Inner Voice

My mom and I had a plan today: Yoga Down Under for a noon class, lunch, wandering, and another heated class at 5 or 6. Our lovely luncheon ran late, however, and by the time 6 o'clock rolled around, our stomachs weren't empty enough for inversions. So we went home and watched a Stanley Kubrick film instead. Now, I'm not saying it's poor Stanley's fault, but my attention strayed, I got fidgety, wanting to move. This is one of those times you have to balance between the ability to calm and relax agitation, and the rallying cry "to the gym!". I tried my mat again, but after my fifth handstand, it was clear I craved a different flow. To the gym!

I needed to swim. Hot pride to battle the icy repression of winter (the last thing I one wants to do when coming from the cold is undress). I had my contacts out, so I didn't notice see who my lifeguard was. I just saw an white-and-red blur man.

Just as I was about to leave, the blur man wishes me goodbye and I recognize him- Ryan. Last week I got into a conversation with Ryan and another swimmer about how I felt I was missing true meaning in my translation of the Bhagavad Gita. (I felt that some words, when translated into English, such as sin or duty, carry historical and emotional baggage that the translator may not have intended, but the reader cannot shake off). Ryan was a religious studies major, particularly Indian religions. As I apologize for not recognizing him right away, he says he could not find the version of the Gita he meant to bring in for me. He does, however, have The Heart of Understanding by Thich Nhat Hanh and Psychology and Religion by C.G. Jung, both of which I should enjoy reading. He says, as he hands me the books.

Wow. Just wow. What a wonderful, kind and thoughtful action. I'll have to think of a way to reciprocate: Pema Chodron, definetely, and Love without Conditions, perhaps? An existential text?