Tuesday, August 1, 2000

Funky Door [yoga], Polk Street San Francisco by Nicole Wright

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I am turned-off by yoga. I, am hyper-flexible, and for my genes, cardio and strength training is the most supportive fit for me. I believe, to each his own, within the spectrum of that which is eusocial. I believe, in free will & free choice, combined with doing the right thing, because it's the right thing. This is how self-esteem, value, and knowing who you are, comes from. This is the basic precursor to health.

There is a slogan, "If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him." This means, if anyone tells you "the right way" to do something, they are a false "prophet".

While in San Francisco, a small handful, of highly intelligent & educated, well adjusted, exceptionally fit therapists, who practiced yoga, interacted with me for business, and I appreciated them. Similar to the 80/20 rule of economics, they were in the rarer percentage. In San Francisco, swarms of individuals, came to my establishment, and wanted to practice their version of yoga. It was a rude awakening to me, when I asked for their credential (sometimes no), license (no), insurance (no), and their belief system, that the majority stated they were members of an organization, group, religion, or cult, and into fanaticism. I fail to know if this is the majority of yogis in general. All I know, is that from my personal data set, this was the majority of practitioners, who were self-proclaimed "prophets".

If you feel that you need help getting out of a group, reach out to expert Rick Alan Ross, or other professionals, for support. Organizations that abuse, are always multi-faceted, and therefore, it is a multi-system approach, to disengage. A licensed professional connected to non-profit resources, can provide the well-rounded support, and exit-plan, you'll need, in addition to legal help.

The following, is a short comedy, in poetry form, of my experience participating in a Bikram Yoga class.




FUNKY DOOR YOGA
POLK STREET SAN FRANCISCO

by Nicole Wright, 2000

The room, filled with people, allowed
No window-side sanctuary.
It's warmer than I thought it'd be.
His voice, creating the ambiance:
Loud, clear, repetitive, instructing,
Non-stopping, reminding, focusing.
This was not to be mind, body, soul
Centering meditation. This was
Surely intended as a workout.

My purple mat placed snugly next to
The mirror. My white towel, followed
Suit over my mat. His black, hardened
Body, clothed only by an even
Darker speedo; as he instructed,
Standing on his small, tiered podium.
The air, circulating and hot
Around the room, traced the dripping
Bodies of the men and women.

Our arms, raised and clasped, stretched and taut.
Legs straight and un-bending. Torsos
Lowering forward. The towels
And the carpet absorbing the sweat
That streamed off our lithe bodies. Sixty
Seconds. First set. Thirty. Second set.
I am going to die. I do not
Have the energy for this right now.
Right side. Left side. Upper body first.

Lower body next. Then another
Set. All over again. Remember,
Remember, remember. Directing
Of his voice not ending; constantly
Reminding of another muscle
To control. This: not to be conscious,
Nor to be aware. This: to work
Every single miniscule
Muscle of my unchallenged frame.

Breathe. Breath. Nicole, remember to
Breathe. The dizziness passes as
Consistent breathing has commenced.
Deep breaths. Eagle Pose. Triangle Pose.
All other forms are new and advanced.
Maybe if I had gone gone to class a
Little more, this might not be so hard.
My gray shirt is now black with sweat. Hold.
Sixty seconds. Hold. Thirty seconds.

Finally, Namaste.
Thank you God.
The congratulating clasp of palms
Fills the room in response to his voice.
Clean and sober now for two years. Out
Of jail now for two years. Counseling
Is so expensive. His advice
Is free. Only the cost of the
Lesson held at the Funky Door.

I wrap up my purple mat. The
Odwalla Spring Water touches
My parched lips and replenishes
My dehydrated body. I don't
Feel great just yet; I am exhausted.
I exit the hot room, instantly
Appreciative of the cool hall.
Breathe in, out.
It's a beautiful day!

--

SAFETY NOTE: This poem is the relaying of one experience, plus the beliefs of the instructor regarding counselling. I personally, have had training in Applied Behavior Analysis, and hold a Master's Diploma in Therapy.

I practice financial reporting, as my career since 2000; not therapy. My Diploma does legally allow me (technically) to provide Complimentary & Alternative Therapy Consulting, in a specific modality, in some states, but that is not the reason why I studied what I did. I am into corporations with heart, and healthy growth. I studied therapy, because all business problems are people problems, and humans with habitual problems, either cannot or have not, taken a step back to look at the contributing factors. I wanted to learn more about patterns, and language strategies, that positively supported relationships, change work, and excellence in performance.

Therapists who actually have practices; they have earned their Bachelors + Master's + License. They have undergone extensive internships under licensed practitioners who hold Master's or Doctorates. The training is lengthy, intensive, and regulated, for a reason.

The Yoga Instructor's advice, is unethical. It is also either unlawful in the State of California, or a "grey area", depending on the structures, execution, and results. It is most certainly questionable marketing, using his employers hard-earned clients (violation of solicitation clauses and possibly non-compete); as well as intentional manipulation using "power of suggestion", "social proof", "herd mentality", and targeting to prey on those who either do not know they have a plethora of options available to receive therapy, or think that they cannot afford it whether they are insured or not; whether they have income or not.

It is illegal & unethical, to perform therapy, without a certificate or license (which is going to depend on the modality & state), and without being BOTH registered and insured.

If you need help, in the USA, call 2-1-1. There are many organizations set-up that offer sliding-scale and no-fee therapy, to clients, provided by LICENSED professionals.

Friday, December 31, 1999

HOMICIDE: Young Jin Moon

NOT SUICIDE. Orchestrated Homicide by the Cult.


https://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/03/world/asia/rev-sun-myung-moon-founder-of-unification-church-dies-at-92.html

"Personal setbacks marked Mr. Moon’s later years. In 1984, a son, Heung Jin, died at 17 from injuries sustained in a car crash. Another son, Young Jin Moon, who was 21, committed suicide in 1999 by jumping from a 17th-story balcony at Harrah’s hotel in Reno, Nev. In 1995 Nansook Hong, the wife of his eldest son, Hyo Jin Moon, who at one time was Mr. Moon’s heir apparent, broke from the family and wrote a book characterizing her husband as a womanizing cocaine user who watched pornographic movies and beat her, once when she was seven months pregnant.

Ms. Hong portrayed the entire Moon family as dysfunctional, spoiled and divided by intrigue and hypocrisy. (She also wrote that the church believed that the spirit of Heung Jin had returned for a time in the body of a Zimbabwean man who traveled the world and, with Mr. Moon’s sanction, beat straying church members.)"

Saturday, July 4, 1998

Mary Rose (1545)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: We enjoyed some of our summers sailing and one vacation I spent the nights star gazing with my book of constellations, fastidiously playing the childhood Matching game. During the hot, lazy, days, when the wind would stir, I was curled in my cacoon, reading. As I delved into historical accounts, I imagined how it might have been for my grandfather, when he served, and for countless others preceding him, hundreds of years before.

Mary Rose (1545)
by Nicole Wright, 1998 
published in The Falling Rain, 2000

The boat gently rocks beneath me  
Just as if, it is so slowly  
Making love to the water below. 
 
And I lay on my bed dreaming,  
Of the love that I was leaving,  
So very far away; My sweet Rose.  
 
And while I'll fight many battles,  
She'll be writing sweet love letters;  
Encouraging during times of woe.  
 
But just for now I will lie here;  
My comfort, the sweet froth of beer.  
Eyes heavy, Rose; The crews frantic "No!"'s.  
 
As the boat gently rocks beneath me,  
Just as if, it is oh so slowly,  
Making love to the water below. 

Tuesday, December 2, 1997

Unification Church On a School Campus Raises Concerns

 https://www.nytimes.com/1997/12/02/nyregion/unification-church-school-on-a-campus-raises-alarms.html?ref=sunmyungmoon