Tag Archives: yoga

Thank you all at Unlikely Stories Mark V !


https://www.unlikelystories.org/content/anorexia-nervosa-and-youth-yoga-and-reincarnation-for-diane

1Anorexia Nervosa

~
she has been
sacredness
to me
and in serving
her
i make an art,
of that which words
have been forbidden
i express
on my tight
white
canvas
a tale
everyone wants
to interpret
i cling to it
like a charm
~
she has been
sacredness
to me
with secret dark
eyes closed
behind
a sea
of objects
so safe
she does not
move me
but rather
causes me
to linger
a tip toe
from eternity
~
she has been
sacredness
to me
endowed
this ornamental flesh
a power
always yearned for
and i would
cut myself open
for her but this
she does not
ask for
~


Youth, Yoga, And Reincarnation/ for Diane

I am the darker mother
Walking away
The time is noon
The world in flames
We talk
You listen
But tears cannot bring us together
Our flesh not bound
By such things
I am the darker mother
Walking away
We shall not meet again.

2

Battered Women’s Services ~ https://www.bwss.org/

Thank you all at Unlikely Stories Mark V !


https://www.unlikelystories.org/content/anorexia-nervosa-and-youth-yoga-and-reincarnation-for-diane

1Anorexia Nervosa

~
she has been
sacredness
to me
and in serving
her
i make an art,
of that which words
have been forbidden
i express
on my tight
white
canvas
a tale
everyone wants
to interpret
i cling to it
like a charm
~
she has been
sacredness
to me
with secret dark
eyes closed
behind
a sea
of objects
so safe
she does not
move me
but rather
causes me
to linger
a tip toe
from eternity
~
she has been
sacredness
to me
endowed
this ornamental flesh
a power
always yearned for
and i would
cut myself open
for her but this
she does not
ask for
~

 


Youth, Yoga, And Reincarnation/ for Diane

I am the darker mother
Walking away
The time is noon
The world in flames
We talk
You listen
But tears cannot bring us together
Our flesh not bound
By such things
I am the darker mother
Walking away
We shall not meet again.

2

Battered Women’s Services ~ https://www.bwss.org/

No Matter How Hard I Wait by pd lyons w/photographs


 

 

No matter how hard I wait,

Rain won’t stop any sooner.

 I can focus on streaming bay window panes.

Or distance, green as it is rolls up to a still bare tree line.

Or even something unrelated like a little pile of shit left by the neighbour dog.

 

Could I stand here all day?

Instead get dressed,

Yoga later or maybe not at all.

 

There is a softness an absence of anxiety allows.

A nonchalant free from worry over what to do,

When after all there is nothing .

Things will remind me, no matter what I choose.

 Tears a lot like rain,

Seem to never stop until they do and

Then they don’t

Again

.

Going with essence


 

 

 

I found myself only

able to trust

 

the teachings

 

that they would find

me, not i them

 

connecting us during this life

as needed

 

Dzogchen

.

 

 

Good Friday, Europe’72, Grateful Dead Yoga, by pd lyons


so i was 18 years old,  living in my first apartment – a vast five rooms with appliances 180.00 including heat hot water and electricity! my friend John  comes over. its sometime in daylight. we must a blown a joint or two cause that’ s what we did then. anyway he has this grateful dead album, in those vinyl  days it was on three LPs. Europe ’72. of course i knew about the dead, heard bits n pieces on the radio and randomly a house parties, but never really followed. But this was great grateful dead stuff. some of my most favorite pieces of music – the china cat/know you rider, sugar magnolia. Course as we did in those days we played things over and over and sang along. we particularly got stuck on Tennessee Jed – mostly because it had an easy enough chorus. I still remember though John telling me how much he didn’t like that part of the song where the dog gets kicked. We must have played it or bits of it anyway for hours. I don’t know what happened after that. i don’t remember anything else of the day. Just me n john and Europe 72 on a second hand turntable-radio-8track tape player- combo my mother had found at a tag sale. Eventually the stereo got stolen and I had to move out due to certain legalities interrupting my outlaw ways. About a year or so afterwords John got to be best man at my first wedding. Then he got married too. And then divorces and now I have no idea wherever he is but if i could I’d say thanks. Thanks for being my friend, thanks for the Grateful Dead, thanks for Europe’72 . I’d tell him how its become a tradition of mine on Good Friday to play nothing but The Dead and how because of that I’m sitting here in another bright and sunny kitchen thousands of miles away from that one where we sat and smoked the day away; thinking of him as I write.

 

IMG_0002

Grateful Dead Yoga

IMG_0004

broken wing, chet baker yoga – by pd lyons ( À la rentrée )


DSC_0925

today fines grey rain crossing the august green for which this country was named

sun salutes

sun salutes

crossed with moon

supported by the free weight

of missing Paris too

 

volume on this video may need to be turned up

Dead Can Dance Yoga, music by dead can dance, poem by pd lyons


galway

dead can dance – How Fortunate the Man with None:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KlNi4dhKTGo
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dead Can Dance Yoga

sometimes when quiet winter
bright enough with silver
opened windows
  incense shadows
a way of moving
without effort
a way of breath
without effort
a way without ache
karmicly non-existent
freely offered
 equally without effort

a time of true light
a time of true nature
where now the thousand years of darkness?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
dead can dance – Severance:

Nick Drake Yoga


 

Last night watched the fog roll in. Light enough, it was that near full moon and every Orion star shown through. The frost followed hard. Its animation audible and all moving across the lawn.

 

This morning the world still silvery and crunchy. Sorted out the hens. Made offerings to the wild birds. Messed about in the kitchen; dishes, laundry, porridge. Cleaned out the ashes. Got a fire going; turf, hedgerow cuttings  a few lumps of coal. Then gathered survival supplies – mat, pens, paper, laptop, orange, nettle tea. Retreat. Set up the barricades.

Sanctuary is this sitting room with its now blazing fire.

(clothes of sand by nick drake: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oE6PfDsYVjA 

DSC_3214

 

 

true


DSC_8960

Carrickfergus Castle/ Morgan

 

But do you believe it has been the work of one day? I have had to sweat, physically, emotionally, intellectually to reach this: Even my brain was sweating! You are really much luckier than me. I had to struggle to find this. Here I am giving it to you, for you to start. I didn’t know which way to go. I was at a crossroads, wondering which way to follow. It was a big struggle for me and for you people just a little. And it is for you to keep that flame burning, to experience it. So as you are aspiring people, aspiration also come from the self, does it not? The self is playing a dual role. You have to understand that dual role. The self is a seeker and it is a seer. Unfortunately, we are caught up in the plane of seeking but not seeing. So I request all of you, instead of seeking; whatever you do, see–deep inside. See what happens in every part of the body. –

–B.K.S. Iyengar in an interview with Annie Schliffer: “The Yoga Master at Ninety,” PARABOLA, Volume 34, No. 3, Fall 2009: “The Path.” To order this issue, click here: http://bit.ly/18CBVQT.

why we like bone orchard poetry!!!!!!!!!!!! and its not just their very cool name


http://www.boneorchardpoetry.blogspot.ie/2012/11/pd-lyons.html

PD Lyons

 

No One Knows The Secrets Of Our Lives
Random moment somewhere ago
Summer tip-toe naked peers
Over our sweating shoulders
Amazed by shapes of all that is
Between us
Blood beating hearts
Shadowed stains gold
Heavy trees humidity
Curls smoky sea of stars
Spread wet across fantastic thighs
Beneath all the eyes of everything
Invisible mother of lost compassions
…and if every dance again could be of honest flesh
and every god be born again of woman?
Anorexia Nervosa
she has been
sacredness
to me
and in serving
her
i make an art,
of that which
words
have been forbidden
i express
on my tight
white
canvas
a tale
everyone wants
to interpret
i cling to it
like a charm
~
she has been
sacredness
to me
with secret dark
eyes closed
behind
a sea
of objects
so safe
she does not
move me
but rather
causes me
to linger
tip toe
from eternity
~
she has been
sacredness
to me
endowed
this ornamental flesh
a power
always yearned for
and i would
cut myself
open
for her
but this she
does not
ask for
~
Youth, Yoga, And Reincarnation/ for Diane
I am the darker mother
Walking away
The time is noon
The world in flames
We talk
You listen
But tears cannot bring us together
Our flesh not bound
By such things
I am the darker mother
Walking away
We shall not meet again

 

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