If the Editor is reading, he will confirm. This is one of the most common ways my impatience samskara takes shape. I understand that this pattern is mindless, egotistical, self-sabotaging and childish… but Goethe makes it sound glamorous and life-affirming:

    Incidentally, I despise everything which merely instructs me without increasing or immediately enlivening my activity.

    I first read that line a few months ago. Nietzsche quotes it in his wonderful essay on the methodology of history.

    Anyway, the more I think about the teacher (who is very pleased by good students), the less interested I am in doing the assignments. Pleasing him (learning for his sake) seems antithetical to the material as an end in itself. Thus I’m pursuing neither. Funny that a mental block should have such a circular shape. 🙂

    I’m hoping that I’ll either stop resisting the material for its own sake (which, again, is a fear that I’ll get overly interested in studying the Vedas and shit), or the classroom experience will start to feel more jazzy and improvisational and I can pick up the knowledge through those sort of practical means without doing much work outside of class. In any case, for the moment I don’t know whether to engage it as music (like a romance language) or as math (like Hebrew). Something about treating language as logic makes me go narcoleptic. Too bad one can’t learn street Sanskrit.

    Friends who have studied the language: any practical advice? (The second I wrote that sentence while thinking of you, Carlos, a cow mooed loudly in the street. So your snide reply has already been issued. Don’t be redundant.)

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