This post is not about princesses

21 05 2009

Naturalistic explanations are more magic than a resort to supernatural intervention.

This is, according to Slavoj Žižek, an attraction of the murder mystery genre–the banishment of the supernatural makes the story more wondrous by far.

“What is the matter with the day?” said Wimsey. “Is the world coming to an end?”

“No,” said Parker, “it is the eclipse.”

And though I do not always agree with Žižek’s points, I do so often, and I suspect this naturalistic solution is the reason I am personally enamored of the mystery genre. In the naturalistic explanation is the wonder that comes from experience of the world as a place far more amazing because crop circles are the work of human artists, orbs are the play of light and digital technology, the sense of spiritual uplift from yoga is a neurobiological reaction and all beings that have lived, are living and, perhaps, will ever live, relatives all, are subjected to the nonprogressive forces of evolution. Even humans, no apex we, are still entwined–freedom from evolution would be a sad thing indeed.


To be honest, I have felt very angry lately. So, to some of you this is no surprise–“aren’t you always pissed off?” you might ask. And of course, I am–I have a core of anger that is hard as a nut. But, because of various events, one of the things that I felt was a foundation in my life–my yoga (and as I write this I must admit that my self-loathing is starting to peak out–yoga mom! yoga mom! it shouts)–has become problematic.

bracken exists; and blackberries, blackberries;
bromine exists; and hydrogen, hydrogen

What is currently a problem for me it the tension between 1) the (rather narrow) conception of yoga as the manipulation of the body and breath to manipulate one’s own physiology and neurobiology and 2) the broad conception of yoga as a practice originating in Vedic or Pre-Vedic times in South East Asia–one not focused on the body (although perhaps somewhat on the breath (?and here I get nervous, for what the heck do I know?).

Put that way, it seems a simple thing. But it is more complex, because of the word but also because of the people borrowing bits and pieces from this and that tradition and glomming it together to make…what???


Yoga is everywhere and I do not know what it is.

The moon which is the source of light, has a blue stain. Even I myself

am blue

I want a concrete definition of yoga for myself—I do not want to feel like an asshole.

What makes language so difficult. What makes this translation so unfortunate. The cats are walking back and forth and I have yet to say anything.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who heard the crows and looked up to see five chasing a bald eagle north.


Once upon a time, there was a woman who was afraid of certain things


Once upon a time, there was a woman….well really, it is me I am talking about. I am that woman, but you know it. And I am tapdancing around the issues.

Where is the woman in all of this?

She stands in the middle of a burning creation ground. She has fangs.

There are things I am not telling you.


quotes are from Slavoj Žižek, Dorothy Sayers, Inger Christensen (trans Nied), Brhannila Tantra (trans. Biernacki)




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