Why You Are A Hermaphrodite (Asking People About Their Lives, Episode One with Matt Wiviott)

Like Dan Savage, Margaret Atwood and Jane Fonda, Matt Wiviott has a Cuttle Fish personality type. (In fact, he was one point off, but I took the liberty of deeming him an honorary Cuttle Fish.) This week, he invited me to be his chief of staff for his 2017 mission to make Jerusalem an International City of Peace and Healing. And on Friday, he composed a Facebook status about pornography, vibrator poetry and Shamanic politics in my honour. For all of these reasons, I chose Matt Wiviott as my first “Ask People About Their Lives” post. We sat face to face on a yoga mat, my iPhone recording between us. Scientists are saying that talking to people face to face constitutes an essential biological imperative. Another essential biological imperative might be to stop obsessing about your own life so extensively. And so, I asked Matt Wiviott about his.

Matt Wiviott

Born and raised in Montreal, Matt is a yogi, architect and musician. He regularly plays the harp at yoga classes. I attended one of these classes. All you had to do was lie down and listen. It made me feel absolutely lovely. Growing up, Matt was sent to Jewish elementary school which he described as “very materialist.” He was one of only two kids who didn’t go to a Jewish high school, and he was grateful for this since he feels that everyone who came out of Jewish high school came out “a brainwashed Zionist.” Well, I wasn’t there so I don’t know. As it turns out, Matt is the partner of one of my very dearest friends. They’ll be having a baby boy in July.

Soon after helping to conceive his first child, Matt had what he felt was a profound spiritual experience. It is probably better not to describe the profound spiritual experience (P.S.E.) in too much detail, so that readers won’t get jealous if their own spiritual experiences have seemed less profound. (Not everyone gets to be a cuttle fish, or Margaret Atwood.) But basically, Matt saw part of the Kabbalah Tree of Life in a vision, his consciousness expanded, and he got a clear sense of what he was supposed to do with his life. This happens to involve a stunning number of hashtags.

Matt was kind enough to tell me what gets his Jewish Kundalini going: “It’s fucking the Jews in Israel that are calling it as they see it, and they see what’s happening and they see it’s corruption and they see it for how it is… It’s a disaster. Everybody’s who’s really paying attention can see that it isn’t getting better. And this is why I'm putting forward my ridiculous political campaign of International Jerusalem 2017.”

So Matt and the UN are going to lead this campaign and transform Jerusalem into an International City of Peace and Healing. The details remain a bit vague; however, the hashtags related to the cause are abundant. I have already been informally appointed as Matt’s chief of staff, whatever that will entail. Yet another gig to add to my recent endeavours as a potty training consultant.

Matt is the first to call his methods “bizarre… the conventional way of dealing with such a large project is to write a book, a blog, or hammer letters onto church doors with nails.” Martin Luther King did some hammering in his day. “Obviously, I am not comparing myself to Martin Luther,” says Matt. “But I do feel like this idea of International Jerusalem is my idea to bring into the world.” Instead of hammering letters onto church doors, Matt is bringing his idea to the world by infusing his Facebook page with hashtags and political slogans. “I just need to get the idea out there. I just need to get people talking about it.” To facilitate the process he has created a Facebook personality which he describes as “the most conceivably narcissistic character I can imagine.”

If you are lucky enough to be friends with Matt Wiviott on Facebook, you will see that beyond the narcissism and relentless posts lies a deep commitment to pointing out the copious patterns and parallels that exist between ancient belief systems. Matt walked me through elaborate diagrams of how the branches on the tree of life line up with kundalini rising through the chakras, and how the Hebrew name of God lines up with vulvas, big and small penises and vaginas, elements of the Tarot deck, and THE elements, earth, air, fire and water. I took pictures of the diagrams for your viewing pleasure. I cannot promise that they won’t be confusing. But I do love chakras, and I love it when life lines up in any sort of way.

  

How Life Lines Up. Do your best.

How the Hebrew Name of God lines up with penises and vaginas, and other things: 



The Hebrew name of God in hashtags = #YUD #HEY #VAV #HEY

These days, one of Matt’s primary schticks is how “everyone is a hermaphrodite.” He is talking about a 6-part Kabbalah Gender theory. Matt believes that one of the main problems of society is that it lacks a gender theory that allows people to exist within a gender construct other than that which they were “born” into. Fortunately, Matt is saving the world by pinning gender nodes onto the Kabbalist Tree of Life. If you are wondering what the six genders are, here you go: man who likes being man; woman who likes being woman; man who likes being woman; man who likes being woman; person who likes being both man and woman (hermaphrodite); and person who likes being neither man nor woman (ascetic, which is different from the Hasidic Jews in Mile End, which I just found out a few weeks ago. Oops). According to Matt, “everyone fucking has them all,” whether or not you scored Brooding Anemone on the Ocean Invertebrate Personality Quiz. By the way, Matt loves Brooding Anemones. Who doesn’t?


Technically born female, the Brooding Anemone
acquires hermaphroditic qualities later in life.

All of Matt’s posts are accompanied by the hashtag #liveyogamusic, which serves in part to market his career playing music at yoga classes. Matt aspires to one day design his own methodology for teaching music. He believes that “the whole reason to study music is not so that you can play music, it’s so that you have music. And it’s different. And that’s not something that we’re teaching people.” I agree, and I feel like this philosophy could extend into other fields. Children don’t often learn anything without the expectation that they will one day be good at it. Once we grow up, there are so many things we won’t do, because we feel that we won’t be good them. Surely this causes long-term damage. And it deprives of fun activities such as bowling. Matt would also like to expand his music and political activism to include the elderly, since society’s current treatment of the elderly is horrendous.

Matt and his Harp

I told Matt that I might also like to extend my life to include the elderly. Besides being a potty training consultant, my other dream job is to be a People Walker. I could start with the old people in the long-term care facility across the street from me. So many old people don’t get to go for walks because everyone is afraid they will die. And yet, they already feel half-dead since they’re not allowed to do anything. I can take them for walks and when they get back, Matt can play the harp for them and/or guide them through a psychedelic yoga class.  

The day I met up with Matt, I was a terrible People Walker. It was raining and I decided that we wouldn’t walk. Everyone is a hermaphrodite, and we’re all afraid of melting in the rain. Matt says that when we close our eyes, we confront our fears.

Matt: “I overcame a lot of fear. I am not easily startled. And I’m pretty fucking optimistic about the future.”

Erica: “Even with climate change, messy politics.”

Matt: “Yah, I see this as things that have to happen at this weird cosmic time.”

Erica: “Weird cosmic time. Yes, I would tend to agree.  So you’re not afraid, you’re just there. You just walk into it. With some marijuana, though. That seems essential for you.”

Matt: “Yah.”

Before we started recording, Matt told me about how one time, the leaves of a marijuana plant seemed to speak to him. This wasn’t part of his PSE; however, it is one of the reasons why Matt feels so drawn to Shamanism and to ancient wisdom cultures. And to psychedelics.

Towards the end of our interview, I asked Matt about having a baby. Matt considers making a baby to be totally related to his PSE slash revelatory experience:

“Part of my sense of love was missing before.  Another way of putting this is that my cup wasn’t filled… For me it was the last part that had to be filled. It happened by conceiving of this child and imagining a life with my partner… It also coincided with me becoming a huge asshole on Facebook.”

The End.

I look forward to the baby shower next Saturday. And to the baby’s birth, though I haven’t been invited.

Thank you, Matt for letting me Ask You About Your Life!

Me and Matt, hanging out.

Follow Matt Wiviott on Twitter: @liveyogamusic
Matt's Website: liveyogamusic.com

Follow me on Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook  

Are you are a Brooding Anemone? Take the Ocean Invertebrate Personality Quiz and Find Out.

You might also be a Cuttle Fish. Like Matt and Margaret Atwood and Jane Fonda
And my sister.

Erica’s Hashtag: #AskingPeopleAboutTheirLives

Some of Matt’s Hashtags:

The name of God in Hebrew and Hastags: #YUD #HEY #VAV #HEY

      #tetragrammation    #shamanicpolitics     #sephirah     #IsraelitesDoItThemselves    #kabbalah

                #liveyogamusic     #sword     #coin     #wand     #cup     #UNadministration    #VibratorPoetry

        #NoOneEverLikesaSaviour    #Jerusalem2017     #InternationalCityofPeaceandHealing

Some of Matt Wiviott Facebook Statuses:

The "sentence" is a fascinating construct: BOTH a simultaneous whole thought AND a sequential unfolding of symbols.
‪#‎shamanicpolitics ‪#‎liveyogamusic
‪#‎EITHER ‪#‎OR ‪#‎BOTH ‪#‎AND
‪#‎sword ‪#‎coin ‪#‎wand ‪#‎cup
‪#‎yud ‪#‎hey ‪#‎vav #hey...
‪#‎tetragrammaton

So, what does Fate hold in store for Jew tasked with teaching Hermaphrodite Kabbalah and advocating the Global Reclamation of Jerusalem?
‪#‎Jerusalem2017 ‪#‎InternationalCityofPeaceandHealing
‪#‎UNadministration
‪#‎shamanicpolitics ‪#‎kabbalah ‪#‎liveyogamusic

The good thing about pinning Gender Nodes on the Kabbalist Tree of Life, is that the ‪#‎sephiroth , like the ‪#‎chakras , have rich polysemic possibilities. And everyone fucking has them all.
‪#‎shamanicpolitics ‪#‎kabbalah ‪#‎liveyogamusic

I think the real problems with lululemon began when Chip Wilson achieved a Visionary Awakening by reading the shit out of Ayn Rand.
‪#‎shamanicpolitics ‪#‎liveyogamusic

Really Great Classical Music is ALWAYS ‪#‎buddhistic , Really Great Jazz is ALWAYS ‪#‎shamanic .
‪#‎shamanicpolitics ‪#‎liveyogamusic #shamanic #buddhistic

 

Once I made a whole bunch of chakra cards. Perhaps not enough. 

Chakra Cards 
What the fuck should I do with my life? Part One
What the fuck should I do with my life? Part Two
 

Once I wrote a self-help book: I Let Go

How I am violent, by Erica J. Schmidt

Since May, I have been taking an online course called, Embodying Ethics and Vows. It is with Michael Stone and Elaine Pierce. This week, our assignment was to write about how we are working with the precept of not causing harm (ahimsa) in our lives. Here's what I got:

How I am Violent, by Erica J. Schmidt

Instead of non-violence, I am thinking about violence. This makes me think of my relationships, especially with Simon and with my body, but with the Boatman too. Everyone saves their violence up for someone, for something. Actually, I have no idea what everyone else does.

It is hard not to tell the same old story over and over again. The story of Simon, my ex-boyfriend who I fucked at the Granola Party, on the biodegradable yoga mat. I was really drunk, and he wasn’t. Perhaps this should have been the last time. Instead, there was a big saga of alcohol, vomit, both passionate and ambivalent sex, and name calling. We wrote all this down in letters that were supposed to be published in brilliant books that were supposed to allow me to quit my three and a half low-paying jobs.

Simon used to say that I was like an eight-year-old sore loser tennis player. And I was always losing the match and so being with me was unbearable. He didn’t understand how the Boatman was able to stand me. Simon was probably more right about this than I was when I wrote,

“Sometimes I think that it would kind of be ideal for you to die.

Then our book would be a huge success.  I could feel somewhat sorry for myself, because a guy I fucked died and that is always traumatizing.  Everyone would look at me with odd sympathy. Especially if you committed suicide.  The sympathy would be immense.  Oh poor poor, Erica.  You slept with a sick and twisted soul.  Scarred forever.  How terrible.”

Highly mediocre writing, and unkind. This was from the second volume of the Little Savage and the Hermit. I wasn’t really into writing this book. Simon wanted the plot to be about how I finally got an orgasm. I felt like this was a dumb plot.

I am not the reason Simon jumped off his apartment building. I can just hear him say, “I would never jump off a building for you, you stupid fucking cunt!” His voice carries a tinge of love.

Simon’s most recent girlfriend gave me pictures and memorabilia from the funeral. When I first put the pictures on my meditation alter, I told myself that after a week, I was allowed to take them down. It has been awhile. They are still there. One of his photos is in a disposable coffee cup that is covered with the stream-of-consciousness poem I wrote during my French Literature Class in 2009. Simon kept this cup all the way until he died.  Those cups don’t biodegrade.

The alter, with spectacular lighting.

Simon once said that based on a study they did on rats in the 1970’s, I will never ever get cancer. The rats who expressed their stress by freaking out didn’t die or get any diseases. At this rate, I will live until I’m 98.

Not every day can be fulfilling and lucrative and productive. Some days are for melting down. Yesterday was a meltdown day. It was the first time I had woken up at 5 a.m. for a while. That could have caused the meltdown. I also don’t think I ate properly the day before. All the trivial and banal things tend to matter. Alas. I was stressed because I had this assignment to write, and Thursday is also blogging day. I thought that maybe I could combine the two activities, although I wasn’t sure whether or not the world should know that I told Simon it might be better if he died. As a creative practice, I have vaguely committed to myself and my four and a half fans that I will blog every Monday and Thursday. It started off being fun. Now I am starting to crap out.

Writing, with all its potential for redemption can also be violent.  Same thing goes for meltdowns.

My favourite person to have a meltdown with is the Boatman. No one can console and contain my eight-year-old sore-loser-tennis-player-self better than him. Plus I don’t really want to really want to impose this self onto anyone else. Some friends say that I should limit my contact with the Boatman. Otherwise, how will I possible get over him, move on. The idea of getting over anyone is so silly.  How can we possibly get over anyone?

Well, I suppose I am over the Vegan Life Coach. God bless the Vegan Life Coach, and his spirulina powder.

The Boatman and I talk once or twice a week. I try to make sure each time is not a meltdown. I try to ask him about his life. That was one of my goals when I began the ethics course. To ask people about their lives.

Yesterday, I called the Boatman in tears. “I can’t keep calling you like this. I will keep doing this forever.” For the rest of my life, for the rest of the world, I will compartmentalize myself to resemble a manageable and acceptable human being. Then when the eight-year-old tennis player appears, I will excuse myself to call the Boatman. I’ll be eighty years old, forty-nine years into a marriage, with seventeen grandchildren. Some blogging drama will emerge. “Excuse me, honey,” I will say to my geriatric husband. “I need to melt down to the Boatman.” The Boatman will be eighty-eight.

“It’s okay,” the Boatman told me yesterday as I fretted and wept about my lack of meltdown autonomy. “You can just call me.” Maybe they can make a special Boatman Meltdown App.

As for my body, well, I cannot believe the violence I have imposed upon it. Sri W. Ham Wrap was right. My yoga practice was super violent, and  I cling to things until they die.

People always say, “My poor body,” and/or “My body is not happy with me,” and/or my body is angry with me. I know what they mean, but I wonder who they are talking about.

Or what about, “my back was killing me?” My back was killing me the day I went to meet Simon’s girlfriend. Earlier I had spent two hours on my bike, to visit a friend. Now I was walking. I felt that if anything in my clicky, crooked eighty-year-old spine were to shift .035 mm the wrong way, the whole thing would surely collapse. Someone would have to wheel me and my body away.

"Jesus," I thought. People think about Jesus when their backs hurt. I remembered listening to Ashtanga teacher Tim Feldman talking about his herniated discs. He could barely move, but he thought about his guru, Pattabhi Jois, who said, “You taking your yanus.” So Tim started squeezing his anus like nobody’s business. Somehow this helped. Seemed a bit simplistic to me, or rather, perhaps too complicated. But what else could I do? As I walked, I brought my awareness to my anus and pelvic floor. I didn’t squeeze, I just thought about it. I considered how it was all connected to my feet that were touching the ground. And how my sitbones were also somewhat connected to my nostrils. And how the crown of my head sort of balanced on top of everything. There was still pain, but by the time I arrived at Simon’s girlfriend’s house, it felt like maybe things had shifted 0.035 mm away from me being in a wheelchair.

It is a good idea to try and keep your body happy.

This afternoon I’ll be taking a stab at my dream job. I am going to help a three-year-old learn how to use the potty. Very little is more grounding than helping someone else to take a shit.

The End.

The cup with the biodegradable poem on it
Follow me on Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook

My name is Erica, and I love coffee
Simon Girard, 1979-2015
The Benefits of an Ashtanga Yoga Practice, Part Two
Not Separate From All that Is 
The Real Me 

Michael Stone Teaching




Simon

Slow Dance

So on Friday night, I went to a Slow Dance. It was organized by my new Facebook friend named Sherwin Sullivan Tjia, also known as Joe Catman. Sherwin slash Mr. Catman is a charming and exuberant fellow who devotes his life to organizing quirky events such as slow dances, cat video nights and strip spelling bees. He also writes books, including the interactive “You Are a Cat,” in which readers get to choose their own adventures from the point of view of a feline character. Sherwin’s versatile and fascinating endeavours offer many exciting options for everyone, including those who have recently taken a hiatus from time-consuming yoga cults and are looking to fill the void. As such, I had noble intentions to attend last Wednesday’s Strip Spelling Bee; however, I ended up opting out due to menstruation. Also, I felt as though my current underwear situation was rather unspectacular. Both mediocre and self-absorbed reasons. I will try and do better next time. I happen to be an excellent speller.

Despite being considerably less excellent at dancing, Friday night’s Slow Dance ended up being my very first Sherwin Event. I even volunteered to be a Designated Dancer. As a Designated Dancer, I wore a glowing item over my heart and committed myself to pulling wallflowers off the wall. Sherwin compares the glowing brooch of a designated dancer to a “warm taxi light in the middle of a blizzard.” I must say, Sherwin was an inspiring coach. He urged us to “dance with the ugly and the sad-looking. Dance with those who have a heavy, heart-worn energy, who look like the last place they want to be is there.” It is the “duty and peculiar joy of being a dd” to “dance the road less travelled.” I really liked my glowing brooch.

 

 

Me and My Glowing Brooch

One of the reasons I became a DD was so I wouldn’t become a wallflower myself. My high school dance memories that are not blurred by Mike’s Hard Lemonade are relatively traumatic. Actually, the Mike’s Hard Lemonade memories are also relatively traumatic:

The song is "Kiss Me," by Six Pence None the Richer. I am thirteen, younger than you are supposed to be in grade nine, and drunker than you are supposed to be at thirteen. This is all Mrs. Vanden Bosch’s fault. She gave me Gifted Child Syndrome in grade one. It is also sort of my sister’s fault, because she smuggled the alcohol into the student’s council room. She was the president. Anyways, a few slow dances ago, some nice tall boy named Matthew from grade eleven asked me to slow dance. Probably the song was "Iris," by the GooGoo dolls. “I’d give up forever to touch you.” I must have really enjoyed myself because when the chorus to “Kiss me” comes on I stand in front of Matthew. As I sing along, I start kissing the air. I suppose this isn’t that embarrassing. Life would become much worse.

When I pictured an adult slow dance, I imagined that we would all stand around hugging each other the whole time. As it turned out, many of the people who were drawn to my glowing brooch had some rather complicated dance moves up their sleeves. Some people seemed deeply committed to these moves.

“These are contemporary moves,” one gentleman informed me. Beads of sweat slid down his glasses. His fancy white shirt, now transparent, was peeled to his skin. You could tell he’d been enthusiastically practicing his contemporary dance moves all evening. He spun me around at a dizzying pace. I did my best to keep up; however, I’m afraid that I am much better versed in the less structured form of Ecstatic Dance and the low-skilled form of standing around and hugging. Oh well. I hope that no one felt as though my glowing brooch was false advertising.

At midnight, we were allowed to take our glowing brooches off our hearts and become undesignated dancers. Right away, the awkward high school moments increased. Without my glowing brooch, the dance floor was no longer a straightforward and mechanical task. While the glow had enabled me to pose as one of the cool people, now I was back to being thirteen, with no contemporary dance moves, or Mike’s Hard Lemonade.

I went to hide behind the velvet black curtain next to Sherwin's DJ table. If you are ever feeling overwhelmed at a slow dance, I highly recommend going to visit Sherwin. His presence is nothing but soothing and consoling. By the way, he had great hair and was wearing a gorgeous black flouncy frilly dress. A total knockout.

“The glow brooch gave me a structure,” I told him. “I love structure. That’s why I’m a good caregiver.”

“What does asking people to dance have to do with taking care of people with intellectual disabilities?” Sherwin didn’t get it and I couldn’t explain.

Back on the dance floor, the song was “Hero,” by Enrique Iglesias. I danced with some dude wearing a hat. He was pretty cute, if perhaps a bit drunk. As he buried his face in my neck, I couldn’t tell if he was kissing me or not. Around us lots of other people were making out.  It looked like they were having a wonderful time. I hadn’t kissed anyone in a while.

“You. Can. Take. My Breath Away,” sang Enrique. “I. Can. Be. Your Hero.” And the song was over. The guy in the hat lifted his face out of my neck. I turned my face and we ended up kissing on the lips.

“Honestly, I meant to kiss you on the cheek,” he said. Right. I wasn’t exactly feeling it, but I went along with a couple more kisses for the hell of it. The next song was “I’ll Be,” by Edwin McCain.

“Do you want to dance again?” asked the Man in the Hat. “I do.” Again, what the hell.  Except that within about thirty seconds I felt the insatiable urge to go hide in the bathroom.

“Need some air,” I said. “Thanks. Bye.” Smooth. I’ll be better when I’m older.

After hiding in the bathroom for a while, I went back to visit Sherwin.  I asked him how he came to organize mass slow dances and other quirky events. “Well,” he said. “I really love slow dancing, and when I love something, I want to do it a whole bunch.” Simple as that. And now there were masses of people dancing and/or clutching each other to the tune of “Wrecking Ball,” by Miley Cyrus.  

Sherwin and I had some lovely chats about drinking, kissing, dancing, and dating people from the Maritimes. The last official song of the evening was “Total Eclipse of the Heart” by B. Tyler. I wasn’t sure about how and when I should make my exit. Thankfully, Sherwin told me about this trendy and somewhat new thing called Ghosting.  It means that you rapidly leave a party or an event without saying goodbye. I gave it a try and it was quite a success.

On my way home, I picked smarties out of a bag of trail mix. As I walked down St. Laurent Street at 2 a.m., I considered how my life has changed.  

The End.

 

You Are a Cat!
A Pick-a-Plot series by Sherwin Tjia
Never Miss a Slow Dance or Strip Spelling Bee Ever Again:
Subscribe to Sherwin's Quirky Events

Also, add him as a friend on Facebook: Sherwin Sullivan Tjia
His statuses are delightful and entertaining.
Contact Sherwin at inconsolablecat@hotmail.com

Follow me on Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook 
I Let Go, by Erica J. Schmidt

Ecstatic Dance
Poopy Mango Baby Wipes and the First Day of Christmas 
Ocean Invertebrate Personality Quiz

 

The Benefits of a Vegan Life Coach

Long or short, every temporary source of sexual gratification leaves you with something that will follow you all the days of your life. The Vegan Life Coach was hardly an exception to this. Having long ago processed VLC inflicted pubic hair, forehead wrinkle and vaginal recorder baggage, I remain primarily and perpetually grateful to him for his following areas of influence:

1.       An unwavering commitment to the Ashtanga Yoga practice. When I first met the Vegan Life Coach, I was certain that six days a week was far too many. I was entirely set on taking every Tuesday off, for no particular reason. The Vegan Life Coach convinced me otherwise. Eventually the Vegan Life Coach was banned from the studio. Darby said that he caused too many disruptions. I, however, kept practicing as though my life depended on it. Perhaps it did. The habit stuck for seven and a half years.

2.       A fancy looking bottle of red wine that costs less than $12. It was called Borsao, and it had an orange label. I think it was from Spain. In 2007, it cost $11.45. When I brought it to parties, I appeared quite a lot more sophisticated than I really was.  At their first sip, my hosts would nod, so very approvingly. “Just pairs well with everything, doesn’t it?” I’d say. As though I had any idea.




Borsao, Very Fancy



3.       Excellent Guacamole Recipe. Today’s blog has resorted to a list. Will it also resort to recipes? No, absolutely not. But here are the ingredients, from most to least: Avocadoes, tomatoes, red onions, garlic, salt, turmeric and cumin. The Vegan Coach said that it was all very good for inflammation, and cold sores. I like to eat guacamole with corn chips which is probably also very fabulous for inflammation and cold sores. When I moved to Halifax to date slash live with the Boatman, corn chips became a food group. This was one of the Boatman’s many wonderful areas of influence. The big secret is that Restaurant Tostitos are actually much more delicious than any of the colourful organic types that come in biodegradable packages. We experimented extensively. I am going on a picnic today, in case you couldn’t guess.

Excellent Guacamole, from comfytummy.com
Perhaps VLC Guacamole looks like this.
Food Selfies are typically beyond me.



Not surprisingly, the last time I saw the Vegan Life Coach was at a vegan restaurant. His skin glistened with sweat, and he appeared rather thin. He demonstrated a polite and convincing level of interest in my life in Halifax, my job at the Montessori school, and my creative endeavours.

“So, what are you writing about these days?” he asked.

“Oh, well, a bunch of stuff,” I replied. “I still write about you sometimes,”

“Well, you know,” he told me. “What you write about other people reveals a lot about how you feel about yourself.”

I couldn’t make this guy up if I tried.

The End

Avocadoes

A note about avocadoes: Everyone has experienced the dilemma of avocadoes being either terribly hard or mushy and brown. Together, the Boatman and I derived deep wisdom about avocadoes. Hopefully, this will follow us all the days of our lives. I am sharing this wisdom with you now. Should you find yourself in possession of a hard avocado, put it in a paper bag. You can place it next to ripe or ripening bananas, though I myself feel that banana flavours morph into everything they touch. But the paper bag, this works. Once the avocadoes are soft to touch, put them in the fridge. There they will transform into a state of magical creaminess, and for quite a long time, this magical creaminess will remain available for you to spread across toast, or crackers, or to dice into salad, or mash into guacamole, or engage in whatever other applicable avocado activity you can think of.

Good luck.

Follow me on Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook

More goodies from the Vegan Life Coach, which reveal a great deal with regards to how I feel about myself:

The Day Yoga Almost Gave Me A Stroke       
The Sperm Cleanse
(Ashtanga Yoga and Oral Sex was reverted to draft.)

 However you feel about avocadoes, you should definitely watch the Vegan Life Coach video at least once. I have definitely watched it at least once. OM.

 Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go, self-help book by Erica J. Schmidt
 

The Benefits of an Ashtanga Yoga Practice, Part Two

Ocean Invertebrate Personality Quiz (for those of you without a Vegan Life Coach)



 

The Benefits of an Ashtanga Yoga Practice, Part Two

A childhood friend who once peed on my play dough recently took up Ashtanga Yoga. In his wave of newly born enthusiasm he googled, “The Benefits of an Ashtanga Yoga Practice.” Curiously enough, the first result was an article I wrote for Elephant Journal by the same name. I wrote it when I was twenty-five, about four years into my daily Mysore practice. What a darling I was. Let’s see how much has changed.

25-year-old Erica. The Darling.

Twenty-five year old Erica says,

“It’s easy to doubt your efforts when onlookers may see your practice as a self-indulgent, masochistic, tripped out version of aerobics. In order to relieve your doubts, I believe that it is extremely important to regularly evaluate the intention behind your hard work.”

Twenty-nine year old Erica: Indeed. Where does this wisdom and coherence come from? As fate would have it, twenty-nine year old Erica’s doubts are massive. Since the end of February, she/I have been relentlessly pulling out all kinds of blustering speeches about the Ashtanga Yoga method.  

Speech A: "After being coerced into weird extreme unnatural movement, for example, bending backwards until your hands grab your ankles, and/or your calves, and/or your knees as often as possible for five to ten to twenty-five years, it’s just not that surprising if some part of your body starts to feel terrible."

Speech B: “If I’m really honest, I feel like at least one of my vertebrae has slipped out of place and left all the joints from the left hip down grinding together at least once a week, and probably way more often than that. When did this start, you ask? I think somewhere between learning kapotasana and putting my legs behind my head every day.”


Kino's Spiritual Spine in Kapotasana

Speech C: “I just don’t think that very many senior teachers are being honest about what hurts, how much and for how long. There’s too much at stake for them. I can’t trust anybody.”

Speech D: “I mean, all my love to Sharath. Mysore was a delightful time. But, ‘don’t walk too much?’ Walking is not optional! Walking is a biological imperative. Sticking your face between your knees is not!”

Speech E: Something about rampant sanctioned eating disorders, social alienation, adrenal fatigue, Daddy Issues, superiority complexes and paralyzing neuroses. And how Kino MacGregor’s injured S.I. joint meant that she was a nun in her past life, but my clicky crooked eighty-year old spine is almost certainly not so spiritual.

And what would twenty-five year old Erica say to all this?

Your reasons for practising yoga will evolve over time. Everyone comes to yoga for different reasons and during different circumstances. The first time I did yoga was from a video by Ali McGraw that my mother had given me. At the time, I was a chronic exercise addict and I couldn’t get through the day without physically torturing myself as much as possible. My mother really wanted me to relax, but she knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop moving. The yoga movie was set in a bright white desert, where clouds hung low to the ground. In a flattering white leotard, Ali McGraw demonstrated sun salutations and some basic sequences of yoga postures as a man with a soothing voice talked me through it. When I got to the end, the man told me to lie down and let go of everything I didn’t need until all that was left was love. This seemed like a pleasant concept, but a little hokey and not very realistic. I quickly returned to my extensive and neurotic cardiovascular routine

Ali MacGraw, Yoga Mind & Body

Teehee. I was fifteen when my mom bought me that video. These were the days of the Stairmaster and running with ankle weights. No wonder leg-behind-the-head has been a washout. In fact, the first time I ever did yoga was in a psychiatric ward where I was admitted after an ex-lax overdose. The teacher was a tiny blonde woman who wore high heels and business suits. Besides yoga, she wanted to teach us coping strategies besides cutting ourselves or taking laxatives. On large chart paper at the front of the room, she drew diagrams about the cycle of anxiety. She highly recommended gardening.

During the yoga class, we mostly just breathed and lay down. While we were lying down, the teacher stayed sitting up, and I remember this made me feel safe. I was extremely tired from screaming and crying and begging them to let me out of the psych ward. Most of the time, I just fell asleep.

Rodney

Yoga Video #2 was Rodney Yee. Like Oprah, I felt that Rodney had a beautiful body. And he could go upside down, which was compelling and exciting. By then I had switched from Ex-lax to vomit. The ankle weights were still a thing. By the time I was seventeen, I was hospitalized again. For four months, I attended a Day Treatment program for teenagers with eating disorders. We got to do yoga on Mondays. The teacher’s name was Martha and she was very adamant that whilst menstruating, a woman should not tilt her pelvis. Barely any of us got our periods, so this was a moot point. Many of the other patients vibrated their legs compulsively as we sat cross-legged in some empty carpeted conference room.

“Inhale,” said Martha, and we followed her as she raised her hands above her head. “Exhale, shower yourself with love and compassion.” To this day, this remains one of my  favourite facetious catch-phrases. Another day, Martha had us take a long savasana. Over and over again, some new age skylark sang

"I will be gentle with myself,

I will love myself,

I am a child, of the universe,

Being born each moment."

I remember lying there, tears streaming down my face. It all seemed way too far-fetched. Once I was medically stable, my mother looked for other yoga classes I could attend. Somehow, she came upon an Ashtanga Yoga school in Ottawa. She called the instructor ahead of time, explaining that I needed something that would allow me to sweat, work hard and not get bored. The instructor told her that there would be lots of sweat and no boredom. He was right.

Twenty-five-year old Erica:  There’s only one way for me to summarize this experience: I really just couldn’t believe it.

This seems to be a motif in people’s Ashtanga Yoga Memoirs. In our first class, amid puddles of sweat, there’s this recognition that we have tapped into something unbelievable, indescribable, beyond words. What is it?

After that first class, it would be another four years or so before I committed to a daily practice. During this time, the mere thought of yoga was consoling, and the idea of going upside down seemed highly redeeming. I continued to dabble in led classes and videos, with the dream that one day I would learn enough about yoga that I could go upside down, and practice every day.

Twenty-five year old Erica:   Finally, at age 21, I found myself at Sattva Yoga Shala in Montréal, where Pattabhi Jois’ students Darby and Joanne run their studio. The shala was just down the street from my university. It became possible for me to go to yoga every morning before class. My previous tendency to obsessively overtrain no longer seemed to make any sense. Ashtanga yoga is definitely vigorous, and it provides undeniable physical benefits including strength, flexibility and the release of toxins. However, Pattabhi Jois was as correct as he was adamant when he said, “This yoga is not for exercise. Yoga is showing where to look for the soul – that is all” (Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, Puck Building, NYC 2001).

This is all very nice. I wonder where my soul is now. The thing is, under the disguise of very beautiful Ashtanga Yoga practice, it is entirely possible to go bonkers and back. My twenty-five year old self sort of agrees.

Certainly, yoga has not provided me with an unfailing cure for shit times, but perhaps yoga can show us where to look. For the soul, for God, for whatever is that is left “when you let go of everything you don’t need.” Whereas my former fitness endeavours served as an attempt to escape from my problems, yoga has given me the opportunity to meet with every single aspect of myself every single morning. Every day when I unroll my mat, whether or not I feel like merging with God, I face myself, breath after breath, posture after posture. 

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I am so earnest, so sincere and so convincing.

I believe that in simply showing up no matter what, I begin to rise above these insecurities. I stand on my head. My life is a mess. I breathe anyways. A really huge mess. Too bad, life. I’m still here. Maybe tomorrow, the mess will be a little less huge and when more mess comes, I will remember that no mess is forever. 

Very true; however, broken cartilage and ligaments, these take a rather long time to heal. The journey back from emaciation post misguided raw food fungus cleanse? Also quite extensive. Sorting out the Daddy Issues you projected onto your teacher? Lifetimes.

The remainder of “The Benefits of an Ashtanga Yoga Practice” is there for you on Elephant Journal. I ended with another feel-good quote from Pattabhi Jois, who I never met, and with something about unshakeable peace. Unshakeable peace is worthwhile endeavour, though it hasn’t always proved to be available.

Bonkers and back. 29-year-old Erica likes this. Maybe I was more coherent when I did second series.

My childhood friend who peed on my playdough has already been immersed in a different yoga and meditation cult. He is not interested in surrendering to a Guru or in becoming consumed with a bunch of rules and rituals. He does his practice in the afternoons. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, he follows along with some nice lady who does half primary on a video. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he does kettle bells. It all sounds so balanced and civilized.

I think that people do themselves a disservice when they say, “If I didn’t practice, I’d be a total mess.” As though without practice, your whole life would crumble into a series of enormous mistakes. It will be you, vodka, Netflix and one inappropriate source of sexual gratification after another. All this, in addition to extreme and unmanageable obesity.

That’s what I thought. And yet, after over a month of taking a break, I have continued to exist. So far, I have even avoided devolving into debauchery. Although I did make a few free-spirited moves in Toronto, I feel as though all my choices have been quite reasonable. Plus I got to keep my biceps.

“Your life is not a series of mistakes.” This is from a Michael Stone podcast. I listened to it while I was in Mysore, the day after I realized that I almost totally hated Halifax, and would likely need to move.

“Just when you think your life is over, your heart has more beats.” Sharath said this during conference that week. He was quoting a Bollywood song. Nobody else remembers him saying this. I do. He looked straight at me. I was imagining leaving the Boatman. My Birkenstocks and spiritual pants would go in one suitcase. All the fancy clothes from my fake mother-in-law would go in the trunk. Where would I go?

My life is not a series of mistakes. My heart has more beats.

I hope yours does too.

Whatever your practice is, may it bring you unshakeable peace. May you learn to go upside down, and may this be exciting as you imagined it would be. May you always remain at least as wise as an Elephant Journal article. May your practice inspire you to give up Ex-lax, ankle weights and the stairmaster.  And Elephant Journal. May you travel to India, and meet masses of delightful people who have been to bonkers and back. May you meet as many people like this as possible. May you discover that you were a nun in your past life. May you develop unrelenting reverence for your breath, your spine, and the trillions of cells in your body. At the darkest of times, may someone tell you that your heart has more beats.  May you cease to view your life as a series of mistakes.

May someone watch over you as you lie down. And when you lie down, may you learn to let go of everything you don’t need. Until all that’s left is love, much of it for your mother.

When I wrote unshakeable peace, I couldn’t help but also think, unshakeable peas.

Much of the love is also for my father.

The End.



Me and Sharath, looking less than 25
The Benefits of an Ashtanga Yoga Practice, by Erica Schmidt

Unshakeable Peas
 

Shower Yourself with Love and Compassion
Follow me on Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook 

Ashtanga/Eating Disorder Memoir Type Posts:

You Cling To Things Until They Die 
Are You Strong or Are You Skinny? 
Not Separate From All That Is 
This is the New Story of My Life

Michael Stone Podcast: MU (Your life is not a series of mistakes.) 

Ocean Invertebrate Personality Quiz (I'm a Royal Starfish)