Raw, adjective: 4. painfully open, as a sore or wound
Silence on the blog front means that Rach has been tied up - quite literally bound in Baddha Parsvakonasana, et al - at a teacher training for the last week or so, and will remain so for the week to come.
Big and little things cracking open. All in the presence of one very beautiful man (that would be him at left), and 45 googly-eyed teachers. Reports to come.
In the meantime, a thought to ponder: what the hell is up with the whole yogi-tribe-extended-gratuitous-hug thing? You know what I'm talking about, dancers and body workers and hippie granola types, because you see it there, too. They're the kind of hugs where people you just met yesterday are grabbing you with big smooshy faces and cow eyes and not letting go for, like, a minute, while your arms flail about you like rag doll limbs trying desperately to pry your torso away. Dude. What is that about? How is that authentic? Holy affectation, right? As if the longer you squeeze, the more lurve will come out, just like toothpaste at the end of an empty tube?
I may be kind of soft and squishy on the insides when it comes to certain things like skies and songs and sweet peas, but there's a hard little ironclad bullet at the base of my heart that really hates this gratuitous hug crap. Or maybe it's just the stoic German Protestant farmers' blood in me. Either way, it rankles my aspiringly-peaceful mind.
Just sayin'. Erm. Namaste.