Feeling: PERSPICACIOUS OF PARTICULAR POINTS 

Feeling: PERSPICACIOUS OF PARTICULAR POINTS 

Perceptions in points time. 
1. Cross Species Comradery


(Unfortunately I was not witness to such a sight but I’m taking claim of Dylan’s observances). 

So the other day Dylan from Dublin (the one who actually is aliterate with his residence) was ambling down the street when there was a massive bang, some sparks and a monkey fell from the sky. Having a hang on some power lines, the frisky fella had been electrocuted and was not in a good way. 

In an absolute incredulous show of genus geniality, of complete classification congeniality, all around rushed to his aid – humanoids and other apes alike. They all crowded around, men pumping his little chest and giving his cheeks a slight slap, to rouse him from his stupefication. 

(Input here: Dylan is a very accurate-to-fact, non-embellishing sort, so this relay is a total truism). 

What a sight! 

I’m pleased to report apparently the monkey was ok. 

2. The Christening of my Aims


I talked in an earlier post of my deep wish to eradicate aspects of myself I don’t like and strengthen and embody those that I do. I was thinking I was all groundbreaking in my goal, but then in philosophy class Mo started talking of these things called Gunas; there is Sattva (luminous in nature, the qualities of virtues, goodness, harmony, patience, humility and no ego), Raja (egotistic, out-for-self, desiring self-recognition, always motivated for action, self seeking and a force of passion that causes distress and conflict) and Tama (dullness, darkness, inertia, laziness, negativity, carelessness and no discipline). While a degree of each manifests in every person, you can be categorised into mainly encompassing one (I am Raja to a t). 
My aspirations to modify me go a bit further than those described, but they lend me terms to take to help identity my road so I am chuffed! 
(Also input: Mo calls Google “Google baba” as in “guru”or “respected enlightened one”. What better word could there be for Siri?). 

3. Joes All Over The Show 


Ok, I know after being here last time that the streamers of tin foiled squares adorning stall fronts are not condoms, but by gee whizz do they look like them! It never hesitates to make me grin (they are actually little packs ranging from shampoo to chewing tobacco). Imagine; a place where sex is somewhat taboo and having shoulders showing is a bit of a no no, to have love socks and raincoats dancing about in the (fucking humid) breeze. 

4. Succumbed to Soap


I have a confession; I ’twas full of self righteousness that whilst in my Himalayan home, the watching of TV shows would be set aside. Yoga books, inspirational tales and documentaries about the state of the world with Beaver would be the only engagement, I told myself. But the other night I was in a bit of a dither and the only thing I could think to lift me from the fog was finding out if Bethany was still being manipulated into the sex ring. 
Yes; I succumbed to Coro. 
And how GOOD was it to see Gail. 
You can reach samadhi and enlightenment with meditation and kundalini rising and what not, but sometimes the bliss you need is the one found at the Platt’s.

5. Sly Smiley Sellers 
The shop sons here are such shrewd merchants. It’s like they have degrees in psychology, scoping you head to toe and working out your weaknesses. They hone in with a pink-elephant-mandala-with-sequins-and-sparkles-that-also-comes-in-purple, and before you know it you’re exiting with a stomach full of masala chai and wrists straining with bags encasing the pink, purple and white tapestries. Back in NZ one of the Indian lads I work with is a supersonic seller; I genuinely believe he could sell glasses to an optometrist or a glass of milk to a lifelong vegan. 
I now see where he gets it from. 

6. Rafts – Just Wherever


White water rafting season ended last Sunday, and it has been bedlam with boats all around town. I love it because the way the operators treat them is too funny; the inflatable boats are literally just chilling on the concrete – no trailer beneath – or tied to roof racks with ropes, or have men either side carrying the up the street like a coffin (no doubt to be dumped down on the gravel once back at base). Like, these are vessels going through rip roaring rapids with a good ten person aboard, yet little kids use them as bouncy castles on the ground and they sit on the main street until it’s time to go out again. Just so India.

7. Hands On 
I’ve gone back to (Mummy Deb will not like this) eating with my hands; you see, in touching your food with your fingers the digestive process is stimulated before it goes in your mouth, plus you are transferring your own energies onto your food instead of some cold utensil pronging it with no feeling. Once you get the hang of doing so without droplets everywhere, it’s really a soothing way to sustain yourself (except with soup. I’ll admit I gave it a go. But a spoon is a definite necessity). 

8. Yup I’m Late Mate
Everything runs on Indian time. Class at 3? The teacher shows up at 3.07. Mantras at 11? He may swing in at 11 past. The part I love? There is no apology issued. None! They’ve arrived when they’ve arrived, and then things can commence. (Just need to take care not to do so myself when I leave here; I feel turning up for work – wherever that may be – at a quarter past starting time will be ill received). 

9. And, ME. 
A few things to report. 
I’m being very conscious to live yoga and not just do it, starting with some small, seemingly insignificant but over time massive things. I’m no longer chewing pens (or at least, stopping when I realise I am), am not so rigid with my diary (to-dos are casually jotted down, and I’m no longer scheduling showers or shaving my legs), whenever I read I lie down with my legs locked in a lotus position (getting steady and comfortable in the pose), I’m catching myself out when I cross my arms (blocking off openness; rather, I shift myself to have them by my sides to receive), I only have cold showers (originally was because the hot water takes an age to head through, but now I opt in), I’m constantly trying to sit straight (my buttocks are always on a block in a bid to better my spine – when you hunch, you crush your organs, oxygen doesn’t circulate as it should and disease begins to manifest) and I’m attempting to lessen my somewhat extreme sensitivity (“that can’t touch me” I tell myself, as my hurt heightens up but is clobbered back down). Plus I’m attempting to go all natural in products and what not (a journey I have been progressing through the past months) – did you know the inside of banana peel is a natural teeth whitener? I’ve already had a couple of comments on how much more pearly my chompers are (though that could be coupled with the Colgate White in my bathroom). 

One transgression though: I have discovered the holy grail – a laundry place across the road that soaps your smalls (and other items such as t-shirts, singlets and compression shorts), turned around in five hours for 10-15 rupees apiece (equivalent to 20-30 cents in NZD). Although my hand washing was going if not well, then going, the fact that whenever I left them soaking they are still soaking when I return (where is MummyDeb?), coupled with the sense they were not actually any sweeter smelling made me march across with a bundle of garms. And to get it cleaned, dried, folded and presented back to you in a clear film carry bag? 
Sometimes in life a girl has gotta go for convenience. 
Pop out (for now).


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