YOGA FOR KNUCKLEHEADS #20 "BEST IN YOURSELF, BEST IN OTHERS"
Right off the bat, as we prepared for yoga with breathing exercises while on our backs, Reggie said, “As you breathe, trust your intuition, see the best in yourself, see the best in others...”
This is a serene, fulfilled person saying these things to about 15 of us and I wonder if he has a clue about what I see in myself as “best”, much less in others.
I've never tried to see the best in myself, feeling it is self indulgent and self congratulatory, and at this point after nearly 74 years of grappling with myself and the world, I've mostly tried to avoid dealing with what's worst in me. But Reggie got me to thinking, and when I tried to see or find what was best in myself, as a person, I kept thinking “you're a pretty good guy, it seems most people like you,” but I'm not sure about that, because occasionally I hear from others that this one “didn't like me,” and so and so claimed I was an “asshole.”
Anyway, it's hard to see the best in myself when I look back and have to admit my journey has been absolutely meaningless and futile, and often hapless and shamefully embarrassing, that I have accomplished little, nurtured and supported no offspring, had hardly any positive impact on anybody's life, have been largely selfish, mostly avoided stress and demanding challenges as well as hard work (a real waste of time) and have squandered so much valuable time being a bit of a drunken drug-addled wastrel as a bartender in Manhattan Beach where I ruined relationships with wonderful women as a philanderer, have daydreamed and fantasized and worked crossword puzzles and watched TV when I should have been reading, that I actually at one time was so lost I watched reality shows “The Real Housewives of New York, Orange County, Atlanta and Beverly Hills, as well as other garbage when the New Yorker magazine and a good literary novel sat before me, that if I hadn't inherited a modest amount of money I'd probably be homeless out of sheer laziness and my lack of respect for life itself, that I feud with old friends and hold grudges and threaten people when taken to task or challenged, and sometimes attack...it goes on and on, this litany of stupidity and arrogance and pettiness and lack of maturity and class and incompetence, for I cannot fix or build anything and have in the past while attempting to do so destroyed things and found myself in a throat gorged screaming rage at my own ineptitude, and that if I need anything done I have to call Dan or Ethan or Tag Morely before I ruin things ... it goes on and on, and I dare not confess any of this to Reggie, who would probably ignore this spiel and say something like:
“Now Dell, I'm sure you're exaggerating and in your own way have much value as a human being.”
But no, Reggie, I do not, so don't fucking expect me to see the best in myself when very little exists. Hell, I'm not even nice to my friends, because I was raised in a professional baseball player's clubhouse and learned to pick on people, and got so good at it that I've made enemies of friends unused to such hard ribbing and an ability to hit a personal sore spot—a ploy supposedly reserved for the athletic arena and not among pals. I might add that this behavior all stems from an inherited competitive gene that has pervaded my entire personality and ego and infected almost everything I've ever done in a demented manner, so that only the strong may survive my antics. Not a good thing. Not best.
How do I explain such rancorous behavior to Reggie when he wants me to see the best in me? If he tries to tell me what he feels is best in me I will refute it and accuse him of patronizing me and explain that only my dog Wilbur sees what is best in me, because even my poor neglected female companion of 28 years (we've lived separately for 25 years) agrees I donate all that is good and best in me to dogs I've co-habitated with. Even when my dog, out of jealousy, bit her, I stuck up for the dog. How's that for the best in me, Reggie boy?
Okay, I can dredge up a few bests in myself. I can make people laugh in my presence and occasionally as a writer. I'm a good tipper when eating out or boozing. I am generous with my money and have helped people out monetarily when they were down and kept a couple out of jail and from being homeless. When I play basketball, teammates consider me a good passer instead of a ball hog as well somebody who usually encourages them instead of picking on them, though I have been known to scald selfish players. I am steadfastly loyal as a code of conduct instilled in me by my dad who as a professional ball player and veteran never turned his back on anybody and was the first to come to your aid, especially when it came to fisticuffs. I have a few friends who stand by me, but that's all I can think of. A pretty meager list when put up against the worsts, of which I've written about and categorized in my writings, and only touched the surface.
Here's the thing: yoga people take it for granted if you're pleasant and polite around them and seem relatively sane and happy that there are a lot of bests to see in you, but do they realize my greatest joy is making fun of them and their relation to yoga, and that the whole yoga scene is just another folly and attempt by lost souls to make something meaningful of this mess of a life we've inherited, and that the joke is constantly on us, and especially on me?
These are not bests. This is cynical, scatological, misanthropic, depressing, negative bullshit, and I am the bullshit artist spewing it on a nonstop basis just to keep my sanity. Furthermore, deep down, from as long as I can remember, thinking good things about yourself made me feel like a dishonest hypocrite and a damn pansy.
Namaste.
This is a serene, fulfilled person saying these things to about 15 of us and I wonder if he has a clue about what I see in myself as “best”, much less in others.
I've never tried to see the best in myself, feeling it is self indulgent and self congratulatory, and at this point after nearly 74 years of grappling with myself and the world, I've mostly tried to avoid dealing with what's worst in me. But Reggie got me to thinking, and when I tried to see or find what was best in myself, as a person, I kept thinking “you're a pretty good guy, it seems most people like you,” but I'm not sure about that, because occasionally I hear from others that this one “didn't like me,” and so and so claimed I was an “asshole.”
Anyway, it's hard to see the best in myself when I look back and have to admit my journey has been absolutely meaningless and futile, and often hapless and shamefully embarrassing, that I have accomplished little, nurtured and supported no offspring, had hardly any positive impact on anybody's life, have been largely selfish, mostly avoided stress and demanding challenges as well as hard work (a real waste of time) and have squandered so much valuable time being a bit of a drunken drug-addled wastrel as a bartender in Manhattan Beach where I ruined relationships with wonderful women as a philanderer, have daydreamed and fantasized and worked crossword puzzles and watched TV when I should have been reading, that I actually at one time was so lost I watched reality shows “The Real Housewives of New York, Orange County, Atlanta and Beverly Hills, as well as other garbage when the New Yorker magazine and a good literary novel sat before me, that if I hadn't inherited a modest amount of money I'd probably be homeless out of sheer laziness and my lack of respect for life itself, that I feud with old friends and hold grudges and threaten people when taken to task or challenged, and sometimes attack...it goes on and on, this litany of stupidity and arrogance and pettiness and lack of maturity and class and incompetence, for I cannot fix or build anything and have in the past while attempting to do so destroyed things and found myself in a throat gorged screaming rage at my own ineptitude, and that if I need anything done I have to call Dan or Ethan or Tag Morely before I ruin things ... it goes on and on, and I dare not confess any of this to Reggie, who would probably ignore this spiel and say something like:
“Now Dell, I'm sure you're exaggerating and in your own way have much value as a human being.”
But no, Reggie, I do not, so don't fucking expect me to see the best in myself when very little exists. Hell, I'm not even nice to my friends, because I was raised in a professional baseball player's clubhouse and learned to pick on people, and got so good at it that I've made enemies of friends unused to such hard ribbing and an ability to hit a personal sore spot—a ploy supposedly reserved for the athletic arena and not among pals. I might add that this behavior all stems from an inherited competitive gene that has pervaded my entire personality and ego and infected almost everything I've ever done in a demented manner, so that only the strong may survive my antics. Not a good thing. Not best.
How do I explain such rancorous behavior to Reggie when he wants me to see the best in me? If he tries to tell me what he feels is best in me I will refute it and accuse him of patronizing me and explain that only my dog Wilbur sees what is best in me, because even my poor neglected female companion of 28 years (we've lived separately for 25 years) agrees I donate all that is good and best in me to dogs I've co-habitated with. Even when my dog, out of jealousy, bit her, I stuck up for the dog. How's that for the best in me, Reggie boy?
Okay, I can dredge up a few bests in myself. I can make people laugh in my presence and occasionally as a writer. I'm a good tipper when eating out or boozing. I am generous with my money and have helped people out monetarily when they were down and kept a couple out of jail and from being homeless. When I play basketball, teammates consider me a good passer instead of a ball hog as well somebody who usually encourages them instead of picking on them, though I have been known to scald selfish players. I am steadfastly loyal as a code of conduct instilled in me by my dad who as a professional ball player and veteran never turned his back on anybody and was the first to come to your aid, especially when it came to fisticuffs. I have a few friends who stand by me, but that's all I can think of. A pretty meager list when put up against the worsts, of which I've written about and categorized in my writings, and only touched the surface.
Here's the thing: yoga people take it for granted if you're pleasant and polite around them and seem relatively sane and happy that there are a lot of bests to see in you, but do they realize my greatest joy is making fun of them and their relation to yoga, and that the whole yoga scene is just another folly and attempt by lost souls to make something meaningful of this mess of a life we've inherited, and that the joke is constantly on us, and especially on me?
These are not bests. This is cynical, scatological, misanthropic, depressing, negative bullshit, and I am the bullshit artist spewing it on a nonstop basis just to keep my sanity. Furthermore, deep down, from as long as I can remember, thinking good things about yourself made me feel like a dishonest hypocrite and a damn pansy.
Namaste.
