Stream of Conciousness

I've been under the weather with some yucky stomach parasite since the second day of the New Year. Yesterday found me both (mostly) well and hungry. Not for a meal (although, Lord knows its nice to have eaten something solid), but for a run. I love running but for some reason hadn't had the deep yearning for the sensation of foot to pavement in quite some time. Not since, I dare say, my trip to Mexico at the end of March (where I contracted, I suspect, the aforementioned parasite).

I tried to hone my thoughts from the run into something readable when I got home. Here are the results:

Running for me is as sensual as a ripe peach, with the innate ability to transport and transfix. It brings me into a meditative state, one where I can practice single pointed focus, a task that is genuinely difficult for me to find otherwise. It's seems paradoxical to me that the ritual of physical activity combined with thought (a multitasking, no?) brings me the closest that I've known to a state of real meditation.

There is something special about running in the winter. The cold of a winter run touches deep in my lungs, with every breath bringing a little reminder that joy doesn't always come from that which is easy.

To practice yoga as I understand it, the dedication I bring to my is as important as the work I bring to my asana practice. I must work to towards bettering my sauca, or cleanliness. There are great advances to be made in the ways of personal development within each limb of yoga, but eventually I have to do what is hard, and that includes maintaining a tidy home. Ugh. I try very hard not to take the easiest path on the mat, and I shouldn't cheat myself put of an opportunity to further my personal practice off that mat, either. This means doing dishes and scrubbing the floors with as much vigor and respect as I bring to my mat-based work. This is the work of tapas, or austerity, yet another niyama. Ultimately, this will allow me to further my appreciation of tapas, or austerity.

This city is so beautiful. When my heart starts to swell near past it's seams in the glory of it's sheer capacity to awe, I find myself near tears. My eyes somehow informs my heart of just how blessed I am. And how lucky I am to have people with whom I can share all of this fucking beauty. Love, too, is a path of yoga.

Cop Attacks (Mouthy) Cartwheeler

As a (presently) 26 year old yoga teacher, I spend a lot of time working on finding awareness in my own skin. That awareness makes me comfortable with tapping into the exploration of my body in a variety of ways. Down isn't always up, and sometimes doing a headstand between two chairs is exactly what I want to do. Frankly, 9 year old's and I have a lot in common:

• Primary Colors
• Comfort with saying "No!"
• Love of Super Heroes & Forts
• Cartwheels

If I were brazenly ticketed and beaten everytime I stood on my hands in public, we'd have to have a Free Michael Fundraiser every three months. Wait? What?

Beaten? Yes.

Okay, for the tl;dr (too long; didn't read) crowd, I've bolded the important points. He's a hottie, he's gay, and he's an actor:

Jessie On The Brink-- "Police Brutality- New York's Finest"

http://jesseonthebrink.blogspot.com/2009/10/police-brutality-new-yorks-finest.html

"We cut through the giant main room of Grand Central, and it was really empty so I did a cartwheel. The police called me over, and gave me a ticket for "disorderly conduct". A cartwheel! Are you gonna give every 9 year-old who does a cartwheel a ticket?

It was so unbelievable, and I let them know it. But when they were done issuing me the citation, I start walkinig toward my friend Stace who was waiting nearby. Facing him, not the cops, I utter an expletive about the cops, and next thing I know I'm being tackled by several policemen from behind.

...

And here's the thing about having your arms behind your back and your head being smashed repeatedly into the floor of Grand Central Station by the very people who are supposed to protect you: the only thing you can try to do is move your neck from side to side -- so that the blunt force will cause more trauma to your head, than to your face. I blacked out."

Tip Your Waitstaff

Eggs, Hashbrowns, and Firearms:

"I said what is your fuss about. I said we haven't paid for our food. She (Ward) said well you all got to leave. How you want us to leave and we ain't paid for the food yet," says Samuel.

That's when it got ugly. Samuel says she threw a waffle at the waitress. "I did actually throw some food but it didn't hit her," says Samuel. "That's when she (Ward) jumped across the counter and we got into it," says Samuel.

Clarendon County Sheriff Randy Garrett says the altercation continued outside where he says Ward got a gun from her car and a gun magazine from her trunk.

Investigators say Ward's gun discharged during the altercation. They say a bullet fragment struck Samuel in the arm.

I've been working in the service industry since I was 16 years old. Whether it was (this is chronological) working behind a wench at the Renn Faire, singin' happy birthday over red and white striped suspenders (flair), or slinging boozey treats in a yuk-yuk dungeon, I've seen all manner of jerk.

I've never shot someone. Remarkably.