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YogaInfused Movement Meditation
The American 1950s cracked the code of the dysfunctional family. I entered the era under SoulContract, participated in foundational DD (DataDeet) layering, soldiered through the 1960s, envious of the Hippies dancing and singing about love, and erupted into a TeenageDom of Folk Music and Protest. On the other side of the tracks, Rock Music took the stage, thumping low-slung steel strings, and gyrating long-haired sexual demand.
My mother, entering single-mom status, found her sixteen-year-old buried self in a new affair, blessed her kids with promises they could achieve whatever they sought, and moved on. We kids weathered the first affair-divorce in the community, and the splintering never stopped.
My mother’s affair with an East Indian man, as bizarre as it could be in our small, rural community, brought Yoga into my life. I recall him producing an old book with rudimentary sketches of a brown-skinned man in a white loincloth holding various poses. I followed the examples for a couple of weeks before losing interest; however, unbeknownst to me, the concept of finding stillness within movement became part of my vibe.
Digging a fencepost hole can be used to widen and strengthen the back. Running backwards, luring escaped steers to the fenced area with a pan of grain demands an inner balancing stillness. Pounding on the self-made boxing…
