This is how Cloud Yoga began, it's how I ended up - with absolutely no tech ability whatsoever (the machines are fucking winning) - attempting to blog and teach yoga online. Lyme Disease.
Firstly, I’d just like to say, I am not really sure I should be let loose on the yoga world. I don't really fit in.
You’ll begin to appreciate why in a moment.
I have trouble taking the obligatory shiny happy inspiring photos (it takes me hours of blurry, upside down, foot just out of range, thumb over the lens photos before I find one where I don't looked seriously unhinged, just escaped from somewhere seriously secure.
Secondly, I don’t have wisdom to impart, at least nothing you haven’t heard before.
I’ll attempt to re-hash some of the shit that’s helped me to not fucking die (that’s my aim, not even striving for sparkly white teethed smooth skinned glossy hair well-being - just not keeling over in mismatched Harry Potter pyjamas really at this point), but other than that I’d say this will be an experiment in epic fail.
Louise Hay spiritual bypassing style positive thinkers, fucking bite me and go and tut at someone else.
Probably make you feel better about your own life though, so there’s that.
I’m frequently proven wrong and often get things arse about face. In fact most of the time I’m spaced out and mildly delirious with the discomfort (fucking agony) that is living with Lyme disease.
I’m not better, I haven’t cured myself, I’m not a happy ending. Not yet.
I am a stuck, fucked off and struggling to hang on by my fingernails half way through, not there yet -fuck up.
And, I want to go back…back through the doorway I slipped in inadvertently through almost twenty years ago.
The doorway that separates the well from the sick. The able from the bolloxed. The mainstream from the alternative. The normal from the health journeying freak.
I want to drink whiskey, smoke, exercise too hard and eat all the wrong things.
I don’t want to know how to lower my shoulder blades down my back, ease the flesh (quite a lot of it) away from my sits bones, while lengthening my tail bone and not, I repeat not locking my EDS double jointed happy to dislocate at any inopportune opportunity knees (that’s bad, bad yogi).
I don’t want to use the ujjayi breath all the fucking time to keep myself in parasympathetic rather than sympathetic mode - so that my stupid adrenals don’t implode. I don’t even want to know what my nervous system is doing for fucks sake. I’d just really like it to work.
To be honest, it would be really nice if some of my other body systems rebooted at the same time.
However, as I’ve kind of transitioned seamlessly (kicking and fucking screaming) from normal to completely traumatised health warrior/botched bio-hacker, I’ve decided to share some of it.
You’ve done nothing to deserve this onslaught, I just have nothing better to do with my time.
Most of its ugly, a lot of it’s relatively brutal (coffee enemas and sticking supposedly health inducing suppository type things up arses will probably feature heavily), and I’m going to just assume that if anyone reads this (probably by mistake whilst looking for a proper blog), it’ll be the poor bastards in a similar situation.
Just to clarify, by situation, I mean fucked up. And by share I mean inflict my internal dialogue and suffering on everyone else because despite all the fucking yoga I’m still not even fucking remotely enlightened - can you tell by the tone so far?
As a yoga teacher (yeah I know, wtf and how?), it's the universal law that I get to interpret things (life and that kind of shit) and then insist you listen to my observations while I have you trapped in a class for an hour of unsolicited advice and condescension.
Because I can’t currently teach a live class because I’m fucked (see above), I’m going to share my not enlightened stuff (collection of half arsed insights based on half arsed research into various things that aren’t really interesting) on here instead.
Don’t you love that word? Doesn’t make you want to punch people at all does it?
The bonus being you get to close the browser and walk away.
So… there you go.
That’s the beginning.
Fairly shit as beginnings go. Reasonably moany. A bit sweary (it really could have been worse, I utilised tapas - more on that shortly - there and reined it in).
And, a lot boring. Just what I was aiming for. Yay!