Friday, 11 May 2012

For Sale: Yoga Blogging Merc

So... I'm a recent initiate into the world of studio yoga and I have to say, I was shocked, I mean shocked by what goes on behind closed doors. Yoga supposed to be staid and austere, the occasional ringing of a gong against the steady backdrop drone of "Omm...", a bunch of people sitting around in baggy clothing nodding serenely in silence with the stench of unwashed armpits and incense wafting through the air.

The reality is totally different. Yoga is wild and surreal, hypocrisy and angst, sex and deceit, all wrapped up in a shiny faux-mysticism candy wrapper. Yoga is a long series of juxtapositions that make me go, WTF! Yoga screams Too Much Information about modern movement feminism and how men fit (or don't) into that view of the world. It's an odd collection of people who find they don't quite fit into modern society, so they've co-opted an ancient form of spiritualism and shoe-horned their modern values structure into it, regardless of logic and rational thought, who vigorously argue with each other over how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. It's one-third gymnastics-based athleticism, one-third a melange of modern neurobiology science and pseudo-scientific clap-trap, and one-third raunchy mysticism. In short, yoga's a gong show, and that means it can be something that fascinates such that one can get a lot of enjoyment out of writing and thinking about it.

I love yoga both for itself and the circus it has created. I backed into yoga from other, more intense athletic pursuits as a means to develop both mental focus and strength at the edge of my flexibility; I have a deep background in science; I am a quiet atheist and a skeptic.

My previous blogging experience was in a much different context.  It wasn't very rewarding in the end, in that it wasn't fun and was a lot of drudgery. My real name was signed to everything, so anything I posted I felt had to reflect well on me and I became a bit of a perfectionist.  Well no more sir!  I want freedom to bloviate whatever inane crap that wells out of my subconscious, like shouting groceries after a particularly excessive bout of boat pose variations. Honestly, I would prefer not to own my very own blog, but rather be on a blogging team that I don't have to be the center of attention. In blogging, when the mood strikes, it strikes big but there's also long periods where there are no cool, novel ideas that make me want to make my opinion the loudest.  I also hate trying to keep up with the pace of the blog-o-sphere in trying to stay topical when it comes to the current circulating controversy. At the moment, however, no one that I want to work with wants to work with me, so here we are.  Well that, and none were willing to meet my selfish monetary demands.

The name of this blog comes from there being six progressively more insane asana series (or levels) in Jois' Ashtanga yoga: my home practice has a seventh series.

As to, 'Mr. Nervous Toes,' well, that is a secret. Let's see how this goes.


Your newest and bestest yogic overlord, Mr. Nervous Toes.

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