Are you looking for me?
Posted: May 16, 2013 Filed under: Random Workout | Tags: blogging, friends, happiness, health, Kabir, kindness, life, love, meditation, musings, natural, nature, passion, Poetry, running, writing, yoga 16 Comments »… I am in the next seat.
My shoulder is against yours.
you will not find me in the stupas,
not in Indian shrine rooms,
nor in synagogues,
nor in cathedrals:
not in masses,
nor kirtans,
not in legs winding around your own neck,
nor in eating nothing but vegetables.
When you really look for me,
you will see me instantly —
you will find me in the tiniest house of time.
Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?
He is the breath inside the breath.
- Kabir
Notes:
I would like to take a moment to say Thank You to all of you reading this morning over a cup of blueberry coffee, or perhaps a Bloody Mary?!? Thank You for your kind words, thoughts and passion towards these blog-o-post things here. I am deeply moved and touched by all of you!
Be well today and please take care.
Prosa before Plantear
Posted: May 3, 2013 Filed under: Random Workout | Tags: Apple Pie, blogging, exercise, fitness, free range, gluten free, happiness, health, hipster, life, love, marathon, meditation, natural, Omaha, paleo, passion, perspective, Pie it forward, Poetry, Pose Running, Prose, running, Spirituality, trail running, walking, whole foods, WOD, yoga 9 Comments »The young student sits with his head bent over his books, and his mind straying in youth’s dreamland; where prose is prowling on the desk and poetry hiding in the heart-
Never in a million years would I have envisioned that poetry and prose would be at the forefront of helping me heal: Knee surgery, back surgery, fractured neck, shattered orbital bone and too many other injuries to bore you with before the weekend begins. Although, injuries and rehabilitation are places where the human spirit is most vulnerable. It’s within these planes of vulnerability that literature and the arts have the greatest resonance.
Everyone reading today, is at some point touched ever so gently by an injury, either personally or through the experiences of a close friend or family member. None of us, NONE of us, are immune to the frailties and limitations of the human body. The burgeoning of the Inter-Webz, FaceTube and YouBook has shoved down our throat a wealth of information. However, the excessive amounts of “facts” at our disposal do not necessarily make it easier to cope with the fears and unknowns of illness, injury and loss. This, I believe, is where the Arts and Humanities fit in. *Long time readers have noticed the changes around here.*
When I started this blog over two years ago, I had no idea that my life would veer toward literature and the healing arts. Poetry, prose, the arts have reminded me that healing is a multi-dimensional process, being spiritually healthy is far more important to me now.
Notes:
The arts and the humanities are critical elements in our life, and I am truly grateful that they have a home here at CultFit, with you, and our friends. One last thing before you download another running-app … Click on over to the Poetry Foundation and consider downloading their Poetry App. Immerse yourself in new poetry after a cool down run or workout, maybe?
Pie in Omaha?!? Did someone say “Pie in Omaha?!?” Take care and have a beautiful weekend!
I paid the taxi driver
Posted: May 2, 2013 Filed under: Random Workout | Tags: blogging, By Night in Chile, freshly pressed, happiness, health, hipster, life, love, lululemon, marathon, meditation, motivation, musings, natural, paleo, perspective, pilates, Poetry, Prose, Roberto Bolaño, running, whole foods, WOD, writing, yoga 4 Comments »… got out with my suitcase, surveyed my surroundings, and just as I was turning to ask the driver something or get back into the taxi and return forthwith to Chillán and then to Santiago, it sped off without warning, as if the somewhat ominous solitude of the place had unleashed atavistic fears in the driver’s mind. For a moment I too was afraid. I must have been a sorry sight standing there helplessly with my suitcase from the seminary, holding a copy of Farewell’s Anthology in one hand. Some birds flew out from behind a clump of trees. They seemed to be screaming the name of that forsaken village, Querquén, but they also seemed to be enquiring who: quién, quién, quién. I said a hasty prayer and headed for a wooden bench, there to recover a composure more in keeping with what I was, or what at the time I considered myself to be. Our Lady, do not abandon your servant, I murmured, while the black birds, about twenty-five centimetres in length, cried quién, quién, quién. Our Lady of Lourdes, do not abandon your poor priest, I murmured, while other birds, about ten centimetres long, brown in colour, or brownish, rather, with white breasts, called out, but not as loudly, quién, quién, quién, Our Lady of Suffering, Our Lady of Insight, Our Lady of Poetry, do not leave your devoted subject at the mercy of the elements, I murmured, while several tiny birds, magenta, black, fuchsia, yellow and blue in colour, wailed quién, quién, quién, at which point a cold wind sprang up suddenly, chilling me to the bone.
Roberto Bolaño – By Night in Chile
Notes:
Be well today.
Loving You Live
Posted: May 1, 2013 Filed under: Random Workout | Tags: compassion, Education, family, freshly pressed, friends, health, hope, kindness, Learning, life, love, meditation, musings, nature, Poetry, reading, writing, yoga, Zen 7 Comments »And then there are the times when the wolves are silent and the moon is howling-
We can learn so much by looking up at the sky, with wide eyes, in wonder. We can feel deeply when sitting beneath a tree, in stillness after practicing yoga with some close friends. We can experience every sense nature presents to us while lying down in dewy grass after finishing a race. Nature is here to remind us and allow us to become curious about the great mystery of balance, harmony and life.
One of the Gifts that can arise from a recent bout of injuries, the inevitable surgeries, and rehab is a gift that can also be reaped from reading cheeky a poem by Shel Silverstein: Slowing Our Pace In Life. In the time it takes you to recover from injury so many clouds will gently float past you, you’ll start to take notice of the flowers growing diligently in a nearby field. The words filling the page will take on completely new meaning, depth. This simple act of just “being“ will ignite a new understanding of yourself, forgiving you for all the abuse you have subjected yourself to.
Notes:
Because of our mind numbing daily pace, we all forget, that sometimes, we are an integral part of nature. Be well today and take care.
A Second Childhood
Posted: February 7, 2013 Filed under: Random Workout | Tags: blogging, exercise, fitness, friends, happiness, health, hipster, hope, kettlebell, life, living, love, lululemon, marathon, meditation, motivation, natural, paleo, passion, perspective, pilates, Poems, Poetry, running, trail running, walking, whole foods, WOD, yoga 7 Comments »… When all my days are ending
And I have no song to sing,
I think that I shall not be too old
To stare at everything;
As I stared once at a nursery door
Or a tall tree and a swing.
Wherein God’s ponderous mercy hangs
On all my sins and me,
Because He does not take away
The terror from the tree
And stones still shine along the road
That are and cannot be.
Men grow too old for love, my love,
Men grow too old for wine,
But I shall not grow too old to see
Unearthly daylight shine,
Changing my chamber’s dust to snow
Till I doubt if it be mine.
Behold, the crowning mercies melt,
The first surprises stay;
And in my dross is dropped a gift
For which I dare not pray:
That a man grow used to grief and joy
But not to night and day.
Men grow too old for love, my love,
Men grow too old for lies;
But I shall not grow too old to see
Enormous night arise,
A cloud that is larger than the world
And a monster made of eyes.
Nor am I worthy to unloose
The latchet of my shoe;
Or shake the dust from off my feet
Or the staff that bears me through
On ground that is too good to last,
Too solid to be true.
Men grow too old to woo, my love,
Men grow too old to wed;
But I shall not grow too old to see
Hung crazily overhead
Incredible rafters when I wake
And I find that I am not dead.
A thrill of thunder in my hair:
Though blackening clouds be plain,
Still I am stung and startled
By the first drop of the rain:
Romance and pride and passion pass
And these are what remain.
Strange crawling carpets of the grass,
Wide windows of the sky;
So in this perilous grace of God
With all my sins go I:
And things grow new though I grow old,
Though I grow old and die.
– G.K. Chesterton
Notes:
Please join us tomorrow for a very important post, until then … Take care and be well.
