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VAJRASANA -   The Hardy Hose   STEP 3


POSTURE

Vajrasana is one of the few Asanas, which is suitable for all and everyone. It is perhaps one of the few Asana which is not difficult and can be adopted by anyone of any age group with little practice and patience. 

To start it just kneel on a ground (suitable for performing Yogic exercises as already advised earlier) when your knees, ankles and big toes are touching, while slightly moving your heels outwards and sit between the space of your heels and legs. 

If you feel any difficulty  in moving your heels outwards and your feet not touching the ground, then sit on high place or (It can be bed also in the beginning) cushioned platform and try to sit in between your heels,  while your feet are half hanging. Then gradually bring them fully on the platform after few sessions. 

Sit as erect as possible for you and keep your hands on your knees while looking straight. In the beginning sit from one minute to 5 or 10 minutes while keeping your eyes open and breathing slow and deep.




In Praise of Vajrasana Spine remains The foundation stone Of our health and healthy relations Regular practice of Vajrasana Serves like a tonic To strengthen Not only your spine But also all your vital organs On which depends Our relations and understandings And The love and pleasures of our life and It helps like giving bones to a boneless creature. The most significant Blessings of this wonderful Asana Is that Vajrasana Improves your confidence level It improves your vision and understanding While making you more tolerant And Benevolent Filled with love, sympathy And with the vital energy of life To Make the lives of your partner And of others Happy and beautiful. It removes spinal pains And Even it is beneficial in cases of Neuralgic headaches, sloth, stiffness. The most significant Blessing of this Asana is that It removes Anger, Anxiety Worry and Cowardice Fear and hesitation And even the weakness of organs It also helps in Reducing flatulence and improves Digestion. The most beautiful gift And blessings of Vajrasana Is the gift of Youth Which bestows on it followers When they practice it regularly Vajrasana prolongs Youth And postpones Old Age Even it gives its blessings to Heart patients As Vajrasana remains One of the few Asanas Which can be performed Even by advance Heart patients As well.
Ravindra Kanpur India 13th July 2013 to continue…. NOTE: The findings are not mine. These details can be verified from the Books And Yogic Videos and lectures by Swami Ram Deo (In the last 10 years) and from the Book written by Pandit Shiv Sharma & Kailash Nath Sharma way back in 1973. URL for Vajrasana to see this pose is given as below: IMPORTANT NOTE:PLEASE FOLLOW ONLY THE FIRST TWO POSTURES AT THIS STAGE. https://www.google.co.in/search?q=Photo+Pose+of+Vajrasana&client=firefox-a&hs=Rck&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&channel=np&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=15DhUZCkOYXKrAf-jYCoDw&ved=0CCsQsAQ&biw=1024&bih=598

More featured poems below...



Sitting in an ultra-modern café,
sitting among people too cool to be warm,
sipping on a coffee with a long, fancy name,
I ponder about how far I've come
since making coffee over an open fire --
brewing it like a true desperado.

There's a poster pinned up on the wall,
an image of Black Jesus staring down at me,
causing me to feel guilty
for hanging out with all this money,

for hanging out with all this decadence.

Black Jesus stares down at me,
causing me to feel guilty.

Is this how the madness starts?
I can hear Black Jesus talking to me,
while he hangs there on the wall.

"Why have you turned your back on me again?"

"Black Jesus, I haven't done such a thing, why I still...."

"Oh please man, don't tell me how I died for your sins, because my message was lost in translation. I didn't die for your sins, your egos are massive. I was merely made into a mirror for you to pick up and see your flawed reflection within -- to see how many sacrifices you need to make for this world."

"But, Black Jesus, I am trying so hard...."

"Stop. Son, you haven't been trying hard enough, mainly faking mere forgeries to make yourself feel better, is all. I was the beggar you passed before coming in here. You turned your back on the beggar, you turned your back on me."

"You mean -- he just wants another fix. If I give him money, he'll use it to buy another hit!"

"Nonsense. I gave you a test, and you completely failed it again. You should've brought me home, offered me a hot meal and a place to hang my weary head."

"That dude! He might have lice or worse. He might be a crazy, slit my throat from ear to ear while I sleep."

"Please kid, don't talk to me about sacrifice. You can't just walk around singing praise, thinking, 'Jesus loves me this I know', or 'Jesus died for our sins.' 
Nah, it isn't easy like that, it isn't easy like that at all. You have to make a sacrifice each and every time, no matter how high the cost. And not because someone might be watching, not for the reward of a make-believe heaven, but because it feels right.''


I stare into my ten dollar coffee, 
wonder if someone had spiked it hard,
spiked it with Uptight-Timothy Leary's magical carpet ride,
Black Jesus looming over me, causing me to feel guilty.

Hanging on the wall, Black Jesus looks straight through me.



April, 2010

_____


Revised (so far -- needs more editing)


Sitting in an ultra-modern café,
sitting among people too cool to be warm,
sipping on a coffee with a long, fancy name,
I contemplate how far I've come
since making coffee over an open fire—
brewing it like a true desperado.

There's a poster on the wall—
an image of Black Jesus stares down at me,
causing me to feel guilty
for hanging out with all this money,
for hanging out with all this decadence.

I hear a voice emanate from the poster.
(is this how the madness starts?)


"Turned your back on me? Again?"

Black Jesus, I haven't done such a thing, why I still—

"Oh please man, don't tell me how I died for your sins, because the message was lost in translation. I didn't die for your sins, your egos are massive. I was made into a mirror for you to pick up and see your flawed reflection within, to see how many sacrifices you need to make for this world."

But, I am trying so hard—

"Stop. Son, you haven't been trying hard enough, conjuring up forgeries to make yourself feel better, is all. I was the beggar who you passed before coming in here. You turned your back on the beggar, you turned your back on me."

You mean—he just wants another fix. If I give him money, he'll use it to buy another hit!

"Nonsense. I gave you a test, and you completely failed it again. You should've brought me home, offered me a hot meal and a place to hang my weary head."

That dude! He might have lice or worse. He might be a crazy, slit my throat while I sleep.

"Please kid, don't talk to me about sacrifice. You can't just walk around singing praise, thinking, 'Jesus loves me this I know', or 'Jesus died for our sins.' 
Nah, it isn't easy like that, it isn't easy like that at all. You have to make a sacrifice each and every time, no matter the cost. And not because someone might be watching, not for the reward of a make-believe heaven, but because it feels right.''


I stare into my ten dollar coffee, 
wonder if someone had spiked it hard,
spiked it with Uptight-Timothy Leary's magical carpet ride.

In an ultra-modern café,
among people too cool to be warm, 
Black Jesus looms over me.

Nailed to the wall, 

Black Jesus looks straight through me.



2015 workshop version

*Author's note: 

After removing some of the repetition/redundancy,
I felt that too much of it had been removed, 
thus negatively altering the original motion and sound 
by cutting too close to the bone.
So I cauterized the wound, gained back some weight, 
and unpinched the nerves, to offer more vessel 
for the intended frequency to flow through.    


+/-
Love?  But he always hurt you.  

Can’t leave the punk?  But he is abusive.  

In too deep?  Just leave him! 

Alone?  Isn’t that the best way to be?  

Need someone to lean on?  But the world is crazy.  

Want to share your thoughts?  Just pray to the Lord!  

Joe you wrong.  The color woman was suppressed by the white man for too long.  And now you want to fight.  I dare you to strike me like that.  

Why do I trust?  Any man today is a wrongdoer!

Intimacy?  But you should want to be free.  

Need to be loved? But you just end a relationship with a no good thug.  

Want comfort?  Why not find you a support group!

Depressed?  Isn’t by yourself a way to think.  

Need someone to talk to?  But people are not true.  

Desire a best friend?  I am always here!  

Steven isn’t good for moral support.  He will seek you for sex and enjoyment.  You say you are depressed and stressed from to many bad relationships.  

Why do you want to trust without healing?  

Not yourself?  But that’s because of what you been through.  

Can’t find sense?  But that’s within reason of the pain you feel, Honey Boo.  

Colors?  You have suffered now it is time to heal.  

Want to go out?  That’s it!  Learn to help yourself.  The world can be deep.  In depth you become to the life you live.  No time to hide what you feel.  Maybe a day to cry and then go out and chill!  

Want a drink?  Not so fast.  

Want to drown your sorrows as usual?  No time for addiction or developing bad habits.  Trust your instincts and know things will get better!  It is a sad thing to see a friend become a substance abuser.  You know what is wrong but can’t do nothing at all but tell her to not drink to solve any issue.  If you find that they are strong, you know they have listened.  

Want to scream?  

Why not do that to let out the steam?  This will help you to cope and not make a mistake to trust before you know him.  

Want to smile?  Just smile!  You also seem to desire affection.  You say this would be just a simple friend that cannot go against you.  But you don’t state whether that is me.  I am best kept as it seems.  Let’s sing and sing.  Let’s enjoy the life we live.  

Must you trust your heart with somebody?  You don’t.  Just wait until the time has come.  You can be by yourself for a while.  If you need a smile, humor your mind.  Never letting anyone one in and then before you know it you have met the prefect man. 

Why trust when you can be free?  

Why need anybody?  Love is true to those who define true meaning.  

Why trust when he is misleading?

User Name: Verlena
Psuedonym: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Motif: Betrayal
Entry Date: February 26, 2014
A Mom is one who sacrifices so others may find joy A Mom is a careful listener whether one be girl or one be boy A Mom is a refuge when ones world comes crashing down A Mom is a warm smile when confronted with a frown A Mom is a friend when all others turn away A Mom is a mentor when one tends to go astray A Mom is a quiet voice comforting our many fears A Mom is a happy story to clear away our tears A Mom is a wonderful wife who is there in victory and defeat A Mom is that person who makes everyone’s life complete
A action in the human repertoire.
But not if you are a liar.
It should be a vital part of you. 
So keep it real and please be true.
It has the ability to cause misfortune to the person who displays it.
Deciet and dishonesty is afraid of it.
One cannot refuse to consider factual information.
After all even villains could cite good intentions.
Has honesty failed to become a cultural norm.
Distrust and dishonesty starts wars and is a reciepe for gossip in a media storm.
Telling the truth use to be a part of the morale code.
But now everyone heart has turned ice cold.
Back in the day morality was based upon empathy and understanding others.
What happen to trusting each other like sisters and brothers. 
The truth stretches all of us.
In God we must believe and trust!

"Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom." 
Thomas Jefferson
When will you cry? 
Will you cry when they kill all your dreams 
or when the sun stops
setting? Or when you cannot have kids, 
or when they cancel your wedding?  Will it bring 
you to tears when there's another 911 
or you get a bill from your overseers that makes you
feel forlorn; Or when they whisper softly"

 there's something wrong with your newborn" Then
will you cry? Will you cry when the poison from 
the food kills your bodies natural

protection,and leaves you no longer immune? 

That is around the corner waiting and will be
here soon; Doctors with
 "C" averages,taking out your body parts; 
Will you weep then? What
will make you cry,what does it take to make 
you stand: 

Misdiagnosis? You are not exempt.
Missing children or grandchildren,babies 
without bottles, missing;Vacuuming pedophiles
body parts!  

When will you get sick of this manure? 
What will make you fight these horrors
back? It happens to Jill and It happens to Jack...
.Perhaps you don't wanna fight,perhaps

You think it only happens to blacks,
or browns ,or poor whites; No you don't want to
fight,you feel exempt; 
But there's a tear out there waiting,
it has your fingerprint!  So 
keep on thinking it cant happen to you
nothing can affect you, you have it all sorted
out,and life is not fair,but we are 
breathing the same air! 

So if you think these
conditions will only affect others; 
And you have your paper 
money tucked safely in the
bank,you live in a different world....
so you think! Again I ask; What will make you
fight,what will make you cry,

When things come to the the light...
when things to the light?
Your safety net has holes
 in it,you are slipping 
through the cracks,paper money is torn
worthless, dried up trees!
Life for others is not fair,your luck
is running scarred;

We are breathing the same air!  
When the lights come on 
There is nothing more to see, you
knock but can't get in; 
Your names first on the list. 
Your money was not that long; The
Kidney that you needed,went to one 
who had much more!
  
Now you die from waiting,it is so
aspirating,the playing fields not even; 
But now it is to late,you can no longer
wait.....So you Die.... And so you Die!
Does time matter to a sleepless city?
Waiting for the train to come…it'll have to come eventually
Most likely it won' even have my stop.
Hop on hop on while others hop off.
This particular track wasnt meant for them.
Next stop lexington and 125th street
UPTOWN. The voice crackles over the speaker.
5 more stops
5 more stops.
Close but not exact, the train is never exact.

The weak scavenge for a place to sit 
while the sturdy stand upright.

Stand clear of the closing doors. 

Humans packed tight together, 
cause for complete strangers to share conversation

Stand clear of the closing doors.

Open Close
The breaks screech again.
Open Close
On and Off
Still I stand strong keeping seats open for the ones who deserve it.

Does hard work really pay off? 
A city worker with a broken back is still broke. 
While a Wall Street broker affords to lose enough money 
to feed his family for an entire year.

On and off they go 
On and off they went 
busy bees and worker ants crawling on a ball of dirt.
When disaster  hits the land
And the people of the world offer a hand
When some countries are repressed
And their civilians are stressed
What gives the dictators the right
To be the oppressor and cause strife
Can they not see the human plight
Deny, deny   making light
Of the situation on hand
The suffering of their fellow man
Cutting aide for the common folk
Afraid of help from the other bloke
This just seems so wrong
How other countries get things done
To deny a helping hand
When on the edge of disaster they stand.
these skis look like hell,
old, scraped and gouged
but still they carry me
down this dark white trail

I've learned to keep myself upright
stumbles earlier almost forgotten
jerks who pulled or pushed me over,
fading/falling behind me

its cold now, snow fills the air
as I turn a corner, trees inches away
my poor and dirty clothes
still sufficient to keep me warm

and there she is, coming from
a different trail, forming up
to my left her eyes flickering at me
as mine lock on her

and she is just perfect. Easy
grace in opposition to my brute force
beautiful outfit, new skis
and a ready confident smile.

She yells, 'hi!' and I say 'sup?!'

as the trail turns, our speeds matched
we start turning, towards and away,
an impromptu dance, snow filling the air
the wind and hiss our only music

faster now as the trail drops away
and for one perfect moment, we
both catch air together
flying now

turning a tight corner, I look over
and find her .
.
.
gone.

Reflex viciously kicks out my skis
and I come to a snow-cloud stop.
eyes spinning everywhere, thinking
where are you?

A separate turning, a different trail?
She's nowhere I can see, nowhere I can
help
not with me anymore.

and my skis are old, my clothes dirty
but the person I was uphill,
is no longer here.
don't feel like skiing anymore.

Keeping time with the nine faced clock,
And the weathered belfry's pealing song,
As the wicked Keepers prance and mock,
For the fear they create, and my fearful fate,
And the plenteous storehouse of my wrongs. 

In my youth I created the tower high,
And the stairs led one by one,
Far into the Clock Keepers room,
With the radiant dark, and the milieu stark,
And the hope that it was done. 

Yet in my age was the belfry made,
And the faces came in turn,
As a sign of my many sins displayed,
To my greatest shame, and my fiery claim,
And the fear so fairly earned. 

And now I long for consolation,
Though comfort formed the wicked clock,
Yet to avoid my near damnation,
I must repent, and my soul be spent,
Before the last hand stops.
Thirty Eight ( Corny Cancer Poem) For Sharon

Hallmark has a million cards in their catalog
And not one of them says,
Life Sucks
American greetings had nothing that says
Thirty-eight and  Never coming home
So I hope it’s not too late to write this poem


After your eighth round of Chemo,
The Doctor says the best medicine is prayer
Any Pre-med drop out
Or High school Health student
Can interpret what this means
But it still just isn’t fair-


           Still who am I to be a pessimist?


And I apologize for screaming at your surgeons
(Telling  them to stop comparing 
your tumors to fruit)
For telling them you aren’t a damn fruit stand
Even for tossing those fruit diagrams 
In the Hazmat can

Sorry if I let things get out of hand

Tomorrow they get to pull out
Their zapper instruments
And shoot at your cells like you are
One of those Nintendo video games
Over and over again
And I get to sit in the waiting room
Hoping the red cells surrender
And the white ones win

  
And Tylenol has a zillion dollars
And can’t even find a cure for cancer
Bayer pharmaceuticals has no answer

And if you die at thirty-eight
I’ll probably boycott Tylenol
For the next twenty-three years
Advil for the next twenty-two
Blaming both of them
For not saving you


Forty calls to Bayer pharmaceuticals 
And not a single one returned
What kind of heroes are they
When they aren’t even concerned?


And I’m pissed off at Obama
And Dr. Phil and Oprah too
And all Nationally syndicated talk show host
Who are talking about who slept with who
When they should be talking about 
YOU


I’m also ticked at a thousand Nazis
And twenty millions gangbangers 
And eight-hundred serial killers
Who have working organs
When all you need is just one-


Still I know you wouldn’t even accept it
Even if there was a law that said you could
And you would say something corny like
God loves bad people as much
As he does the good

And i wish i could snatch 
half of my lymph nodes
And give them to you
But no Doctor would approve the surgery

So what else can i do
Except write this silly poem for you
except watch you lose weight and hair
And listen to doctors suggest prayer

And more chemo only means
More Hallmark moments at the hospital
And more crying, more dying
More doctors and chaplains lying


But mostly I’ll never get to figure out
How it took you thirty minutes
At Build-A-Yogurt in the mall
And they only had six flavors-
Even after I told you
Chocolate Coconut Sprinkle
 Was really the best of all


Tonight your children get to sleep in your bed
And pretend You’re coming home
And I get to cry for them and finish
This corny cancer poems
 I slash with my sword and I push with my shoulder. Every muscle and every tendon is screaming in agony. I can feel every pressure when my blade makes contact. I’m grunting with passion as I push every extremity to the very breaking point. I let my mind wonder to the past, where my family was butchered and mutilated when I was 10 years old. I lost everything I loved and anything that mattered to me, but my passion. Revenge echoes in my mind over and over, like the rumbling of thunder in the summer storms when they pass. Revenge against those who could do the things I’ve seen, beasts that slaughtered my whole family. I have spent years here, learning the warrior’s way, feeling the grunge and toils from everyday training.

 My sword is now a part of my body, so swift and true. I can draw it sharply and silent to bring it up my enemy. I spin my body and crouch down low, dodging my enemy and thrusting my sword into his chest. My body has become one single weapon for me to use. My mind is sharp and ready for the challenges of all those who oppose me. I will fight for honor and what is right and damnation to those who are evil and selfish. In the distance a voice echoes in my ears, “Piiid!” “Pid!” This sound grows louder as I strain my muscles and sharpen my skills. “PIIIDDD!!!” “HAULT!” and then I realize that master Baracus has been calling me. Turning around, I see Baracus standing there with a puzzled look on his face. He is a tall elder man with a chiseled chin and scars across both cheeks. His skin tone is deep red from the Sun’s scorching heat of the day. His balding head has traces of white hair around each side and the tunic of a trainer is all black with gold trim. His deep blue eyes gaze upon me in frustration, “You must focus on all things around you Pid, you will leave yourself open to attack without it”.  

 Baracus turns to walk towards the shelter as he mumbles various curses at me. “You young bucks have no attention and focus” as he slowly walks to sit down. “I was focused on my training you old goat” I persist. As we both sit down, he makes his brittle response, “Damn young blood makes poor fertilizer for our fields” as we both bellow with laughter. He is my mentor and trainer, but most of all he took me in and called me his son. He has trained me in the way of the warrior and what it means to be honorable and noble.     
a cycle in eight parts
with a slightly criminal coda
(quickly recanted)


copyright T.H.A. Hassan,
the ZKH Foundation for Holistic Human Development
18 Mohammad Saleh Street, Dokki, Cairo, EGYPT
tel/fax 20 2 37491481


I - the thing


the thing the thing the thing!

oh the thing

          the thing is IT

          the thing and nothing but the thing

          long live the thing

          hurrah for the thing

          what is the thing?

the books say
                                                                  
               the thing is ......THE THING

and the wisdom of the ages

...and sages

          worn out pages cages museum pieces masterpieces THE THING

          the thing IS

                    the thing is our SALVATION permutation  castration
          
          the thing is the isness that is not before the essence of
                    the meaningfulness of reason before
                    existence existing apple cart before                     the apple 
                    donkey before the horse cart
                    after the equi-histamopholous oblong
                    wheel was invented

                                        (pythaphagoranamus 2)

                    THE THING IS MYSTERIOUS

the thing the thing the thing
oh the thing                            what is the thing?

LET US SPEAK ABOUT THE THING

                         ........................PATIENTLY

                                                 think

                                                 see

                                                 hear

                         let us read

                         let us write

                         LET US FIGHT

                                        about the thing

                              for a month

                                  a year

                                  a century

                                             or two

                                             or four

                                             or eight
                                             or ninety eight
                                             or eighty four

the thing the thing the thing

oh the thing

          sh sh sh sh sh sh sh sh sh sh sh

                    be composed

                       contained

                       comely

                       demure

                       BE GRAVE

                                   AND WORSHIP

 
                                    WORSHIP

                                                       the thing

                                                       PATIENTLY

          Kara wesha wesha wesha

          wesha wesha wesha wesha

          wesha wesha wesha wesha

                                      (prayer)


                         .....,......,........,...,......,
                         
                         .....,.....,....;......,.....;...

                         ....,....;....;....,....;....,...

               ..and then

               LET US SPEAK
                                             of IT

                                                   over tea

                                                   butter scotch

                                                   or L.S.D.

               or
                    what is the fashion today

                                               with it?

the thing the thing the thing
oh the thing
                              what is the fashion with IT
                                                    the thing
                                                         today?
The skylark

The bird that climbs up in the sky
And looks as if it had angels wings
I ask myself why
How beautiful she sings
Is it gods way of telling us
The beauty he brings
And that's Just one of many things


The Real Fear...

The fear of darkness seems to threaten most
When one is lost and groping in the dark
Of self.  One blames unknowns—the devil, ghosts
Or even God—for fright that comes with stark,
Cold, empty blackness.  Courage will depart—
Just like a pearl dropped in a sea of ink,
Its glow will die—while fear's black magic art
Revives despair between each hurried blink
Of eyes which stare at shadows that incite
Imaginary monsters of the mind.
But oft these visions are the mirrored sight
Of what one sees within when eyes are blind—
     For darkness lights and magnifies the whole
     Dim panorama of the troubled soul.


© Sandra M. Haight 2014 
   All Rights Reserved

~NA~
Contest: Dark and Deep (Old Poems Only)
Sponsor: Skat
Judged: 05/03/2015

~6th Place~ 
Debbie Guzzi's Contest
Judged 10/14/2014


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