Mirror, mirror on the wall...

See my eyes

They carry your reflection

Watch my lips

They whisper the words you taught me to

I am your mirror

I have been since time began

When you need power

I am your satisfaction

And when you breathe on me

I go misty - Kristine W.

One thing that draws me to yoga is its roots in the rich Hindu mythology. I love those fasinating stories, especially because we are all in those stories. They are like a mirror which the characters are the reflection of ourselves, and by seeing our own reflection we learn more about ourselves. Of course the stories can be told in different ways and come with all kinds of flavours. Naturally I choose to tell mine with humour, but really I don't fling potty humour around for the sake of being offensive.

Let me quote another insightful yogi: humour runs as deep as fear.

So I totally unleashed the power of my inner sarcastic beast in one of my previous blogs, which "invoked emotions" in many. It's also my most read blog entry to date. The response has been overwhelmingly positive, especially when not everyone gets or can handle humour that is laced with raw and vulgar mockery based on truth. It obviously touched a sore spot in those who cringed or protested after reading it. That, in essence, is the function of sarcasm. It's supposed to be sharp, cutting and bring the ugly out in the open, on the mirror for all to see. The reflection was ugly and scary, and not at all what the minions wanted to see. Another round of mudslinging ensued to protect the illusion of unicorn and pink fuzzy bunnies.

Obviously there's been a ton of chatters and nattering about self-reflection since the gross yoga drama exploded in February. It's not as simple as it sounds. For many, they simply avoid looking in the mirror because they know they might not like what they see. Life is seemingly prettier when there's only rainbow and unicorns to look at. Speak no evil, hear no evil, see no evil. Ostriches are very good at that. It's easier to turn a blind eye and pretend the ugly will miraculously and quietly disappear. Bathe in the river of De-Nial and it's all good again.

Yoga is as yoga does

It seems like the world has really gone mad recently... naked man's face got eaten on the street, man killed roomate and ate his heart, some wannabe porn star killed a guy, cut him up, ate some of it, filmed the whole thing and mailed parts of the body to government officials... I simply can't wait to see what else 2012 will bring.

Since this is my first blog in quite some time, and given the recent craziness in the world, I'll keep this one light and short.

Here's a question that I often get: what is yoga?

That is a very loaded question with a somewhat simple answer: it depends. Really.

It is nothing like Scientology. There is no way Tom Cruise and John Travolta would agree to be in a room full of bare chested men wearing tight yoga shorts. Goodness gracious me, no. Unfortunately, the delicious drama of the 3A Yoga school has efficaciously put an equal sign between cult and yoga in many people's mind. Worse yet, some of the 3A yoga devotees have been acting like they are indeed in a cult. Respectfully, those people should consider shutting their pie holes because all they can say is "love light shri beauty divine grace". Alternatively, with love and kindness, I will muzzle each of them with a ball gag. But I digress...

So what is yoga?