This “missing” invitation for the “First Friday Night Special” on August 1stis a compilation post with excerpts, an embedded link to a related post, and a couple of videos.
You can request an audio recording of this Yin Yoga practice via a comment below or (for a slightly faster reply) you can email myra(at) ajoyfulpractice.com.
In the spirit of generosity (“dana”), the Zoom classes, recordings, and blog posts are freely given and freely received. If you are able to support these teachings, please do so as your heart moves you. (NOTE: You can donate even if you are “attending” a practice that is not designated as a “Common Ground Meditation Center” practice, or you can purchase class(es).
Donations are tax deductible; class purchases are not necessarily deductible.
“Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they’ve been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It’s an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It’s a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary.
Impossible is nothing.”
— quoted from a 2004 Adidas ad campaign written by Aimee Lehto (with final tag line credited to Boyd Croyner), often attributed to Muhammad Ali
In “Part I: The Practice of Yoga — 1. Yoga: Concept and Meaning” of The Heart of Yoga: Developing A Personal Practice, T. K. V. Desikachar offered several English definitions of the Sanskrit word “yoga”, including “‘to come together’” and “‘to attain what was previously unattainable.’”
There are many reasons why something may not have been done or may not have been done by us (specifically). In Yoga Sūtras 1.30 – 1.31, Patanjali highlighted nine obstacles/distractions and four accompanying conditions that we can expect when we practice. The nine obstacles/distractions are disease, mental inertia/dullness, doubt, carelessness/negligence, sloth/laziness, cravings (and the inability to withdraw from them), clinging to misperceptions, frustration (related to failure), and instability (or failure to maintain a certain level of practice). Co-arising and/or resulting directly from the obstacles/distractions are pain, mental agitation (which can come in the form of sadness and frustration), unsteadiness or trembling in the body, and irregular breath. You may notice that these are things people experience even if they have never practiced yoga (physically and/or philosophically). However, Patanjali offers a solution to these obstacles/distractions and their accompanying ailments: yoga and the practice of single-pointed focus. (YS 1.2 and YS 1.32)
In other words, “yoga” — and single-pointed focus — can be the path to doing what some might consider “impossible”.
A portion of the following is excerpted from a 2020 post.
“There can be no doubt, that, in most cases, their judgment may be equal with the other sex; perhaps even on the subject of law, politics or religion, they may form good judgment, but it would be improper, and physically very incorrect, for the female character to claim the statesman’s birth or ascend the rostrum to gain the loud applause of men, although their powers of mind may be equal to the task.”
— quoted from “II: Becoming an Advocate” in Observations on the Real Rights of Women , with Their Appropriate Duties, Reminiscences and Traditions of Boston, Agreeable to Scripture, Reason and Common Sense by Hannah Mather Crocker (published 1818)
Believe it or not, Hannah Crocker was advocating for women’s rights when the wrote the above, in 1818, and stated that “It is woman’s peculiar right to keep calm and serene under every circumstance in life, as it is undoubtedly her appropriate duty, to soothe and alleviate the anxious cares of men, and her friendly and sympathetic breast should be found the best solace for him, as she has an equal right to partake with him the cares, as well as the pleasures of life.” Taken out of context, and viewed with a modern mind, it is easy to think that Crocker would have disapproved of Maria Mitchell, who was born August 1, 1818 (on the island of Nantucket in Massachusetts).
Miss Mitchell, as the king of Denmark would refer to her, was the first acknowledged female astronomer. Her Quaker parents believed in equal education for the 10 offspring, regardless of gender, and her father shared his love of astronomy with all of his children. Miss Mitchell, however, was the only one really interested in going deeper into the math and science of what they viewed as “a hymn of praise to God.” She was assisting her father by the age of 12; opened and taught at a school for girls by the age of 17; and starting working as the librarian at the Nantucket Atheneum in her twenties. On October 1, 1848, she observed what she initially thought was a distant star, but quickly suspected was actually a comet. Further observation proved her correct and, after her father wrote to the Harvard Observatory, her conclusion was reported to the King of Denmark who awarded her a gold medal and named the newly sighted object “Miss Mitchell’s Comet”.1
Maria Mitchell would go on to be the first woman appointed to the American Association of the Advancement of Science (also in 1848); the first woman to earn an advanced degree (1853); the first woman appointed to the faculty of Vassar Female College (as their astronomy professor and head of their observatory, in 1865); and, therefore, the first woman in American history to earn a position as an astronomy professor. She is what I refer to this week as an impossible woman and Hannah Crocker may or may not have approved.
Take a moment to notice that Miss Mitchell was raised in a household where her interests and endeavors were supported. Despite the fact that she was born in a time and place where some believed her sex and gender should dictate/limit her vocation and occupation, she was able to focus on her goal, in part, because of her family “‘coming together’” to support her.
“First, no woman should say, ‘I am but a woman!’ But a woman! What more can you ask to be? Born a woman — born with the average brain of humanity — born with more than the average heart — if you are mortal, what higher destiny could you have? No matter where you are nor what you are, you are power.”
— quoted from Maria Mitchell: Life, Letters, and Journals by Maria Mitchell
We all have some power(s) and part of the yoga philosophy is about (re)gaining access to our power(s). (YS 1.3, 2.55, 4.1) We have all witnessed (and/or directly experienced) how that power is magnified when people “unite”. This is true even when people are together and yet doing their own thing. For instance, individuals are often able to do things in a group setting (i.e., practicing in a yoga class) that they may not be able to do — with the same ease or at all — when they are alone.
Part of the group experience is the energetic power of being together and part of it may be about having an “accountability buddy”, even if that buddy is a stranger with whom you never directly interact. You could also tap into that same energy dynamic when writing in a café or — or, as Herman Melville did, while living in close proximity with another writer.
“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off – then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.”
— quoted from Moby-Dick, or the Whale by Herman Melville
Born in New York City on August 1, 1819, exactly a year to the day after Maria Mitchell, Herman Melville shared a love of the sea (and certain other experiences) with Nathanial Hawthorne. During Melville and Hawthorne’s brief friendship, they were both their most prolific. They also published what would become their most popular works, including Melville’s Moby-Dick and Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter. Both wrote about people who obsessively purposed their goals (something that is encouraged in yoga), but their characters did not always temper their determination with devoted surrender and non-attachment (which is something that is also encouraged in yoga). Lest you think it was only Hawthorne who focused on commandments, read on.
“Think not, is my eleventh commandment; and sleep when you can, is my twelfth.”
— quoted from Moby-Dick, or the Whale by Herman Melville
You can click on the first excerpt below for the original (2020) post about Maria Mitchell and Herman Melville (which has a different yoga philosophy focus) or the second excerpt title for more about Herman Melville.
“When Herman Melville was writing Moby Dick, he wasn’t writing about a man looking for a whale. He was writing about a man trying to find his higher self. He said these words, ‘… for as this appalling ocean surrounds the verdant land, so in the soul of man lies one insular Tahiti, full of peace and joy, but encompassed by all of the horrors of the half-lived life.’
In every moment of your life, as you leave here today, you have this choice, you can either be a host to God, or a hostage to your ego.”
(NOTE: There will be a little bit of quiet space in this practice.)
Friday’s playlist is available onYouTube and Spotify. [Look for “06042021 Having Our Say / Let’s Get Loud” – I recommend Track 1 or Track 2.]
(NOTE:The YouTube playlist has videos not available on Spotify and the Spotify app may add extra tracks.)
Prop wise,this is a kitchen sink practice. You can practice without props or you can use “studio” and/or “householder” props. Example of “Studio” props: 1 – 2 blankets, 2 – 3 blocks, a bolster, a strap, and an eye pillow. Example of “Householder” props: 1 – 2 blankets or bath towels, 2 – 3 books (similar in size), 2 standard pillows (or 1 body pillow), a belt/tie/sash, and a face towel.
You may want extra layers (as your body may cool down during this practice). Having a wall, chair, sofa, or coffee table will also be handy.
If you are thinking about suicide, worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can dial 988 (in the US) or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also call this TALK line if you are struggling with addiction or involved in an abusive relationship. The Lifeline network is free, confidential, and available to all 24/7. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT ANYTHING.
White Flag is an app, which I have not yet researched, but which may be helpful if you need peer-to-peer (non-professional) support.
1NOTE:“Miss Mitchell’s Comet” is formally designated as C/1847 T1.
As this is the anniversary of the 1-35 bridge collapse, please hold a neighbor in your hearts and minds today. So many people are suffering with current events, but let us not forget that some people are still grieving and healing from past events. To quote my dad, “Sounds like we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
May you and yours be blessed with peace, clean water, and a good book!
Please join me today (Wednesday, July 30th) at 4:30 PM or 7:15 PM for a yoga practice on Zoom. You can use the link from the “Class Schedules”calendar if you run into any problems checking into the class. You can request an audio recording of this practice via a comment below or (for a slightly faster reply) you can email myra(at) ajoyfulpractice.com.
Wednesday’s playlist is available on YouTube and Spotify. [Look for “10202020 Pratyahara”]
Extreme heat can not only make people lethargic and unmotivated, it can also lead to extreme agitation and anxiety-based fear. We may find it hard to think, hard to feel (or process our feelings), and/or hard to control our impulses. If you are struggling in the US, help is available just by dialing 988.
If you are thinking about suicide, worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can dial 988 (in the US) or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also call this TALK line if you are struggling with addiction or involved in an abusive relationship. The Lifeline network is free, confidential, and available to all 24/7. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT ANYTHING.
White Flag is an app, which I have not yet researched, but which may be helpful if you need peer-to-peer (non-professional) support.
In the spirit of generosity (“dana”), the Zoom classes, recordings, and blog posts are freely given and freely received. If you are able to support these teachings, please do so as your heart moves you. (NOTE: You can donate even if you are “attending” a practice that is not designated as a “Common Ground Meditation Center” practice, or you can purchase class(es).
Donations are tax deductible; class purchases are not necessarily deductible.
This is the post-practice post for Monday, July 21st.The 2025 prompt question was, “If you were going to write a story, what would be the subject of your story?”
You can request an audio recording of this practice or a previous practice via a comment below or (for a slightly faster reply) you can email myra(at) ajoyfulpractice.com.
In the spirit of generosity (“dana”), the Zoom classes, recordings, and blog posts are freely given and freely received. If you are able to support these teachings, please do so as your heart moves you. (NOTE: You can donate even if you are “attending” a practice that is not designated as a “Common Ground Meditation Center” practice, or you can purchase class(es).
Donations are tax deductible; class purchases are not necessarily deductible.
“I may be wrong about this, but it seems as though so much fiction, particularly that by younger people, is very much about themselves. Love and death and stuff, but my love, my death, my this, my that. Everybody else is a light character in that play.
When I taught creative writing at Princeton, [my students] had been told all of their lives to write what they knew. I always began the course by saying, ‘Don’t pay any attention to that.’ First, because you don’t know anything and second, because I don’t want to hear about your true love and your mama and your papa and your friends. Think of somebody you don’t know. What about a Mexican waitress in the Rio Grande who can barely speak English? Or what about a Grande Madame in Paris? Things way outside their camp. Imagine it, create it. Don’t record and editorialize on some event that you’ve already lived through. I was always amazed at how effective that was. They were always out of the box when they were given license to imagine something wholly outside their existence. I thought it was a good training for them. Even if they ended up just writing an autobiography, at least they could relate to themselves as strangers.”
— Toni Morrison, quoted from the American Theatre interview “Write, Erase, Do It Over: On Failure, Risk and Writing Outside Yourself — Learning how to fail well is as crucial a part of a writer’s craft as putting words on a page. With other kinds of failure, you have less control.” by Rebecca Gross (dated March 10, 2015)
Writers are often taught, “Write what you know.” Some authors and creative writing teachers think that is the best advice ever. Others, as noted above* and below, think this old standard it is not so great advice. But, have you ever considered that (on a certain level) writers have no choice? Have you ever considered that every writer writes from their own experience — even when they are writing about the experience of others and even when they are writing about places that are not their home?
Storytelling is part of being human. Before we are born, our brains start processing all the sensations/information around us and communicating a story about the present moment. (YS 2.18-20) From an early age, we tell stories about how our day went and how we wish our day had gone. We make up stuff, embellish stuff, and tell lies. Or, we tell stories about things that randomly pop up in our head. Sometimes, those stories can be pretty fantastical. But, every time we tell a story, we are telling the story based on our understanding of the world, which is based on our past experiences and our samskara (“mental impression”).
In other words, we write what we know (and what we understand).
Now, take a moment to consider that much of what we read is available for us to read (and interests us) because of our previous experiences and, also, the experiences and identity of the writer — no matter their subject matter. This is why two writers can tell very different stories even when they are writing about the same things and the same places.
This is also why you may hear about one great author and not another.
Click on the excerpt title below for the very different stories of two writers born on July 21st.
“Every Wednesday, I teach an introductory fiction workshop at Harvard University, and on the first day of class I pass out a bullet-pointed list of things the students should try hard to avoid…. The last point is: Don’t Write What You Know.”
“The idea panics them for two reasons. First, like all writers, the students have been encouraged, explicitly or implicitly, for as long as they can remember, to write what they know, so the prospect of abandoning that approach now is disorienting. Second, they know an awful lot. In recent workshops, my students have included Iraq War veterans, professional athletes, a minister, a circus clown, a woman with a pet miniature elephant, and gobs of certified geniuses. They are endlessly interesting people, their lives brimming with uniquely compelling experiences, and too often they believe those experiences are what equip them to be writers. Encouraging them not to write what they know sounds as wrongheaded as a football coach telling a quarterback with a bazooka of a right arm to ride the bench. For them, the advice is confusing and heartbreaking, maybe even insulting. For me, it’s the difference between fiction that matters only to those who know the author and fiction that, well, matters.”
— quoted from The Atlantic (Fiction 2011 Issue) essay, “Don’t Write What You Know: Why fiction’s narrative and emotional integrity will always transcend the literal truth” by Bret Anthony Johnston
There is no playlist for the Common Ground Meditation Center practices.
If you are thinking about suicide, worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can dial 988 (in the US) or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also call this TALK line if you are struggling with addiction or involved in an abusive relationship. The Lifeline network is free, confidential, and available to all 24/7. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT ANYTHING.
White Flag is an app, which I have not yet researched, but which may be helpful if you need peer-to-peer (non-professional) support.
Many blessings to everyone and especially to anyone practicing peace, freedom, and wisdom (inside and outside).
“But when the mind opens, and reveals the laws which traverse the universe, and make things what they are, then shrinks the great world at once into a mere illustration and fable of this mind. What am I? and What is? asks the human spirit with a curiosity new-kindled, but never to be quenched. Behold these outrunning laws, which our imperfect apprehension can see tend this way and that, but not come full circle. Behold these infinite relations, so like, so unlike; many, yet one. I would study, I would know, I would admire forever. These works of thought have been the entertainments of the human spirit in all ages.”
— quoted from the 1838 “Divinity School Address” by Ralph Waldo Emerson
You can read this coda before or after you check out the post excerpted below; because, it involves a “full circle” moment I had a few days ago when I was talking to a neighbor.
This neighbor, who has known me all my life, was talking about sharing a meal with old friends and about the conversations that did and did not come up during the meal. Then she said that the problem with the world was that we were taught, as children, that it wasn’t polite or appropriate to talk about certain subjects in public. I mentioned, as I do in the post excerpted below, that I learned this lesson in a different way. Now, here, I should note that my neighbor and I have different hair textures — and, ironically, her mother occasionally did my grandmother’s hair — but, she got my point.
What struck me about the moment is how some rules and mores get passed down (and around) without people knowing why they are the rules and laws that govern our behavior. For instance, here in the United States, certain laws related to slavery are no longer on the books and yet people — of all races and ethnicities — behave as if they are still the law of the land.
More to the point: We don’t talk about this! In some cases, we don’t discuss certain things because we don’t want to start an argument — which is why we need to practice getting “unhooked”.
In other cases, we don’t talk about certain subjects because we don’t want to be banned (for 27 years… and 6 days) as Ralph Waldo Emerson was after addressing the Harvard Divinity School graduating class today in 1838.
“The intuition of the moral sentiment is an insight of the perfection of the laws of the soul. These laws execute themselves. They are out of time, out of space, and not subject to circumstance. Thus; in the soul of man there is a justice whose retributions are instant and entire. He who does a good deed, is instantly ennobled. He who does a mean deed, is by the action itself contracted. He who puts off impurity, thereby puts on purity. If a man is at heart just, then in so far is he God; the safety of God, the immortality of God, the majesty of God do enter into that man with justice. If a man dissemble, deceive, he deceives himself, and goes out of acquaintance with his own being. A man in the view of absolute goodness, adores, with total humility. Every step so downward, is a step upward. The man who renounces himself, comes to himself.”
— quoted from the 1838 “Divinity School Address” by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Please join me today (Tuesday, July 15th) at 12:00 PM or 7:15 PM for a yoga practice on Zoom. You can use the link from the “Class Schedules” calendar if you run into any problems checking into the class.You can request an audio recording of this practice via a comment below or by emailing myra(at) ajoyfulpractice.com.
Tuesday’s playlist is available on YouTube and Spotify. [Look for “07152020 Peace & Compassion RWE”]
If you are thinking about suicide, worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can dial 988 (in the US) or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also call this TALK line if you are struggling with addiction or involved in an abusive relationship. The Lifeline network is free, confidential, and available to all 24/7. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT ANYTHING.
White Flag is a new app, which I have not yet researched, but which may be helpful if you need peer-to-peer (non-professional) support.
In the spirit of generosity (“dana”), the Zoom classes, recordings, and blog posts are freely given and freely received. If you are able to support these teachings, please do so as your heart moves you. (NOTE: You can donate even if you are “attending” a practice that is not designated as a “Common Ground Meditation Center” practice, or you can purchase class(es). Donations are tax deductible; class purchases are not necessarily deductible.)
Peace and blessings to all, and especially to those completing the the Apostles’ (Peter & Paul) Fast during this 5th Week after Pentecost and/or beginning the month of Kalimát (“Words”)!
For Those Who Missed It: The following compilation post containing was originally posted in 2023. Class details and some formatting have been revised. Links and a little extra note have been added for context, and one link was converted into an excerpt.
“When from a long distance past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, but with more vitality, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny, and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.”
— quoted from “Overture” in Swann’s Way, Volume 1 of Remembrance of Things Past (or In Search of Lost Time) by Marcel Proust
You’re probably familiar with that old adage that “a picture is worth a thousand words,” but what’s the value of a thousand words that paint a picture? For that matter, what of a million? As I mentioned a few days ago, Marcel Proust wrote over a million words about memories and reflections — and, also, about how we recollect. He wrote about the very human thing we all do: look back over our days.
Sometimes we do it intentionally, deliberately — like the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, who would end each day by reviewing what he had done between rising and retiring. The stoic emperor’s practice is a good reflection meditation, which can help us be more productive and (sometimes) can help us to sleep better. It’s a way to literally put to bed unresolved issues that might otherwise keep us awake. Unfortunately, sometimes, we find ourselves in bed regurgitating memories that no longer serve us.
“We are able to find everything in our memory, which is like a dispensary or chemical laboratory in which chance steers our hand sometimes to a soothing drug and sometimes to a dangerous poison.”
— quoted from The Captive, Volume 5 of Remembrance of Things Past (or In Search of Lost Time) by Marcel Proust
Memories can also pop up, unexpectedly. We can be eating a madeleine or a biscuit, sitting by a moonlit lake, reading a book, listening to music, sitting down to take off or put on our shoes, or practicing on our mat and suddenly — out of nowhere it seems — we are bombarded with a very visceral memory. It seems as if it comes from nowhere, but it actually comes from inside of us. It is visceral because we not only feel it all the way to our bones, it comes out of our bones, out of our tissues, out of our minds and bodies.
So, how do you show up, in the present, when your mind-body can — at any given moment — transport you into the past? How do you make remembering useful? How do you very deliberately, very intentionally, harness the power of your memories and your ability to reflect?
What I’m really asking is: How do you remember with the intention of Thoreau and the eye of Eastman? (And, if you have that “eye of Eastman” how do you use it without (metaphorically) losing focus of the present moment?)
“The question is not what you look at, but what you see.”
— quoted from a journal entry dated August 5, 1851, as printed in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau: Journal, Walden Edition by Henry David Thoreau, compiled and edited by Franklin Benjamin Sanborn and Bradford Torrey
Born today in 1817, in Concord Massachusetts, Henry David Thoreau was a teacher and a writer, who is remembered as a writer and naturalist. He is also remembered as being very close to his brother John. I have heard that the brothers were close despite having different temperaments. Henry David was introverted and all about the books; John was out-going, extroverted, and fun-loving. Additionally, John supported Henry David’s every endeavor — helping him pay for tuition at Harvard and even started a new school when Henry David was fired for objecting to corporal punishment. They shared a lot of memories.
When John died, unexpectedly, in his brother’s arms, Henry David floundered. He lived with Ralph Waldo Emerson’s family for a period of time and served as a teacher to the Emerson children. Along with Edward Hoar, he accidentally burned down several hundred acres of Walden Woods. Not long after the fire, Emerson allowed Thoreau to retreat to a cabin located on 14 acres of land, about 1.5 miles from Emerson House.
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
— quoted from “Where I Lived, and What I Lived For” in Walden, or Life in the Woods by Henry David Thoreau
Henry David Thoreau lived in the cabin, on the banks of Walden Pond, for two years, two months, and two days. He spent that time writing his first book, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, which he self-published on May 30, 1849. The book was a memorial for his brother and it related the story of a trip the brothers took in 1839. He also wrote the work most people associate with the name Thoreau: a collection of essays entitled Walden, or Life in the Woods.
Both of Thoreau’s books are full of words that painted pictures. He was, after all, a “mental picture” taker. After his brother died unexpectedly, Henry David Thoreau was undoubtedly comforted by the images formed by his words, but think of how he might have felt (or might have written) had he and John been born decades after George Eastman.
“I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.”
— quoted from “Where I Lived, and What I Lived For” in Walden, or Life in the Woods by Henry David Thoreau
George Eastman, born today in 1854, in Waterville, New York, was an entrepreneur, inventor, and philanthropist who founded the Eastman Kodak Company. He and two older sisters (Ellen Maria and Katie) were initially raised on a 10-acre farm his parents purchased shortly before George was born. Unfortunately, their father — a successful entrepreneur himself — died of a brain disorder when Eastman was almost 8 years old. By then, the Eastman family was living in Rochester, NY and life on the farm was but a memory.
George, who had been self-taught until his father’s death, was sent to private school and his mother took in boarders in order to survive. By the time he was 15, the youngest of his sisters (Katie) had died of polio. Soon after her death, George left school and started a photography business. By the time he was 30 years old, he had patented the first practical “roll of film”. Before the age of 35, he had developed the Kodak Black camera, designed to use roll film. Eventually, his company became the first, and the leading company, to supply film stock. Along the way, George Eastman changed the way people remembered — and he incorporated what would become a billion dollar company (all with a made up name).
“What we do during our working hours determines what we have; what we do in our leisure hours determines what we are.”
— George Eastman
While some of details of their lives are very different, Henry David Thoreau and George Eastman were both very private men, who lived very solitary lives, and who believed in community. They also believed in serving the community — albeit in slightly different ways.
Henry David Thoreau was a transcendentalist and an abolitionist who read the Bhagavad Gītā and believed in civil disobedience. He was criticized for a number of things throughout his lifetime, including the decision to live alone with those regulated to the fringes of society (which some viewed as “unmanly”). His maternal grandfather, Asa Dunbar, led a student revolt at Harvard in 1766 (the first recorded in the United States) and Henry David spent a (very) short period of time in jail for “tax evasion” — which was not the first time he had refused to pay something he thought he should not have to pay. It is possible (and probable) that he also helped others escape tax liens.
“Some have asked what I got to eat; if I did not feel lonesome; if I was not afraid; and the like. Others have been curious to learn what portion of my income I devoted to charitable purposes; and some, who have large families, how many poor children I maintained…. Unfortunately, I am confined to this theme by the narrowness of my experience.”
— quoted from “Economy” in Walden, or Life in the Woods by Henry David Thoreau
George Eastman also lived a solitary life (in that he never married or had children). He was considered a progressive in the social and political sense. He fought the labor union movement by offering worker benefit programs, which included employee profit-sharing for all employees. He also promoted Florence McAnaney to the top position in the personnel department — establishing her as one of the first women to hold an executive position in a major U. S. company. He also founded “an independent non-partisan agency for keeping citizens informed” in Rochester, which continues to this day.
“If a man has wealth, he has to make a choice, because there is the money heaping up. He can keep it together in a bunch, and then leave it for others to administer after he is dead. Or he can get it into action and have fun, while he is still alive. I prefer getting it into action and adapting it to human needs, and making the plan work.”
— George Eastman
Henry David Thoreau was not a financially wealthy man. However his contributions to the world are priceless. His philosophy and viewpoints regarding “unjust laws” (like the Fugitive Slave Law, which he frequently attacked in lectures), influenced Leo Tolstoy, Mahatma Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr. His legacy to the modern world includes over 20 volumes worth of articles, essays, journals, and poetry.
On the flip side, George Eastman was a philanthropist, who donated (often anonymously, as “Mr. Smith”) millions of dollars to a variety of organizations including the University of Rochester (which was also the beneficiary of his estate); the Rochester Institute of Technology (RIT); and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). He established the Eastman School of Music and schools of dentistry and medicine at the University of Rochester, as well as the Eastman Dental Hospital in London, England. Low-income residents of London and other European cities also benefited from Eastman’s generosity as he provided funds for multiple clinics across the pond. Additionally, donated millions to Tuskegee University and Hampton University — historically Black universities.
“Light makes photography. Embrace light. Admire it. Love it. But above all, know light. Know it for all you are worth….”
— George Eastman
Please join me today (Saturday, July 12th) at 12:00 PM for a yoga practice on Zoom. You can use the link from the “Class Schedules”calendar if you run into any problems checking into the class. You can request an audio recording of this practice via a comment below or (for a slightly faster reply) you can email myra(at) ajoyfulpractice.com.
Saturday’s playlist is available on YouTube and Spotify. [Look for “07122020 Strenuous, Deliberate Life Photo”]
If you are thinking about suicide, worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can dial 988 (in the US) or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also call this TALK line if you are struggling with addiction or involved in an abusive relationship. The Lifeline network is free, confidential, and available to all 24/7. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT ANYTHING.
White Flag is an app, which I have not yet researched, but which may be helpful if you need peer-to-peer (non-professional) support.
In the spirit of generosity (“dana”), the Zoom classes, recordings, and blog posts are freely given and freely received. If you are able to support these teachings, please do so as your heart moves you. (NOTE: You can donate even if you are “attending” a practice that is not designated as a “Common Ground Meditation Center” practice, or you can purchase class(es). Donations are tax deductible; class purchases are not necessarily deductible.)
Many blessings to everyone and especially to anyone planting seeds for peace, freedom, and wisdom (inside and outside).
“For from the positions and distances of things from any body consider’d as immoveable, we define all places: and then with respect to such places, we estimate all motions…”
“And so instead of absolute places and motions, we use relative ones; and that without any inconvenience in common affairs: but in Philosophical disquisitions, we ought to abstract from our senses, and consider things themselves, distinct from what are only sensible measures… For it may be that there is no body really at rest, to which the places and motions of others may be referr’d.”
— quoted from Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica by Sir Isaac Newton
Sir Isaac Newton was just a 43-year old “natural philosopher” when he published the first edition of his Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica (Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy) today in 1687.
Please join me today (Saturday, July 5th) at 12:00 PM for a yoga practice on Zoom. You can use the link from the “Class Schedules”calendar if you run into any problems checking into the class. You can request an audio recording of this practice via a comment below or (for a slightly faster reply) you can email myra(at) ajoyfulpractice.com.
Saturday’s playlist is available on YouTube and Spotify. [Look for “10202020 Pratyahara”]
EXTRA MUSIC & NOTES:
The playlist for Friday, July 5, 2024, is available onYouTube and Spotify. [Look for “07052024 Seats for a ‘Rigid Body’”] This playlist includes before/after music by musicians celebrating birthdays today!
The playlist for Tuesday, July 5, 2022, is also available on YouTube and Spotify. [Look for “05262020 Fearless Play with Miles & Sally”]
“In the publication of this work, Edmond Halley, a man of the greatest intelligence and of universal learning, was of tremendous assistance, not only did he correct the typographical errors and see to the making of the woodcuts, but it was he who started me off on the road to this publication. For when he had obtained my demonstration of the shape of the celestial orbits, he never stopped asking me to communicate it to the Royal Society, whose subsequent encouragement and kind patronage made me begin to think about publishing it.”
— quoted from “Author’s Preface to the Reader” in The Principia: Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy by Isaac Newton, translated from the 3rd edition of the Latin original by I. Bernard Cohen and Anne Whitman, assisted by Julia Budenz (University of California Press. 2014.)
If you are thinking about suicide, worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can dial 988 (in the US) or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also call this TALK line if you are struggling with addiction or involved in an abusive relationship. The Lifeline network is free, confidential, and available to all 24/7. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT ANYTHING.
White Flag is an app, which I have not yet researched, but which may be helpful if you need peer-to-peer (non-professional) support.
In the spirit of generosity (“dana”), the Zoom classes, recordings, and blog posts are freely given and freely received. If you are able to support these teachings, please do so as your heart moves you. (NOTE: You can donate even if you are “attending” a practice that is not designated as a “Common Ground Meditation Center” practice, or you can purchase class(es). Donations are tax deductible; class purchases are not necessarily deductible.
Many blessings to everyone, and especially those celebrating Carnival and Maha Kumbh Mela!
Peace, ease, and prayer throughout this “Season for Nonviolence” and all other seasons!!!
“Having gone many paces ahead I stopped, panting for breath and laughing with glee as my mother watched my every movement. I was not wholly conscious of myself, but was more keenly alive to the fire within. It was as if I were the activity, and my hands and feet were only experiments for my spirit to work upon.”
— quoted from “Impressions of An Indian Childhood – I. My Mother” in American Indian Stories and Old Indian Legends by Zitkála-Šá
Click on the excerpt title below for more about Edna St. Vincent Millay (b. 1829) and Zitkála-Šá (b. 1876).
“I thought, as I wiped my eyes on the corner of my apron: Penelope did this too. And more than once: you can’t keep weaving all day And undoing it all through the night; Your arms get tired, and the back of your neck gets tight; And along towards morning, when you think it will never be light, And your husband has been gone, and you don’t know where, for years. Suddenly you burst into tears; There is simply nothing else to do.”
— quoted from the poem “An Ancient Gesture” by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Please join me today (Saturday, February 22nd) at 12:00 PM for a yoga practice on Zoom. You can use the link from the “Class Schedules”calendar if you run into any problems checking into the class. You can request an audio recording of this practice via a comment below or (for a slightly faster reply) you can email myra(at) ajoyfulpractice.com.
Saturday’s playlist is available on YouTube and Spotify. [Look for “022222 An Ancient Gesture”]
If you are thinking about suicide, worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can dial 988 (in the US) or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also call this TALK line if you are struggling with addiction or involved in an abusive relationship. The Lifeline network is free, confidential, and available to all 24/7. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT ANYTHING.
White Flag is a new app, which I have not yet researched, but which may be helpful if you need peer-to-peer (non-professional) support.
In the spirit of generosity (“dana”), the Zoom classes, recordings, and blog posts are freely given and freely received. If you are able to support these teachings, please do so as your heart moves you. (NOTE: You can donate even if you are “attending” a practice that is not designated as a “Common Ground Meditation Center” practice, or you can purchase class(es). Donations are tax deductible; class purchases are not necessarily deductible.)
Many blessings to everyone and especially to anyone observing the Dormition (Theotokos) Fast and/or exploring friendship, peace, freedom, and wisdom — especially when it gets hot (inside and outside).
Stay hydrated & be kind, y’all!
This is the “missing” for Wednesday, August 21st. Technically, it is also a portion of the “long lost” post for the 2021 practice. It includes some previously posted information. You can request an audio recording of this practice via a comment below or (for a slightly faster reply) you can email myra(at) ajoyfulpractice.com.
In the spirit of generosity (“dana”), the Zoom classes, recordings, and blog posts are freely given and freely received. If you are able to support these teachings, please do so as your heart moves you. (NOTE: You can donate even if you are “attending” a practice that is not designated as a “Common Ground Meditation Center” practice, or you can purchase class(es).
Donations are tax deductible; class purchases are not necessarily deductible.
“By the time it came to the edge of the Forest, the stream had grown up, so that it was almost a river, and being grown-up, it did not run and jump and sparkle along as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly. For it knew now where it was going, and it said to itself, ‘There is no hurry. We shall get there some day.’ But all the little streams higher up in the Forest went this way and that, quickly, eagerly, having so much to out before it was too late.”
— quoted from “Chapter Six, In Which – Pooh Invents a New Game and Eeyore Joins In” of The House at Pooh Corner by Alan Alexander Milne, with decorations by Ernest Howard Shephard
One day, a couple had a baby. They were expecting a girl and planned to call her “Rosemary.” But, it turned out they were having a boy. They decided to call him “Billy” — and while they did call him “Billy Moon,” they never intended to christen him “William.” Instead, the couple each picked a name. Born in Chelsea, London, England, today in 1920, the little baby boy was christened Christopher Robin Milne.
You may have heard of him.
Like his father, he was an author, as well as a bookseller, who wrote The Enchanted Places (1974), The Path Through the Trees (1979), The Hollow on the Hill (1982), The Windfall (1985), and The Open Garden (1988). Also like his father, Alan Alexander Milne, Christopher served in the military — although, it was a little harder for the younger Milne to join the British Army since he had health issues and failed his medical exam. At some point in his life he was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease called myasthenia gravis, which is a neuromuscular junction disease that creates muscle weakness and can lead to double vision. The elder Milne pulled some strings and young Christopher was able to join the 2nd Training Battalion of the Royal Engineers. After serving in the Middle East and Italy, being wounded, he eventually returned to Trinity College, Cambridge University, where he earned a degree in English.
But, that’s probably not why you’ve heard of him.
If you’ve heard of him, it’s probably not because he, like his father, married a woman from the de Sélincourt family — A. A. married Dorothy “Daphne” de Sélincourt, in 1913, and Christopher married Lesley (a first cousin), in 1948. Nor is it likely — although it is possible — that you know of him because (like his parents), he and his wife had one child, a daughter named Clare. I say that it is possible, but not likely, to have heard of Christopher Milne through his daughter Clare, because Clare had cerebral palsy and was an advocate for people with disabilities. In fact, Clare and her mother established the Clare Milne Trust in 1999, in order to provide grants to charities and organizations that “support people of all ages with a disability who live in Devon or Cornwall [and] help them to live a full and active life.” The trust started distributing grants in 2002; so, it’s possible (although, not probable) that that’s how you heard of Christopher Milne.
But, I’m willing to bet a whole jar of honey that you first heard of Christopher Robin Milne, because of his toys.
“Every child has his Pooh, but one would think it odd if every man still kept his Pooh to remind him of his childhood. But my Pooh is different, you say: he is the Pooh. No, this only makes him different to you. My toys were and are to me no more than yours were and are to you, not different to me. I do not love them more because they are known to children in Australia or Japan. Fame has nothing to do with love.”
— quoted from “12. The Toys” in The Enchanted Places by Christopher Milne
Christopher Milne received the first of those toys today in 1921. It was a Teddy bear named Edward, naturally. Later that year, one of his first Christmas presents was a stuffed grey donkey, Eeyore. Sometime that same year, he also received Piglet. Much later, his parents gave him three more stuffed animals: Kanga, Roo, and Tigger. At some point, the family went to the London Zoo to see a Canadian black bear named Winnipeg. Then, when he was around five years old, Mr. Milne and his family moved to a country home in East Sussex. The house was surrounded by woods and things the little boy was eager to explore.
To entertain his son, A. A. Milne wrote little verses, including one called “Teddy Bear,” which appeared in Punch when Christopher Robin was three years old. When the family moved, the senior Mr. Milne started incorporating the woods around their East Sussex home into the poems and stories about Christopher Robin, Winnie the Pooh, and the other stuffed animals. Owl and Rabbit (and maybe Small) — and definitely the Heffalump were made up. Alice was not; she was young Christopher’s nanny, Olive “Nou” Rand Brockwell. Much to everyone’s surprise — and much to A. A. Milne’s chagrin — the stories, with those lovely “decorations” by E. H. Shephard, garnered more accolades than for his plays, articles, and adult novels.
But, what could he do about that?
”Forty years ago such letters were addressed to my father, and I can well remember seeing them on the breakfast table every morning and watching him open them…. He would read them silently, then pass them, one at a time, to my mother.
‘What do you think?’
‘Probably Wol.’
‘I thought so too.’
So ‘Wol’ it often was.
You may remember the occasion. Rabbit had found the notice saying GON OUT BACKSON BISY BACKSON and had taken it round to Owl for his advice. You may even remember the actual lines. Owl asks:
‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing’
‘The best thing,’ said Owl wisely.
Somehow, so often, nothing did seem the best thing to do.”
— quoted from the “Introduction” in The Enchanted Places by Christopher Milne
Click on the excerpt title below for the 2022 post dedicated to A. A. Milne (featuring a related video from my “Nine Days” series).
The little boy grew up, as little boys do. His parents were concerned by how all the attention affected their still young son — who, it must be said, kind of hated the attention. He was bullied when he was in Boxgrove School (a boarding school) and even more so when he went to Stowe School. Eventually, as I mentioned before, he went to college, then to war, and then back to college. He got married and had his daughter. Much to his mother’s surprise, Christopher Milne opened Harbour Bookshop, in Dartmouth, on August 25. 1951. The bookstore was a success. In fact, up until its last owners closed the shop in 2011, it was the only independent bookshop in Dartmouth for the better part of 60 years.
While Christopher Milne maintained a relationship with his father up until A. A. Milne’s death in 1956 (shortly before Clare was born), he was estranged from his mother from 1956 until her death in 1971. He had no interest in returning to Cotchford Farm, his childhood home in East Sussex, or his father’s royalties. With the exception of Roo, who was lost when Mr. Milne was 9, the original stuffed animals were all donated to the New York Public Library.
A portion of the following was posted last year.
”Yet the little boy did grow up and it is the grown-up little boy who is writing now. And something of what he was by nature and something of what he became as a result of his experience will colour his words.”
— quoted from the “Introduction” in The Enchanted Places by Christopher Milne
In 1974, the very grown-up Christopher Milne wrote The Enchanted Places to bridge the gap between what people know — or think they know — about a boy and his toys and the man that grew up. That bridge is full of “a few precious things / [that] Seem to follow throughout all our lives.” Some of those things are specific, tangible and describable: toys, games, people. Some of those things are unspecific: a feeling created and then remembered. The bridge is also made up of barely describable and absolutely indescribable things.
As Patanjali pointed out in Yoga Sūtras 2.18 – 2.20), everything in the world is made up of these things. So, there is always a bridge and every one of us has a story (or stories) that make up our bridge. Those stories are filled (if we are lucky) with friends — like Christopher Robin, Pooh, Piglet, Owl, Eeyore, Rabbit, Kanga, Roo, Tigger, the Heffalump, and (even) Small and Alice — and afternoons of just knowing, doing “nothing” (or something).
“Christopher Robin came down from the Forest to the bridge, feeling all sunny and careless, and just as if twice nineteen didn’t matter a bit, as it didn’t on such a happy afternoon, and he thought if he stood on the bottom rail of the bridge, and leant over, and watched the river slipping slowly away beneath him, then he would suddenly know everything there was to be known, and he would be able to tell Pooh, who wasn’t quite sure of it. But when he got to the bridge and saw all the animals there, then he knew that it wasn’t that kind of afternoon, but the other kind, when you wanted to do something.”
— quoted from “Chapter Six, In Which – Pooh Invents a New Game and Eeyore Joins In” of The House at Pooh Corner by Alan Alexander Milne, with decorations by Ernest Howard Shephard
Wednesday’s playlist available on YouTube and Spotify. [Look for “08212021 An Afternoon of Just Knowing”]
“If ever there is a tomorrow when we’re not together…there is something you must always remember: you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think…”
— Christopher Robin to Winnie-the-Pooh (in the Walt Disney movie, Pooh’s Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin, written by Carter Crocker and Karl Geurs
Extreme heat (and a lot of changes) can not only make people lethargic and unmotivated, they can also lead to extreme agitation and anxiety-based fear. We may find it hard to think, hard to feel (or process our feelings), and/or hard to control our impulses. If you are struggling in the US, help is available just by dialing 988.
If you are thinking about suicide, worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can dial 988 (in the US) or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also call this TALK line if you are struggling with addiction or involved in an abusive relationship. The Lifeline network is free, confidential, and available to all 24/7. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT ANYTHING.
White Flag is a new app, which I have not yet researched, but which may be helpful if you need peer-to-peer (non-professional) support.
“A good sequence is like a good story. There is a beginning (an introduction), the middle (the heart of the story), and the end (the conclusion)”
— Maty Ezraty
Every practice tells a series of concentric — and sometimes overlapping — stories. There is the obvious physical-mental story, which is the story of where your mind-body has been, where you are, and where you could go. This story overlaps with the related story of vedanā, based on your sensations, feelings, and/or vibrations in the past, present, and future. We can call this an emotional story, but it is also an energetic story. Then there is also the story of symbols, stereotypes, and archetypes — which is how our mind-body often frames these other stories in order to better understand them. Finally, when I lead a practice, there is the story (or stories) I tell to frame the other stories.
The stories — or themes — that I share during the practice can be purely philosophical; religious; rooted in math and/or science; fictional; historical; and/or biographical. In fact, sometimes there are elements of all of the above. And while I use the āsanas (“seats” or poses) and the sequences to tell these framing stories – and, of course, I use my words — a lot of the story gets told with the music.
Ah, yes, music, “sweet music” — which spirals in a whole other set of concentric (and sometimes overlapping) stories. One of those spirals (i.e., one of those stories told by the music I select to tell the other stories) is the story of where I come from and the timing of when I came and developed in the world. Yes, I sometimes do a little research and may adjust some of my old playlists to be more inclusive — I’ve even been known to include a song or two that don’t particularly resonate with me. Ultimately, however, I am who I am and (like every other storyteller that’s ever existed) I tell the story based on what I know.
Which means: The stories I tell (and even how I tell them) would be very different if I were a white American-born man of a certain generation or if I were a Nigerian-born British woman of a certain generation.
The the remainder of this post, excluding details and links for today’s classes, was originally posted on July 21, 2020. There are references to mental health, suicide, and spousal abuse. If you want a little musical challenge, read this “Tale of Two Writers” and then create your own playlist based on their lives. You can even share it or link it in the comments below.
“… she has, over time, changed her politics about race and gender differences. This Emersonian political shift — ‘Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again’ (McQuade 1 : 1148 ) – is one measure Morrison ‘ s developing sensibility as a woman and as an artist. Two examples immediately come to mind. In 1974, Morrison cautiously spoke of what she considered to be ‘a male consciousness’ and ‘a female consciousness’ as totally separate spheres. She then stated, ‘Black men – and this may be way off the wall because I haven’t had time to fully reflect about this – frequently are reacting to a lot more external pressures than Black women are. For one thing they have an enormous responsibility to be men.’ Morrison went on to reinforce her conviction: ‘All I am saying is that the root of a man’s sensibilities [is] different from a woman’s’ (Taylor-Guthrie 7). Morrison slightly modified this view when she spoke of her construction of Sula as a rebel, as a masculinized figure, and an equal partner in sexual relations in the 1920’s and 1930’s. She stated that Sula did not depict ‘as typical black woman at all’ (Septo, “Intimate Things” 219).”
— quoted from Toni Morrison: Playing with Difference by Lucille P. Fultz
This is a tale of two writers. Both born today — one in 1899, the other in 1944 — one was male, the other was female. One was White, the other was Black. We can get into nationalities later, but…. One won a Pulitzer Prize in Fiction and a Nobel Prize in Literature, while the other was designated OBE. Both have foundations named after them. One you have studied, probably in high school, maybe in college (even if you weren’t a literature major) and one you may have never read (let alone studied — even if you studied literature). She was born on his 45th birthday, when he was in Germany (curiously attached to an infantry regiment and doing things that would eventually bring up charges against him by the Geneva Convention). Both are recognized as successful authors and both wrote from their own experiences. However, so far as I can tell, only one of them has (as of today) ever been featured as a Google Doodle. (Spoiler Alert: It’s not the one you’ll be thinking when their identities are revealed.)
Let’s start with the man — one, because he was born first and second, because he is considered to be the model of a man’s man. In fact, he made his living as an author writing about characters who are considered to be the epitome of masculinity (even when, as it sometimes was, very obviously toxic masculinity). He went to a public high school, in a major U. S. city, but did not attend college. He was married four times, traveled the world, fathered three children (all boys), and spent his 26th birthday starting his first novel — which would also be one of his most famous works. (I think) he smoked and he (definitely) drank for most of his life; however, his drinking became excessively excessive after a couple of plane crashes in Africa. He was devastated when his first wife lost a suitcase full of manuscripts and (towards the end of his life) super paranoid that the American government was keeping tabs on him. They were; the FBI had a file on him — in part because of his ties to Cuba. He received electroshock treatments/therapy at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota and committed suicide, just like his father, sister, and brother (as well as one of his father-in-laws). He was 61. It’s possible that his paranoia and suicide were (in part) caused by the same thing that caused his father’s paranoia and suicide; they bother suffered from hereditary hemochromatosis, which causes the body to absorb too much iron and leads to physical as well as mental deterioration. He is often quoted as saying that in a man must do four things in his life (in order to be a man): plant a tree, fight a bull, write a novel, and father a son (although some have said “raise a son”).
If any of this sounds familiar, it’s because this first author is Ernest “Papa” Hemingway. (He has not been featured as a Google Doodle — but he has been quoted in reference to Google Doodles for Josephine Baker and René Maran.) Hemingway started off as a journalist, who served in World War I (as a Red Cross ambulance driver, because the U. S. Army diagnosed him with bad eyesight), and somehow (see “curiously” note above) attached himself to a U. S. army infantry regiment during World War II. His work includes novels, novellas, short stories, non-fiction, articles, and published letters. He referred to his minimalist style of writing as “the iceberg theory” or “the theory of omission”.
“If a writer of prose knows enough of what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water. A writer who omits things because he does not know them only makes hollow places in his writing.”
— quoted from Death in the Afternoon by Ernest Hemingway
As I mentioned before, the woman also wrote about what she knew — of course, what she knew was very different. She wrote, for example, that “you are simply not allowed to commit suicide in peace, because everyone is responsible for the other person.” Her gender initially meant that she would be kept at home; however, she convinced her parents that there was a benefit to her going to school. She attended private primary school, earned a scholarship to a private secondary school, and eventually attended the University of London. However, she was also engaged by age 11, married and pregnant at 16 years old, and separated and pregnant with her fifth child by the age of 22. By all accounts, she not only gave birth, she also raised her children and managed to earn a Bachelor of Science (Honours) degree in Sociology by age 28 and a PhD by the time she was 47 years old. She received a second, honorary, doctorate from a second University a year later. Her marriage was unhappy, violent, and punctuated by her husband’s paranoia about her writing. He burned her first manuscript. She rewrote it, but five years passed in the interim. She worked as a library officer for the British Museum in London, as a youth worker and sociologist, and as a community worker — all while writing, publishing, and raising her children. Her writing eventually enabled her to travel around the world (including to the U. S.) as a guest professor and visiting lecturer. In addition to working a variety of cultural and literary organizations, she and one of her sons ran a publishing company (that printed some of her own work under her own imprint). She was made an OBE (Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire) in 2005. She suffered a stroke in 2010 and died 7 years later. She was 72. She once said, “I work toward the liberation of women, but I’m not a feminist. I’m just a woman. My books are about survival, just like my own life.”
If none of this sounds familiar, you might be surprised that Buchi Emecheta was celebrated with a Google Doodle a year ago today (on what would have been her 75th birthday). She reportedly started writing as a way to deal with the troubles in her marriage and went on to write novels, children/YA books, plays, articles, and an autobiography. Her son Sylvester, who established a publishing company to ensure his mother’s work stays in print, said that Emecheta was the descendant of storytellers who passed down to him and his siblings the “Moonlight tales” that she learned from her aunts and father.
“Living entirely off writing is a precarious existence and money is always short, but with careful management and planning I found I could keep my head and those of my family, through God’s grace, above water.”
— Head Above Water by Buchi Emecheta
Ultimately, we are taught what someone has decided it is important for us to learn. We may not have any reason to question why we are taught one thing and not another, one author and not another. And, if we are not big readers, we are unlikely to read outside of our primary society’s canon. Maybe, as we get older, we turn to mass market fiction (or non-fiction) as a form of escapism. Maybe we turn to award winning literature — but we don’t really question why one author gets published but not the other, why one book makes the short list but not the other. Since many of us have grown up in society where we were encouraged to learn/do/teach (or see/do/teach) this means that we teach what we were taught — even if we are not teachers. Furthermore, as has happened recently, when we start to question and explore… we start with what (and who) we know – even if the authors we know are not experts in our latest field of study.
This paradox reminds me of Newton’s Laws of Motion (particularly, the law of inertia: an object in motion remains in motion, an object at rest remains at rest — unless something disrupts its condition). It also reminds me of college.
I studied English Literature at a major U. S. university. There had previously been some pretty prestigious guest professors over the years; however, when I started, in the late 1980’s, there were no African, African-American, Black British, or Black anything modules in literature. You might read a writer here or there in a 20th Century survey class, but you couldn’t (as I did with Russian literature) sit in what was essentially an oversized closet with a professor and three or four other students and learn about literature written from the perspective of the African diaspora. (Honestly, in college, I probably didn’t even know how to write a sentence like that — that’s how far African-American literature was outside of my wheelhouse!)
Dr. Lucille P. Fultz joined the faculty my senior year and, with some new awareness, I decided to take one of her classes. She had graduated from Spellman College (a historically black university for women) and completed her graduate degrees at the University of Iowa (which is known for its writers) and Emory University (which is just known). I remember her as my own personal stereotype of a Spellman woman: mature, petite, dark-skinned, natural, knowledgeable (in a seriously erudite way), well-spoken (but also soft-spoken), and dressed to the nines. In my head, she wore white gloves — but honestly, I think I made that up. I may also have made up the idea that she did not original study literature with the intention of teaching African-American literature. I say, “I may have made up the idea”, because she is now recognized as an authority on Toni Morrison (whose history as a writer/mom/publisher in some ways mirrors Emecheta’s history as a writer/mom/publisher) and she got me to read The Bluest Eye, which was quite possibly the only Toni Morrison book I had not read on my own.
My alma mater now has a history department with “a strong team dedicated to the history of Africa, the African diaspora, and African-American Studies” and a newly established Center for African and African American Studies. Curiously (and going back to the idea that we learn what we are taught and teach what we learn), two of the six members of that dedicated team are easily recognizable as people of color – and they are the only ones on the team who graduated (as undergrads) from the school where they now teach; one graduated just before me, the other attended after Dr. Fultz was firmly established at the university.
“Everyone’s life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.”
— Ernest Hemingway
“[I write] stories of the world…[where]… women face the universal problems of poverty and oppression, and the longer they stay, no matter where they have come from originally, the more the problems become identical.”
— Buchi Emecheta
Hemingway wrote about war, sex, love, loyalty, fishing, bullfighting, and the feeling of being lost in the middle of an adventure. Emecheta wrote about sexual discrimination, racial prejudice, sex, love, changing nappies, being a single parent, and religion. They both wrote about culture clashes, their experiences in Africa, as well as about the roles and relationships between men and women, but much of what they wrote looks and feels very different – even when, occasionally, the wrote about the same situations. Take Africa, for instance. To Hemingway, the continent of Africa was an exotic land of (physical) danger and adventure. To Emecheta, Africa (and specifically Nigeria) was home and a land (socially and physically) dangerous in the way it marginalized women.
As I mentioned above, they had different ideas on suicide (even different ideas about why one might consider suicide) and they had very different ideas about education. In her autobiography, Emecheta wrote, “An uneducated person has little chance of happiness. He cannot enjoy reading, he cannot understand any complicated music, he does not know what to do with himself if he has no job. How many times have I heard my friends say, ‘ I want to leave my boring job because I want to write, because I want to catch up with goings on in the theatre, because I want to travel and because I want to be with my family.’ The uneducated man has no such choices. Once he has lost his boring job, he feels he’s lost his life. That is unfair.” On the flip side, Hemingway had significantly less (formal) education than Emecheta, struggled with depression, and stated that when he started writing his first novel, “Everybody my age had written a novel and I was still having a difficult time writing a paragraph.”
“If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.”
— A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
“She, who only a few months previously would have accepted nothing but the best, had by now been conditioned to expect inferior things. She was now learning to suspect anything beautiful and pure. Those things were for the whites, not the blacks.”
— Second Class Citizen by Buchi Emecheta
Please join me today (Wednesday, July 21st) at 4:30 PM or 7:15 PM for a yoga practice on Zoom.Use the link from the “Class Schedules” calendar if you run into any problems checking into the class. You will need to register for the 7:15 PM class if you have not already done so. Give yourself extra time to log in if you have not upgraded to Zoom 5.0. You can request an audio recording of this practice via a comment below or by emailing myra (at) ajoyfulpractice.com.
Wednesday’s playlist is available on YouTube and Spotify. [Look for “07212020 A Tale of Two Writers”]
If you are using an Apple device/browser and the “Class Schedules” calendar is no longer loading, you may need to upgrade your browser, or you can email me at myra (at) ajoyfulpractice.com at least 20 minutes before the practice you would like to attend.
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“If every one said orders were impossible to carry out when they were received where would you be? Where would we all be if you just said, ‘Impossible,’ when orders came?”
— For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway
“Just keep trying and trying. If you have the determination and commitment, you will succeed.”
— Buchi Emecheta
If you are thinking about suicide, worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can call 1-800-273-TALK (8255). You can also call the TALK line if you are struggling with addiction or involved in an abusive relationship. The Lifeline network is free, confidential, and available to all 24/7. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT ANYTHING.
If you are a young person in crisis, feeling suicidal, or in need of a safe and judgement-free place to talk, call the TrevorLifeline (which is staffed 24/7 with trained counselors).
“… she has, over time, changed her politics about race and gender differences. This Emersonian political shift — ‘Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again’ (McQuade 1 : 1148 ) – is one measure Morrison ‘ s developing sensibility as a woman and as an artist. Two examples immediately come to mind. In 1974, Morrison cautiously spoke of what she considered to be ‘a male consciousness’ and ‘a female consciousness’ as totally separate spheres. She then stated, ‘Black men – and this may be way off the wall because I haven’t had time to fully reflect about this – frequently are reacting to a lot more external pressures than Black women are. For one thing they have an enormous responsibility to be men.’ Morrison went on to reinforce her conviction: ‘All I am saying is that the root of a man’s sensibilities [is] different from a woman’s’ (Taylor-Guthrie 7). Morrison slightly modified this view when she spoke of her construction of Sula as a rebel, as a masculinized figure, and an equal partner in sexual relations in the 1920’s and 1930’s. She stated that Sula did not depict ‘as typical black woman at all’ (Septo, “Intimate Things” 219).”
– quoted from Toni Morrison: Playing with Difference by Lucille P. Fultz
This is a tale of two writers. Both born today – one in 1899, the other in 1944 – one was male, the other was female. One was White, the other was Black. We can get into nationalities later, but…. One won a Pulitzer Prize in Fiction and a Nobel Prize in Literature, while the other was designated OBE. Both have foundations named after them. One you have studied, probably in high school, maybe in college (even if you weren’t a literature major) and one you may have never read (let alone studied – even if you studied literature). She was born on his 45th birthday, when he was in Germany (curiously attached to an infantry regiment and doing things that would eventually bring up charges against him by the Geneva Convention). Both are recognized as successful authors and both wrote from their own experiences. However, so far as I can tell, only one of them has (as of today) ever been featured as a Google Doodle. (Spoiler Alert: It’s not the one you’ll be thinking when their identities are revealed.)
Let’s start with the man – one, because he was born first and second, because he is considered to be the model of a man’s man. In fact, he made his living as an author writing about characters who are considered to be the epitome of masculinity (even when, as it sometimes was, very obviously toxic masculinity). He went to a public high school, in a major U. S. city, but did not attend college. He was married four times, traveled the world, fathered three children (all boys), and spent his 26th birthday starting his first novel – which would also be one of his most famous works. (I think) he smoked and he (definitely) drank for most of his life; however, his drinking became excessively excessive after a couple of plane crashes in Africa. He was devastated when his first wife lost a suitcase full of manuscripts and (towards the end of his life) super paranoid that the American government was keeping tabs on him. They were; the FBI had a file on him – in part because of his ties to Cuba. He received electroshock treatments/therapy at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota and committed suicide, just like his father, sister, and brother (as well as one of his father-in-laws). He was 61. It’s possible that his paranoia and suicide were (in part) caused by the same thing that caused his father’s paranoia and suicide; they bother suffered from hereditary hemochromatosis, which causes the body to absorb too much iron and leads to physical as well as mental deterioration. He is often quoted as saying that in a man must do four things in his life (in order to be a man): plant a tree, fight a bull, write a novel, and father a son (although some have said “raise a son”).
If any of this sounds familiar, it’s because this first author is Ernest “Papa” Hemingway. (He has not been featured as a Google Doodle – but he has been quoted in reference to Google Doodles for Josephine Baker and René Maran.) Hemingway started off as a journalist, who served in World War I (as a Red Cross ambulance driver, because the U. S. Army diagnosed him with bad eyesight), and somehow (see “curiously” note above) attached himself to a U. S. army infantry regiment during World War II. His work includes novels, novellas, short stories, non-fiction, articles, and published letters. He referred to his minimalist style of writing as “the iceberg theory” or “the theory of omission.”
“If a writer of prose knows enough of what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water. A writer who omits things because he does not know them only makes hollow places in his writing.”
– quoted from Death in the Afternoon by Ernest Hemingway
As I mentioned before, the woman also wrote about what she knew – of course, what she knew was very different. She wrote, for example, that “you are simply not allowed to commit suicide in peace, because everyone is responsible for the other person.” Her gender initially meant that she would be kept at home; however, she convinced her parents that there was a benefit to her going to school. She attended private primary school, earned a scholarship to a private secondary school, and eventually attended the University of London. However, she was also engaged by age 11, married and pregnant at 16 years old, and separated and pregnant with her fifth child by the age of 22. By all accounts, she not only gave birth, she also raised her children and managed to earn a Bachelor of Science (Honours) degree in Sociology by age 28 and a PhD by the time she was 47 years old. She received a second, honorary, doctorate from a second University a year later. Her marriage was unhappy, violent, and punctuated by her husband’s paranoia about her writing. He burned her first manuscript. She rewrote it, but five years passed in the interim. She worked as a library officer for the British Museum in London, as a youth worker and sociologist, and as a community worker – all while writing, publishing, and raising her children. Her writing eventually enabled her to travel around the world (including to the U. S.) as a guest professor and visiting lecturer. In addition to working a variety of cultural and literary organizations, she and one of her sons ran a publishing company (that printed some of her own work under her own imprint). She was made an OBE (Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire) in 2005. She suffered a stroke in 2010 and died 7 years later. She was 72. She once said, “I work toward the liberation of women, but I’m not a feminist. I’m just a woman. My books are about survival, just like my own life.”
If none of this sounds familiar, you might be surprised that Buchi Emecheta was celebrated with a Google Doodle a year ago today (on what would have been her 75th birthday). She reportedly started writing as a way to deal with the troubles in her marriage and went on to write novels, children/YA books, plays, articles, and an autobiography. Her son Sylvester, who established a publishing company to ensure his mother’s work stays in print, said that Emecheta was the descendant of storytellers who passed down to him and his siblings the “Moonlight tales” that she learned from her aunts and father.
“Living entirely off writing is a precarious existence and money is always short, but with careful management and planning I found I could keep my head and those of my family, through God’s grace, above water.”
– Head Above Water by Buchi Emecheta
Ultimately, we are taught what someone has decided it is important for us to learn. We may not have any reason to question why we are taught one thing and not another, one author and not another. And, if we are not big readers, we are unlikely to read outside of our primary society’s canon. Maybe, as we get older, we turn to mass market fiction (or non-fiction) as a form of escapism. Maybe we turn to award winning literature – but we don’t really question why one author gets published but not the other, why one book makes the short list but not the other. Since many of us have grown up in society where we were encouraged to learn/do/teach (or see/do/teach) this means that we teach what we were taught – even if we are not teachers. Furthermore, as has happened recently, when we start to question and explore… we start with what (and who) we know – even if the authors we know are not experts in our latest field of study.
This paradox reminds me of Newton’s Laws of Motion (particularly, the law of inertia: an object in motion remains in motion, an object at rest remains at rest – unless something disrupts its condition). It also reminds me of college.
I studied English Literature at a major U. S. university. There had previously been some pretty prestigious guest professors over the years; however, when I started, in the late 1980’s, there were no African, African-American, Black British, or Black anything modules in literature. You might read a writer here or there in a 20th Century survey class, but you couldn’t (as I did with Russian literature) sit in what was essentially an oversized closet with a professor and three or four other students and learn about literature written from the perspective of the African diaspora. (Honestly, in college, I probably didn’t even know how to write a sentence like that – that’s how far African-American literature was outside of my wheelhouse!)
Dr. Lucille P. Fultz joined the faculty my senior year and, with some new awareness, I decided to take one of her classes. She had graduated from Spellman College (a historically black university for women) and completed her graduate degrees at the University of Iowa (which is known for its writers) and Emory University (which is just known). I remember her as my own personal stereotype of a Spellman woman: mature, petite, dark-skinned, natural, knowledgeable (in a seriously erudite way), well-spoken (but also soft-spoken), and dressed to the nines. In my head, she wore white gloves – but honestly, I think I made that up. I may also have made up the idea that she did not original study literature with the intention of teaching African-American literature. I say “I may have made up the idea” because she is now recognized as an authority on Toni Morrison (whose history as a writer/mom/publisher in some ways mirrors Emecheta’s history as a writer/mom/publisher) and she got me to read The Bluest Eye, which was quite possibly the only Toni Morrison book I had not read on my own.
My alma mater now has a history department with “a strong team dedicated to the history of Africa, the African diaspora, and African-American Studies” and a newly established Center for African and African American Studies. Curiously (and going back to the idea that we learn what we are taught and teach what we learn), two of the six members of that dedicated team are easily recognizable as people of color – and they are the only ones on the team who graduated (as undergrads) from the school where they now teach; one graduated just before me, the other attended after Dr. Fultz was firmly established at the university.
“Everyone’s life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.”
– Ernest Hemingway
“[I write] stories of the world…[where]… women face the universal problems of poverty and oppression, and the longer they stay, no matter where they have come from originally, the more the problems become identical.”
– Buchi Emecheta
Hemingway wrote about war, sex, love, loyalty, fishing, bullfighting, and the feeling of being lost in the middle of an adventure. Emecheta wrote about sexual discrimination, racial prejudice, sex, love, changing nappies, being a single parent, and religion. They both wrote about culture clashes, their experiences in Africa, as well as about the roles and relationships between men and women, but much of what they wrote looks and feels very different – even when, occasionally, the wrote about the same situations. Take Africa, for instance. To Hemingway, the continent of Africa was an exotic land of (physical) danger and adventure. To Emecheta, Africa (and specifically Nigeria) was home and a land (socially and physically) dangerous in the way it marginalized women.
As I mentioned above, they had different ideas on suicide (even different ideas about why one might consider suicide) and they had very different ideas about education. In her autobiography, Emecheta wrote, “An uneducated person has little chance of happiness. He cannot enjoy reading, he cannot understand any complicated music, he does not know what to do with himself if he has no job. How many times have I heard my friends say, ‘ I want to leave my boring job because I want to write, because I want to catch up with goings on in the theatre, because I want to travel and because I want to be with my family.’ The uneducated man has no such choices. Once he has lost his boring job, he feels he’s lost his life. That is unfair.” On the flip side, Hemingway had significantly less (formal) education than Emecheta, struggled with depression, and stated that when he started writing his first novel, “Everybody my age had written a novel and I was still having a difficult time writing a paragraph.”
“If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.”
– A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
“She, who only a few months previously would have accepted nothing but the best, had by now been conditioned to expect inferior things. She was now learning to suspect anything beautiful and pure. Those things were for the whites, not the blacks.”
– Second Class Citizen by Buchi Emecheta
Please join metoday (Tuesday, July 21st) at 12 Noon or 7:15 PM for a virtual yoga practice on Zoom featuring two different perspectives. Use the link from the “Class Schedules” calendar if you run into any problems checking into the class. Give yourself extra time to log in if you have not upgraded to Zoom 5.0. You can request an audio recording of this practice via a comment below.
“If every one said orders were impossible to carry out when they were received where would you be? Where would we all be if you just said, ‘Impossible,’ when orders came?”
– For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway
“Just keep trying and trying. If you have the determination and commitment, you will succeed.”
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A Joyful Practice 