There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
who says an inhale is not High Prayer?
an exhale…a Karmic Cleanse?
feeble ilg reckons
most people have become Sheep – mediocre and incapable of mining spiritual depth from the seeming mundane.
why?
because their Solo Practices and Prayers
have been replaced by…what?
social media? expensive yoga classes led by overly nubile, Prana-clad females? addiction to jobs and money over quality time spent with Loved Ones/family? fancy churches and temples?
“At an early age,
winter sports came into my life and fulfilled a spiritual sphere which continues to expand toward a divine bliss. Coldness, sweat, and snow have incredible beauty, mystique, and power. Such qualities inherent to winter sports are far more transformative than books, temples, and the idiocy of people and their addiction to perceived comfort and duality.”
skill in WF? not important.
ability in WF? none needed.
intellectual prowess in WF? Lord no!
what matters most along this Proven Path of Wholeness?
consistency of Practice.
Student Quote Of The Week: goes to Wholistic Fitness® Teacher “Q” (aka; Quentin H. Vaughan III) who wrote to me: “…and, as I sat here after my practice on this rainy afternoon, I found myself like Caine {reference; Kung Fu TV Series) reflecting on the years and how significant you and Wholistic Fitness® are to […]
The world’s original winter sport which saved the human ‘race’ remains the most demanding, mystical, and spirit-elevating pursuit on this Plane(t)….but don’t take my word for it…
One Halloween night beneath the Sacred Peak of Dibé Nitsaa…where my childhood canyon of Junction Creek spills into the Sacred Animas…yet, there are ghouls around, ghosts abound…
Round about the haunted 3rd Avenue homes 3 sacred friends go;
i a ninja scary clown, Joy and Dewa both Halloween cats…MEOWWWW!
Slithering under welcoming cold skies,
The night sings and chanst in wicked charm…
face first fetal on sweat-soaked linens…i writhe about, tortured and contained on my bed like a Trout Worm impaled on a rusty, barbed hook.
there are Aliens inside; crawling, crimping, marching, pinching every morsel of my anatomy each equipped – apparently – with some sort of hybrid torque/dehydration wrench. their command center must be my brain for it is swollen in pain as if it’s been replaced by a beehive.
every one of my 17 trillion cells bought, transformed, and flipped into a manufacturing plant of pain…
somebody, anybody; just take this cup frometh me….