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Inner Peace or Bust

Had a free yoga class at the TKD school yesterday. I think yoga is probably like therapy: you have to really want to help yourself.

Sad then that I am so full of bile and must think snarky thoughts whenever a head-wrapped yogi chants “Love before me, love behind me, love to the universe.” Yoga instructors are always incredibly nice, warm, gentle, and saying that things are “beautiful.” I hate that, because I feel pressured to be super-friendly in return, and it just isn’t me. Just once I’d like to meet a really caustic yoga instructor, possibly one who smokes, because then I’d finally be able to relax.

What good is chanting “My name is truth,” when the truth is you’re not cut out for peace and love, but for violence and the smoldering resentment of city life? I’m more comfortable when I’m lying.

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