In this series I’ll post sections of The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran: much read at weddings, less so in its entirety. Today’s lesson is on houses. Because sometimes our houses feel more like anchors than masts. And sometimes our comfortable routines makes us chomp at the bit. If your house is your larger body, what does that look like? Is it alive, or like a tomb? Is it uncluttered enough to allow you to think? To move? Do you lock your doors, and if so, what are you protecting? “Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.” Let’s think about our houses today.
Hey yogis! We’ve got great news and bad news. The great news is, we are opening our own studio here in St. Pete. Hooray! The bad news is, our current teaching calendar has shrunk as a result. For the next couple of months we’ll be busting ass to make our new practice space killer. Meanwhile, we’ll lead donation-based classes at cool sites around the ‘Burg. Stay tuned, follow us on Facebook, and bookmark our teaching calendar for updates. We shall come back to life using secret yoga tricks! And look forward to seeing your righteous resurrections.
I sing the Body electric;
The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them;
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the Soul.
Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves;
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do as much as the Soul?
And if the body were not the Soul, what is the Soul?
They are everywhere in Florida, and yoga studios are not immune. They are different from their northern brethren, but they are indeed….ROACHES. I have heard my southern native friends claim that these are not cockroaches, that they are something more innocuous called Palmetto Bugs, but let’s be clear: they are wrong. Not only are they absolutely cockroaches, but they are HUGE and THEY FLY. They fly!!!
I moved here from DC 3 1/2 years ago, so this is not news to me. I’ve become accustomed (sort of) to them dive bombing patio parties. They don’t infest a place like those up North, but they are opportunistic intruders. They fly and crawl and swim in, some say seeking water, some say escaping it, but here you are turning on a kitchen light, and…there on your counter is a giant, shiny brown beast, antennae waving. Once in the night I was lucky to see one LOUNGING IN THE TOILET BOWL before I could sit down. Oh, god. Horrors. And whenever this subject is broached down here, someone will manage to tell you a worse story than you’ve heard before. It was lodged in your ear? Your mom found one, in your diaper? And so on, forever.
At all the studios here where I’ve been lucky enough to teach, there has been that moment (or several) when in the middle of class, there is a flurry and a flailing, and at that point, I hope to hell someone in the room will be braver than I am and take care of the bug. There are limits to my ahimsa, and those limits are mosquitos and cockroaches.
I will close with this excellent entry, from Insects, 1951, care of Kelly Jackson. The Coal Age? Yes, right on the heels of the Age of Ferns.