Sidelining, chaos strategy, strategy of the powerful of this world, rebellion of nature, vaccine, not vaccine, biological weapon, Bill Gates, QAnon, ADEPS, Amazon, popcorn… trademark for all.
I don’t know and I don’t know anymore, that’s all I know, and it’s not bad to know that you don’t know.
My only tangible reality of the moment is that of the movements of my big toe and the fluctuations that this causes in the rest of the body. In my mind can be appeased a few fractions of a second. Then this piece of flesh, the big toe is from then on my antenna. My connection to the divine, my feeling of unity in the world.
Trikonasana, a kind of holy trinity of asanas, starts precisely with this connection to my ball of the big toe, and it is from there that reality is tangible. Sensations, phenomena, time fades away when observing it from the big toe. Well it could be another part of the body, the shoulder, the thigh, who cares. My leg stretches, how, the path of the conscious through the atoms of the flesh. These are the only existential questions that should occupy my mind, the rest being only illusory, projection, attempts to exist, hope.
Fuck, I force my arm towards the ground, the balance is broken, the enchantment disappears and gives way to the spectacle of self for self. For this imaginary public that I believe to be the witness of myself, a kind of mirror that sends back the mirror and so on. Three-legged balancing act. Do I always have to cheat boredom, this fundamental enemy-friend? Does the perfect, ideal, mythical asana exist, which would erase the impostures of existence with a wave of the magic wand? Posture-Imposture, what is the third term to add ..
Balance? Equilibrist, the triangle posture. Trikonasana, to reach a fragile balance between the three real, inertia (to let make), will (to make), space (sensations). To stretch the leg from the movement of the muscles of the internal thigh in order to spare the internal knee in its tendency to become hyperlaxed. To balance the forces in presence. Sensation of the lungs breathing, opening. Acting and not acting, and the divine in all this. How can my pseudo-yogi antics be spiritual? In what way all this is not only gymnastics.
Spirituality and the big word, the barbecue sauce of the mind. Reflection of the reflection as in the last Star Wars. This scene on the island, the ultimate lair of Luke, where the heroine faces alone in the cave, the dark side of the force. Her image is reflected in the infinite, feeling of vertigo. She can no longer distinguish between the image of herself, bad trip superior power. The bhagavad gita, the bible of the yogi, was the bedside book of Himmler, this little man felt a divine mission, the fucking slap to know that.
Image of image, today’s spiritual Walt Disney turns into a nightmare under the happy smile marketing mill. Magic thinking you’re back, in the form of this Dakota shaman. Beautiful and stupid at the same time, bellowing in the Capitol. Junk revolution, make-believe, shaman 3.0 posing for Instagram selfies. And I don’t know if I should laugh at this, or if it’s an announcement of a future butchery.
What ever, lift the chest up…
