Friday, October 18, 2019


The Vagus Nerve

Hard to believe I’ve been rummaging around the body for so long and never busied myself with this fascinating nerve.

I’d heard about it, though, but the name turned me off, somehow. Vagus. How uninspiring. Although it is spelled the same in many different languages, it’s pronounced differently. The American side of my brain first thought it had to do with some gambling affliction, pronounced, as it is, like the word Vegas. After my move to Europe and saturated with a totally different way of pronouncing things, I thought it imagined it had something to do with a woman’s genitals. 

The fact is, it is a wandering nerve, (the name having the same root as the word, ‘vagabond’),  and has its origins in the heart.

My interest was piqued when I chanced upon an article that claimed that by stimulating the vagus nerve could drastically reduce inflammation in the entire body and allay the symptoms of arthritis.

Although I feel often enflamed, I have no telltale symptoms of arthritis. Nevertheless, I thought it might be a good read and supply some valuable info for the blog.

I was right!

After further research, I was astounded to find that by stimulating the vagus nerve and increasing its tone one is able to treat a wide variety of brain and mental health conditions, including:









Personality disorders

Addictive behavior

Failing memory

Boughts of feistiness in old age



Obsessive-compulsive disorder

Severe mental diseases

Brain injury

Chronic fatigue syndrome

Wow! Stimulating the Vagus could be the missing key to keeping the body forever young! I’m thrilled to inform you we are definitely into something wonderful here.

Studying a few of the techniques of how to get this particular nerve into working order, I was, alas, a bit disappointed as I realized I had been doing one of the most important exercises for the past 50 years in my yoga practice and probably won’t be up for any real changes. But who knows? Perhaps my myriad of personality disorders might disappear.

But not everyone has had the good fortune to have such an intimate relationship with Hatha Yoga so, for those who are interested in arresting or banishing any of the aforementioned symptoms, I will be describing the technique within the next few days, so, stay tuned!

Wednesday, October 16, 2019

Sam and Sam'S Son

Hoorah! The decision has been made. Henceforth, I shall be referring to the Big Guy in the Sky as Sam, a simple joining of the Sanskrit words So Ham: which means I AM, but don’t sound nearly so stalwart. The alternative was Al, (short for Almighty, All-encompassing, Almen, or Al Mundy, but the name Al conjures up too many pictures of a used car salesman. In my opinion, anyway).

I wanted to call Sam’s Son Prince Charming, but too many women (and not just a few men) might want to meet Him for the wrong purpose if I used that name, therefore I am calling Him: HS: Higher Self, Holy Self, Him Self, Hot Stuff, Horney Self, Holy Spirit, whatever.

And, just why is this ‘new name’ stuff so important to me?

First off, so I could get rid of all the clutter and shudder the old names have gathered over the years.

Another reason, (and a very important one), is because I need to remember I did not create my Self; my small self, yes, but not my big Self. Sam did; that Power which is over me and in me, but not of me.

Ever since the New Age mongers told me I created my own self, I’ve felt more than anxious. If I could create me, I asked myself, it followed that I could also destroy me. Not a nice thought for someone who has fucked up everything that has come his way since the time he was born. Thus, the idea my existence was in my own hands had me screaming and cursing at my friends and acquaintances every chance I got. Either that or caused me to revert to socially approved drugs. Both, not a good idea.

Sam’s Son cleared this up for me, telling me it was only my small, ego-self I could create, not my eternal, indestructible Self.

Another thing. Before the advent of Sam and HS, I felt Jesus and God were always looking over my shoulder when I was engaged in some nasty activity, i.e., fantasizing about sex or surfing the porn channels on the internet. This is no longer the case. Au contraire. Sometimes I even feel Sam and Son are encouraging this shady behavior because They know: naughtiness is a byproduct of guilt and, as we all know, sex without guilt is boring. And boring doesn’t make happy. Sam and Sam’s Son know: the fastest way to break a bad habit is not by abstaining but by doing it until you O.D.; i.e. until it doesn’t bring you happiness anymore. Granted, with this line of reasoning it might take lifetimes to clean up your act, but that’s where reincarnation comes in handy. We’ve now have all the time in the world!

Another thing I have to remind myself about is, I don't have to find my way Home by myself. Sam knows, I’ve tried and failed miserably. I no know I am in the company of One who has already made the journey and knows the road better than I do and is all too willing to guide me. And, HS is more up to date about my needs and purposes than JC of old who hung out with fishermen and tax collectors. With HS, I feel like I have acquired a straight boyfriend, someone I can rely on when the going gets rough, someone who really loves me, who doesn't judge me, who would never think about sleeping with me.

Last but not least: Have you ever notices the older you get the lonelier you tend to feel? It makes sense. You spend your entire life honing your circle of friends down to the point where only two remain: you and your mother, who, incidentally, isn’t alive anymore. The circle has morphed into a dot... a very small dot... way outside of the circle. Not that we no longer feel ti be a part of the whole, we wither away with anxiety.

Being a pariah from birth, this realization came a bit earlier to me than to most. I learned at a very early age that isolation, the feeling that feeling of being separated from the tribe, is the base of almost every anxiety that goes boom in the night. Coming up now up against the last few laps of the Marathon of life, you realize: I'm born alone and Idie alone. How anxiety-ridden is that for a thought?
So, if for no other reason than one's own sanity, the idea there is a Higher Self is essential in this journey from womb to tomb.

At first, this name changing stuff felt a bit sacrilegious to me until I asked myself, ‘Is it the name that is holy of the thing it represents?” After all, a rose by any other name still smells as sweet. (Unless it’s one of those new hybrids that don’t have any smell at all.)

Thursday, October 10, 2019

Still looking for a new name for God.

The task of finding a new name for the Almighty is more daunting than I first imagined. Added to that, I realized His image isn’t that much better.

Not only does the name God bring up all the bloody atrocities committed in His Name, it also has too many sharp edges and blunt sides when you say it. The name ‘God’ has been too saturated with blood, cruelty, and rough consonants to conjure up the images of Peace I need when I close my eyes and meditate. That soft-breeze flow across your agitated mind I expect to find when uttering the Name of the Most Divine is totally absent. 

After posting yesterday’s article, I reviewed, once again, alternatives. 

The name, ‘I AM,’ lost it, I’m sad to say. After all, it’s English, and just because it’s the preferred language throughout the world, doesn’t mean it’s the best sound for the Name of the Almighty. Also, before you know it, someone would contract it into “I’M” and started a whole new religion. And, a new belief system is not the purpose of this search. We already have too many of those.

So, once again, the names from yesterday and a few more to boot.

French: "Dieu" is poetic but toodifficult for a lot of people to get the tongues around. 

Spanish: "Dios," sounds kind of cheap, (but I think that has more to do with my programming, as I was raised on the border to Tijuana and was unmercifully bullied as a kid by the Mexican immigrants).  

The Italian "Dio!" starts out just as blunt as the previous two but it remained, nevertheless,  the name of choice a lot longer than the others. Then, I remembered how the Italians use the name of Dio in vain even more than the Americans. Bad enough to use the term, ‘Gawdammit,’ when the toilet overflows, but and often so abstract you can’t even understand the connotation. Two phrases come to mind: ‘Porco Dio!, (Pig-God) or ‘Dio Cane!’ (God-dog) when someone cuts you off in traffic? I just don’t get the connection.

So, I continued my search.

Back in the 90s, "Brahman," was my Name of choice. That stuck until the word ‘yoga’ began leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I mean, when yoga mats started selling at over 100 dollars and yoga pants even more, no matter how pleasant the sound, I realized Brahman no longer served purpose.

I also considered using the word "Om," as a name to conjure up His glory. Then I realized that "Om" is sound, not a name for the Almighty. Same thing with "Peace, Love, and Bliss." Qualitative, but only symbols of the real McCoy. 

Other names for God and their denominations that went through my mind:

As I said earlier, "Yahweh," was a pretty good alternative for a time with it's open vowel sounds and lack of hard consonants. But then I remembered Yahweh was the name of the deity who killed all those first-born sons back in Egypt! That atrocity alone killed the image. 

‘Allah’ was a nice alternative to Yawah, sounding enough alike you’d think They were brothers.  It also has a lot of that "AH" sound, which really tends to open up the heart area. Alas: Allah has gotten such a bad rap ever since 9/11 that it's going to take years to get the dirt cleared off those syllables. Another thing about Allah: He’s never had his portrait done. The closest I’ve is an Arabic scribble that is just a little too abstract for my tastes. I understand the intention behind this, (graven images, etc.),  but, let's face it,  humans need something visual to bow down to. 

 ‘Baha’ from the Baha'I faith. Alas, my Southern California upbringing brought up too many images of Silver Stream trailers and cheap, fish tacos just south of the border.

El, from the Hebrew. Too, too macho, amigo.

Elohim  - Mormon. Too cute and cuddly, somehow. I need a father figure, not a little brother.

So, where does this leave me? 

I need a name, a sound the provokes an image full of love and beauty and no jewelry. This word should conjure up pictures of a clean-shaven, heavenly Father with a countenance that draws me back into His loving arms, not something that pushes me in the other direction. 

Pim? Alois?

I have to admit, I'm stuck. 

Next Week's Topic: We also need a new name for Jesus Christ! Again: it's the sound it makes when it comes out of your mouth,  made even harsher by the yogis who scream it out every time they fail at some new yoga pose.


Wednesday, October 9, 2019

I am

The Name of the most High

I think one of the main reasons for atheism in the western world at this time has to do with God’s name.

In my opinion, the word, “God,” is too hard, too short, and too butch.  

Americans bitch and moan at the guttural sounds of the Germanic languages, claim everyone sounds like they’re coughing up phlegm when they’re saying even the most tender of endearments like, “I love you!” “(Ich liebe dich,” (German), “ Ik hou van jou,” (Dutch). or “Jag älskar dig,” (Swedish). I agree. All those uvulars and pharyngeals should be saved for swearing, not for serenading.

And yet, we’ve reduced Infinite Spirit, Supreme Being, the Big Guy in the sky to Gott, God, Gud, have made the tone of His name sound like an ice-cold fist in the face when He’s invoked.


 Don’t you just love what your lips do when calling up the ultimate of Hindu gods? A two-syllable sigh filled with soft ‘ah’s, curvy and seductive B’s and M's.  


Notice how the name opens your throat, softens your tongue, and quiets your mind.

Even the Hebrew name of God, “Yahweh,” or, “Elohim,” correctly pronounced, leads you through cool pastures and quickens your soul when you utter it.

But, “God?” A little too close to “Claude” to get me feeling religious when I say it in prayer.

And the romantic big three: “Dieu,” “Dio,” “Dios.” So much more romantic than God, even when you’re using His name in vain, which the French, Italian, and Spanish often do. Still, if I were the Almighty, I’d find it a lot easier to forgive them than their Northern cousins when they say it. Wouldn’t you?

Actually, I think the best way to invoke the Infinite Spirit is by heeding the sound of your breath, saying nothing at all. This is probably why the early Hebrews were forbidden to utter His name; not out of fear of getting a cold fist in their faces, but because they instinctively knew that giving Him a name would reduce what He is to something He is not.

My favorite name for the Divine Don, comes from the Bible, in the book of Exodus:

“And Moses said to the Almighty One, “Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The Creator of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what shall I tell them?”

The most Holy of Holies said to Moses, 
I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I am has sent me to you.'"

I am.

Sounds nice in any language, right?

Except for German, Dutch, and Swedish.
"I am what I am and that's all that I am, I'm Popeye the sailor man!"

(Who'd have ever thought he knew it?)

Tuesday, October 1, 2019

Look up

Ever notice how looking down tends to dampen your spirits? Unless, of course, you’re looking at a head of hair between your legs. Otherwise, studies have shown that a hanging head is a harbinger for depression. ;-)

Look up and laugh and live.

I put this wisdom into practice last winter, determined to hold my head high during those dark months preceding the spring. As the days waned, my head hung lower. Every attempt to raise it lasted 30 seconds, after which my eyes fell again to the tip of my shoes, to the Icey gray pavement in front of me.

Et, Voilà. The proof of the theory. A hanging head deepens depression. But questions remained. Were my eyes on the ground because depression was lurking in the shadows of my mind, or was I looking down because I’d already glimpsed the shadows?

The chicken and the egg dilemma.

Whatever. It proved my point. I made a note to start training my neck muscles at the gym in hopes of getting my gaze back up onto the horizon again. Either that or buy one of those plastic e-collars dogs wear to keep them from licking their balls. A definite help, but would probably make me even bluer because of the looks I would get while walking the streets. ;-)

The Bible says: I lift my eyes to the hills, from whence comes my help. Obviously, the Bible was onto this bit of news too.
Look up and laugh and live.

When you ‘look down’ on someone, you’re judging them, which is certainly not the proper practice if you want to remain in good spirits. Judgment taints the hem of even the purest garment

On the other hand, when you ‘look up’ to someone, you’re in awe of that person. And that feels a lot better. Unless that person is 20 years younger than you and looking very sexy. The sweetest fruit is so often forbidden.

It’s absolutely essential that, as we move into the winter of our lives, where there is less light, that we keep our gaze heaven-bound, metaphorically speaking. there are those determined to shiver when the sun is far beyond the solstice, others dwell in darkness in a room filled with light.

Look up and laugh and live, or look down long enough to find the Prozac lying on the table by your morning cup of coffee, and then laugh! ;-)

Friday, September 27, 2019

Cranial Herpes

Cranial Herpes

 The rash on my forehead had gotten worse in the past few months.

I’d tried a few homemade remedies before contacting the doctor: swabbing the rash  with a few driblets of morning piss, slathering it with swath of aloe vera gel, and finally, dabbing it with a couple of drops of tea tree oil, a particularly fitting remedy as the red patches were alive with small yellow pustules that looked suspiciously like spores of a fungal infection. To my eye, anyway.
With the dose of tea tree oil, the shit hit the fan. The rash spread like wildfire all the way down to my left eye-lid, threatening to mar the beauty of my baby blue eyes.
I decided it was time to see the skin doctor. The itch had become unbearable.
Miraculously, the doctor had a free appointment available that same day.
I meditated before I left, dousing the malady in white light and peace, a last attempt to heal the sickness from within. It was a difficult meditation. Interspersed between the heavenly thoughts of light, love, and eternal bliss, came images of the bubonic plaque, lung cancer, and demise. Hard to find peace when the mind is running wild with thoughts of Seventh chakra eczema.
With a dour look, the doctor invited me into his office, glanced at the top of my head, and asked if I’d been sleeping on a sandpaper pillow. I told him a was a yogi, accustomed to sleeping on a bed of nails, but my pillow was of purest Scandinavian down.
He didn’t smile.
When I told him that I’d slipped in headstand and maybe burned my forehead on the carpet, his mood remained gruff.
Afraid to lose my captive audience, I sobered and I informed him I first noticed an outbreak 30 years ago and thought it had something to do with the makeup I was using.
“But, I haven’t been using makeup for some time now,” I added. (I probably should have mentioned I was a stage performer and not a crossdresser at that point, but it slipped my mind.)
“Oh,” he replied. His face remained as if sculpted in stone.
“So. What is it? Please be honest. A rash, fungus infection, the outbreak of the bubonic plague?”
No smile. Obviously, a no-nonsense Prussian.
“Cranial herpes?” My last try.
“Herpes usually doesn’t show up on the crown of the head.” His reply was somber, as was to be expected.
“Here,” he said, handing me the prescription he’d just written. “If it’s not better in 3 months, make another appointment.”
If it’s not better in three days, I’m finding another doctor, I thought. The guy hadn’t even leaned in for a closer look, hadn’t seen the yellow pustules that had ruined my mediation, never considered I’d had the thing for a longer period of time.
I looked down at the prescription. “Can I use the cream to treat the white crust that keeps showing in my ears?” White scaly flakes dropped out of ears whenever I scratched for as long as I could remember. Probably eczema. Or, psoriasis. Ear dandruff?
“I doubt it. Like the rash, that’s also a reoccurring symptom of old age.”
Old age?
Which meant, what? That I’d been old for over 30 years now and hadn’t realized it?
The next day, I contacted a dermatologist and made an appointment. I had to wait six months, but it was worth it.
Much to my relief, it had nothing to do with old age at all.
Simply a mild form of skin cancer.
Glad to report it’s all cleared up now. But there’s a suspicious-looking pimple on my left butt cheek that came up last week. Itches like hell, but what can you do?

Sunday, September 22, 2019

My beliefs create my reality.

The power of thoughts

The age-old dilemma of the chicken and the egg has been solved: If this world is just an illusion, there is no chicken, nor is there an egg. If I create my own reality, they both came into existence at the same time namely, when I thought myself into existence. And, if that's not true? 

Before I answer that question, I have another question: why the hell am I pondering this ridiculous question at all? I have a more apt question to brake my head with: am I getting older because I think I am getting older, or am I thinking I am getting older because I feel like I am getting older? 

Someone wise told me that life is what we believe it to be. Rich people believe they are rich, poor people believe they are poor. If a rich man loses his money, chances are, he'll end up rich again within a few years because he thinks he is rich. Same thing with the poor man. He wins the lottery and within two years his reality looks just like it did before he won the jackpot.
Why and when did the rich man start thinking he was rich? Certainly not in his present incarnation because I've been doing that ever since I realized being a bird in a golden cage wasn't a consideration anymore. First, because no one with money would choose to stick a bird with my particular plumage his golden cage, and second, ever since I came out, I've had an abject fear of being caged in. 

So, the rich man must have started affirming wealth many incarnations prior to this one. But when? (Which came first: the chicken or the egg?) 

More to the point, though: when did I start to get old? If thoughts create our reality, (and I am sure they do), when did I start thinking I am old? Was it when my eyesight started to fail that I thought, "I am getting old?" Or did I start thinking, "I am getting old!" and then my eyesight started to get weaker? 

If I am what we think I am, if thoughts and beliefs form my present reality, when did I change the belief "I am young," to, "I am old?  

Philosophy would say, "You are not getting older...your body is. And your body is not who you are." In that same vein, "I am as God created me, (eternal spirit), and, no matter what I think or believe, I can't change that." But I can pretend to change it. And that pretension is what created this finite world in the first place. It is this level of being that is made real by my thoughts and beliefs. And that's where I believe the problem is.
SO, again: which came first: the symptoms of old age that gave rise to the belief I am getting older, or the belief that gave rise to the symptoms?

I don't remember consciously asking for any of the debilitating symptoms of old age, and I didn't start consciously believing that my body was aging until I experienced the symptoms.  

I am putting this question out into the Universe, expecting a plausible answer in the very near future:
Which came first? The egg or the egghead? 

Wednesday, September 18, 2019



I’m not a real fan of affirmations. From the age of 21 to 35, I affirmed a full head of hair: I saw myself in front of the mirror combing my hair, in my head heard compliments about the unusual luxuriousness, set aside enough money for the most expensive hair products and beauty salon. I visualized it and then let it go, as I was instructed, confident the Universe would take over. And, I still went bald. Come forty, I affirmed eternal youth, unbounded riches, world fame.  I am at the age now to tell you, ‘It didn’t work.’ That’s one of the benefits of growing older: you can look back over your life and see what worked and what didn’t.  

I’m looking for something that works a hundred percent of the time, not just now and then, and when it does work, it’s mostly for everyone else but me.

Your run of the mill affirmation is a lot like goal setting, (see previous blog post),: sometimes it works, sometimes not. ‘I will be a millionaire before I am thirty,’ both a goal and an affirmation, sometimes it comes out good, sometimes it’s a waste of time. And who’s to know which is which until push comes to shove and frustration is all we have to show for all our industriousness?

This is not to say that affirmation does not have its place, so long it remains in the present moment. Which is shitty because that means I can’t plan on having a million or a best-selling book sometime in the nebulous future. The upside is: I can affirm happiness in the present moment and feel the positive effect of that affirmation no matter what the future has in store for me.

I am happy. I am sad. Both states of being that have little to do with our outside circumstances. Certainly, things outside myself can happen to make me either sad or happy, but this is only on the level of form, not on the level of my true being. I can be happy in any situation if I realize that I have the power to affirm my happiness in any given situation.

True happiness is a choice, not a result of an outside circumstance. When I finally realized that, I realized I had an incredibly valuable tool in my hand to see me through the doldrums of anything this world could work on me.

Except for the Trump administration. I’m still working on that…

Wednesday, September 11, 2019



One of the oldest and most seldom used tools for transformation (and staving off the ‘yuchs’ of growing older) is intention.

I learned how important intention is years ago in the est training, a consciousness-expanding seminar, (back in the 1970s), that was to spirituality what the pill was to sexuality. (Which doesn’t mean I set it into action. Not as often as the pill, anyway.)

But, as the whiskers of my Tom Selleck mustache began to go gray and anxiety entered the scene, I began grabbing again at the tools I learned so long ago. Amongst them all,  Intention has turned out to be the most powerful.

Setting your intention is as crucial to living a fulfilled life as fiber and chondroitin are to smooth movement. At least, once you reach a certain age. Without these essentials, we are bound to suffer constipation, joint pain, and a sense of purposeless.

Voicing our intention is a way to gain a more power over a world we seem to be losing control over.  Although intention may not create my reality, it does set it glowing in shades of gold and magenta.

So what exactly is intention?

For years, I thought intention and goals were synonymous. Then I noticed the difference: goals got me inspired, but only until I completed them. Kind of like those three weeks before Christmas followed by the gigantic let down the day after.  Whereas intentions got me inspired and kept me inspired so long as I continued to keep the intentions alive.

So, what is the difference between the two?

Goals are a destination: I am going to have the most toys on the block before I turn thirty. A goal is a future projection of the mind: I am going to be good so I will go to Heaven. But goals won’t necessarily keep you satisfied and fulfilled for very long afterward: I am going to marry with the most handsome man in the bar.

Intentions are lived each day, independent of whether you reach the goal or destination: I intend to be filled with fun, creativity, excitement while achieving the most toys on the block. Intentions set the timbre of the energy you hold when moving towards something you want: I intend to experience greater and greater levels of magic, fun, creativity, as I become eligible to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Intentions are about the inner relationship with yourself: I intend to feel satisfied with myself even if the most handsome man goes home with someone else. 

Goals are focused on the future.

Intentions are in the present moment.

At the beginning of my yoga class, I often remind my yogis to set their intentions for the upcoming hour. (‘I see divine purpose in everything I do.’ ‘ I intend to feel satisfied no matter what happens.’ ‘I intend to stay awake in savasana and not to snore.’) By formulating their intentions before class, they are able to turn MY class into THEIR class.

(As most of my classes drop into chaos after 45 minutes or so is proof no one listened to my good advice, least of all myself always forgetting to set a positive intention until after class! 😉)

Which leads me to my next subject: taking responsibility for your life.

But that is a completely other keg of beer, as we say over here in Bavaria. 😉

Sunday, September 8, 2019

How to get and remained inspired

How to get and remain inspired

First, find a space to get inspired. Periodically, step out of the chaos of the world. Allow yourself to discover what joy and peace solitude has to offer. True inspiration is born in the holy space of silence and to get silent, you have to be in a place that fosters peace

Second, redevelop a love for reading, then read because you enjoy it, not because you hope it will make you a better person, appear more intelligent, or might impress someone along the way.

Learn to play an instrument, but for the love of learning, for the love of making your own kind of music, not because you want to become an accomplished musician. Studies show that learning an instrument improves long-term memory and alertness. 

Start a journal, write a book. Or, eight. This is what I’m doing. When I first started, there was the thought my writing might lead to fame, fortune, and all the other traps that lead to dissatisfaction in this world. That was the voice of the ego that wanted to keep me dissatisfied. Now I write because I love to write. Certainly, it is nice when someone reads what I write, but that has become less and less important, and I have become more and more satisfied.

Find an art class. Is there anything more inspiring than art? And, with the advent of Modern Art, the less shame we have to feel about creating something others don’t enjoy. Remember: creativity is like a muscle: the more you use it the stronger it gets.

Practice yoga at home. What has kept me on the path of yoga more than anything is realizing Yoga is a journey, not an accomplishment. I’ve devoted most of my adult life to yoga. Granted, that sounds a lot easier said than done. But I had the good fortune to discover yoga back at a time when it had little else to offer but joy and peace. Now, thanks to the yoga boom, people believe that, with yoga you can become rich and famous, impress your friends and family, and be better (or worse) than the next guy. The good news is, there are so many books and videos about yoga now, you don’t have to be a part of this scheme. Find a yoga style you feel comfortable with and have fun. Forget classes. Those just lead to competition and the feeling that you are the low guy on the totem pole. Discover yoga is so much more than just a series of postures. It’s a whole lifestyle, tailored cut to your needs. Take it slow, but make it regular.

Certainly, there are many other ways to get and remain inspired, like watching cat videos or drinking espresso, but the message here is to do something that is satisfying, an undertaking that is a joy to engage in. Do what you want in the way you want to do it. If you’re authentic in this way that in which you engage with feel fresh and original: inspiring.
And last, but not lease: Let your life be your message. Stay inspired so that you may inspire others

Tuesday, September 3, 2019

Discovering the power of Inspiration

Discovering Inspiration

Dance inspired me the way nothing else in life had. It supplied constant challenges and offered many rewards, the least not being a way to see the world and have enough money left over to pay the rent. Dance was my first passion, a love I still pursue, albeit without the vim and vigor of 40 years ago. 

When the gigs began to dwindle, I dropped into a blue funk. Try as I would, I could find nothing to replace the sense of completion and satisfaction dancing brought me. The depression lasted eight years. In that time, I tried everything to find a field of endeavor that could restore the enthusiasm and joy I felt when dancing. Nothing came close. 

Through much introspection, I discovered it wasn’t just dance that had kept me inspired, but also youth. Youth has a way of igniting the flame of inspiration even without our being aware of it. Which meant, until thirty or so, I’d never really been without inspiration. Everything was new until then, and newness sparks inspiration like nothing else. Which is the probable reason we shop, love Christmas and birthdays, and new love affairs.

 It’s why Capitalism works so well. 

But it is only a matter of time until I felt nothing was new. Been there, done that; s that all there is: a question that arose about the same time as the dance career dwindled. 

I’m sharing this as I am sure it is what many of us go through. Especially those of us who experienced the magic of dance.

Eventually, the dark cloud lifted as I applied myself to deepening and sharing my knowledge of yoga. The flame was rekindled and, although it has never burned as brightly, it supplied me with the enthusiasm to enjoy my life once again. 

At that time, I still believed my endeavors had to lead to a satisfactory end: a day of hard work to be enjoyed at the end of the day when the chores were done; a new career that might lead to something even more gratifying; a bright shiny light at the end of the tunnel; Heaven because I’d mastered the trials of life.


Guess what? The goal is no longer the motivation to stay on the road; the road is the goal. Enjoying what I do has become more important than the outcome of my endeavors. 

I am writing this blog because I enjoy writing and sharing with others what I have learned, what I am learning. I read a book because I love to read, not to get to the end of the book, just to start another, then another, ad infinitum. I teach yoga, not to become rich or famous, but to see the look of confusion and pain in my student's faces. In short, I live to live, not to die.

The clue is to find something that so captivates us that the effort we put out becomes the inspiration we are seeking.
A list follows.


The Vagus Nerve Hard to believe I’ve been rummaging around the body for so long and never busied myself with this fascinating nerve. ...