I've posted this before, elsewhere. If you've read it already, read it again. If you've not read it, read it. This is mostly meant for the losers who get into psycho-babble battles on YouTube over what yoga is and isn't. My opinion is that nobody knows, you all sound ridiculous, and maybe you should spend more time constructively not trying to figure it out instead of hunched over your computer...
Meditations On a Small Bird's Skull
Trying to think inside
its idiom no knife no fork and no
memento mori: "skull"
on the egg. Whoever lived here deftly
membrane of bone,
koan you could sit and write inside and then
go out to a movie (Hitchcock's comedy
"The Birds") and then come home and
fall asleep and dream the rite of spring and then
wake up and forget. Everyone
who reads would like to be read, sometime,
by the music. I have read or dreamt
that indigo buntings in their nests
gaze into the stars and that the stars
gaze back into them,
mapping their language on each tiny roof.
Planetaria. This may be
the death of distance and its children.
If, like me,
you feel the urge to stick the sharp end
in your ear
(hoping for some
secret of the air)
We are big and blunt and easily fooled and know few
of the fine points of translation.