Viewing 13 - 12 out of 12 Columns.

Clearly the buzz these days is about economic crisis, plummeting stocks, increase in food and gas prices and concern for the future.  Being in Ashland for just over two years I see businesses closing at such rapid rates it is hard to keep up.  Each time I walk down Main Street another vacant space posts a huge “For Lease” sign in the window.

 

I feel strongly that in this time of economic crisis it is important to hold hands and support one another.  It was not until I moved to this tiny town of 20,000 that I understood just how important this was.  With over 250,000 visitors each year it is easy to forget just how small the community is and how dependent many businesses and individuals are on tourism and one other.

 

Why not support each another and take a “staycation” instead of a vacation?  Leave your laptop and phone at home and nestle in a local B&B, have a nice dinner at a local restaurant, get a spa treatment, take a yoga class, see a play, have wine and dessert out, sleep in and lazily go for a long brunch at your favorite local spot.  We often spend unbelievable amount of time on the web searching for the best deals on books, CD’s, clothing, hiking gear etc.  Why do we not just spend a few more dollars and save tons of precious time and buy locally.  This saves so many environmental resources in the end (shipping materials, gas etc) and helps the local economy thrive.

Undoubtedly, there are amazing Indian yoga teachers and gurus in Mysore.  There are also hundreds of Westerners living inside the Mysore bubble.  That protective bubble that exists where one can hide and survive in the lap of luxury while insulating themselves from the hard realities of India’s poverty and filth. The bubble of fancy hotels with pools, accommodation with comfy beds and simple kitchens, air conditioned restaurants, intenet cafes, and outdoor cafes with yummy organic and vegetarian Western food to fancy the palate tired of curries and mustard seed oil.  This is what I call the Mysore yoga bubble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I arrive in the bubble and am covered with goose bumps as I meet Guruji and his grandson, Sharat.  I ask if I can please study yoga at their institute.  Guruji, with every finger covered in huge gold rings, asks if I pre-registered as they are full.  I lower my eyes and say I am there to study with Sharat.  Sharat replies his class is full.  Maybe Sharat noticed my fire energy or burning passion to learn because as I was walking out he yelled for me to be in his shala at 9:00 am to practice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I decided to study with Sharat as his classes are smaller and one receives more attention.  Sharats classes begin at 7:00am and as one student finishes the mysore style practice (self practice), Sharat assigns the sweaty spot on the ground to the next anxious student squatting patiently on the ground.  I arrive on time and Sharat calls my name and requests payment in cash.  I hand it over and he instructs me to sit.  Finally a slot opens and I am called to the tiny space between two mats.  I slide in and begin my self practice nervous that I will forget a move.  If there is a pose I cannot do or if I am out of sequence Sharat will call me out and tell me to go to other room for the closing practice.  Glory!  I am not stopped.  I survived.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After class the students stagger out minutes apart covered in sweat and reward themselves with huge fresh coconuts.  Talk covers topics of what poses they got into, if Sharat adjusted them, what café they will go to for breakfast and if they will go to the hotel pool.  I soon learned these are the conversations that dominate the yoga bubble. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No, not all students are in the bubble.  Yes, you can get out of the Mysore bubble.  Yes, there are other amazing teachers and institutes to learn yoga in India.  Yes, this is all just one person’s opinion. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end the experience was amazing and well worth the effort.  Being amongst so many dedicated yoga students and having conversations around yoga days on end forced my practice to a new level.  Practicing in P. Jois’ or Sharat’s led classes with hundreds of others, trying to flow gracefully without getting a foot in the face or kick someone, forced a new awareness.  Witnessing other yogis with incredible strength and flexibility taught me humility. My great lesson was that after being in the bubble…I learned my place was outside the bubble.

 

 

 

MYSORE INDIA PART 1

 

 

Mysore India, where the hard core Ashtanga yogis and yoginis congregate from all over the world to study and practice yoga  with the infamous Sri Krishna Pattabhi Jois, affectionately known as Guruji, his daughter, Saraswati, and his grandson, Sharath.

 

 

Being an avid yoga practioner I, like many others, made a pilgrimage to India, as this is the birthplace of yoga and home to several of the top yoga teachers in the world.  I had been practicing yoga for a few years but had little knowledge of the Ashtanga lineage.  I headed to the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute (AYRI) with my backpack and inquired on the streets about Guruji and his classes.  I was met with a waft of what appeared to be arrogance and indifference.  When I asked some how long they had been in Mysore they turned their noses up and stated, “you many how many times?”   I then learned this was a highly dedicated community of folks wishing to be in the presence of this amazing man responsible for spreading the beautiful Ashtanga practice out of India and to the West.  They would return each year for months at a time.

 

 

I decided to study Ashtanga for a month with a lesser known Mysore teacher so that I could memorize the entire yoga sequence.  At AYRI if someone skips a pose or performs them in an incorrect sequence, they are exiled to another room to finish the practice with the closing poses.  This can be embarrassing and a considerable waste of money considering AYRI (5-6 single classes a week) costs almost $650 a month. Even if one can only participate for two weeks, a months payment and two months prior written approval are required before being admitted.  Keep in mind in India the average person earns approximately $500 a year.

 

 

Believe me I struggled and processed incessantly in regards to the ethics of what yoga was about and how this institute was training over 250 Westerners a day while giving limited personal attention and adjustments due to the sheer masses of students flowing through the center.  I wondered how I could support one family becoming so wealthy while so many struggled daily in India simply to survive and maintain.  To make a long story short I decided to seize the opportunity and study in this place many found so special despite their complaints about the expense, crowded classes, lack of personal attention, competitive energy and lack of “yoga ethics”.  Everyone raved about how they had grown and learned so much and would not exchange the experience for anything.  For this reason I had to see for myself…

 

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Tags: India

I am happy and peaceful and content - despite the madness of Kathmandu, despite the increase of daily power cuts to eight hours daily, despite the fact that I was rejected by eight ATM machines today and walked around for hours trying to find money, despite being attacked by a monkey yesterday who stole a fresh coconut out of my hand, despite waiting for power and thanking god each time I am actually able to obtain a hot shower... I am happy to be here, feeling more and more fortunate each day for the life I have been blessed to, being appreciative of our warped yet orderly society in America and feeling blessed to have the most amazing travel companion.

So here goes the crazy story of our trek which went from excitement and bliss to soreness and major disappointment to a drunken guide was fired mid trek - back to bliss.

We left on our trek with Dipu, our guide who came highly recommended and who we fell in love with instantly. We departed Kathmandu to Pokara (6 hrs) and had an amazing fish dinner and checked into our lovely hotel that actually had HOT water! The next morning we departed early and began our mountain ascent. Adam and I decided not to get a porter and Adam, being a gem, carried most of the burden of our pack, which actually was quite heavy. We began the most intense day long stairmaster trek imaginable until each step felt like we were lifting a leg full of lead. Adam and I were both silently thinking, "what the hell have we gotten ourselves into". Of course, both of us being full of pride, did not admit this to each other until later. Our legs were on fire and we were on day one of nine! We landed in our "tea house", which was nothing more than a poorly constructed building of tin construction. We could hear the person in the room next to us turn over in bed at night. The temperature outside was frigid and our room was tin with glass windows. We slept fully clothed adorned with our hats and scarves.

Day two was spent ascending another steep mountain when we ran into what we later affectionately called "Korea". Korea was a Korean girl with an unpronouncable name who was in major pain from trekking, but too filled with pride to stop and rest. She was alone with no guide and was paining herself slowly up the mountain. We took her along with us as the mountain is no place for a woman to trek alone. Korea was so sloooow and our five hour ascent took longer than six hours. Our legs were paining but we trekked along without complaint . The tea house where we stopped was similarly poorly constructed out of plywood, but at least there was a fire to cuddle up to until it was time to hop into our icy sleeping bags.

Day three we woke up at 5:00 am to trek up Poon Hill, which is supposed to be one of the most incredible sites in Nepal. We ascended 400 meters (1200 feet) of snow and ice by flashlight in record time to the top of Poon Hill which rests at 3200 meters and was a frigid -15C/5F degrees. I have NEVER in my life even come close to being this cold. I had two pairs of gloves on and four pairs of socks on and could not feel anything besides pain in my hands and feet. I was walking and could not feel the earth below my feet. Once the sun rose the views were spectacular and we were surrounded by multiple breathtaking snow capped mountains. The icy and slippery ascent was well worth it.

When going up Poon Hill, Korea was slowing us way down so Adam and I went up solo while leaving Korea with our guide. Dipu practically dragged her up the mountain as her legs were totally failing her. Korea wished to keep ascending and after much persuasion we were able to convince her to descend without us. As we began trekking we found out that Himalaya (one day before our final Anapurna Base Camp (ABC) destination) had a foot of snow and that a group of Koreans were trapped there for three days and were not able to get up to ABC. We were wondering while during the first three days people were saying we were crazy to attempt ABC!

Today was filled with ascending and descending and slipping and sliding over big mountains. The entire trail was snow and ice which added a measure of difficulty to our already difficult trek. Dipu held my hand most of the day to prevent my falling and during many passes all three of us were holding hands and holding one another up to prevent slip and falls off the edges of cliffs. The day of sliding in the ice was actually quite fun and despite the frigid temperature we were working up such a sweat that Adam and I were only wearing our thin long sleeved shirts. It was not until we stopped for tea along the path that we realized how incredibly freezing it was.

We arrived at our tea house along with many other trekkers. Dipu was drinking his usual "Roxie", a Nepalese saki type alcoholic drink made of rice. A Canadian was teasing Dipu about how his Nepalese girlfriend who recently left for two years for Australia to study was going to leave him and how the relationship definitely would not endure the distance. This being a very sensitive subject drove Dipu to drink more and more and eventually there was a full blown verbal fight between Canada and Dipu. Canada was relentless in his mocking and Dipu would not let the subject rest. Dipu's behavior was quite upsetting to most in the dining room and it got so uncomfortable that I excused myself from the table and went in my room.

Day four we woke up to Dipu apologizing profusely for his drinking and his behavior. We let it go but talked to Dipu about how we were unhappy that his company sent us on the trek as they should have known the climb was impossible at this time of year. We heard the day before that now Bamboo (two stops before ABC) had three feet of snow and that Himalaya has closed since a huge avalanche fell on the main hotel. All the hotels and services at Himalaya had come off the mountain and were now in Bamboo. The guides report daily to the trekking companies so how was it possible that the company could not have known the mountain conditions. We were upset and disappointed and just wished that we were forewarned - if we would have known we would have taken an alternate trek.

Dipu upset about this as well as the Canadian began his Roxie consumption at 8:00am and stopped at every available shop to drink. Adam and I were frustrated and said we did not wish to make stops and when we passed a stop Adam and I just continued trekking and left Dipu behind. After ten or so minutes Dipu would come bouncing down the mountain to find us. Dipu's drinking became so bad that in the last few hours he was falling down the mountain and at least five times took a huge fall and smashed his face in the rocks. By the time we reached our destination he was full on drunk and could not properly stand. Adam and I were pissed as we were having to take care of our guide, who we actually paid quite a lot for! At our stop Dipu began drinking more and more and polished off a pint of cheap whisky in ten minutes flat as he chased it with Roxy! Adam was irate at the situation and at the company for sending us on the trek. This time Adam took the lead and his anger helped me become calm. We called the company and Adam debated for quite some time without success with the manager about sending us up an impossible pass. At this point we were protecting Dipu and stated we had no problems with him but were upset with the company. As the night progressed and Dipu got more and more drunk our frustration turned from the company to Dipu and we wondered what to do as the trek could not be completed and now we were stuck with a bitter and incompetent alcoholic guide.

Day five we woke up to Dipu knocking on the door apologizing profusely. At this point apologies were unacceptable. Adam and I were pissed and wished to have nothing to do with Dipu. After going around in circles and to make a long story very short - we fired Dipu. He gave us a small portion of our money back for food and lodging and we told him to go back to Kathmandu. The good news we were finally in a nice tea house and were at Jinu hot springs!!! The hot springs were amazing and felt so wonderful on our tired and sore muscles. Since ABC was impossible we decided to chill for a few days in the hot springs. We did just this and for the next two days we rested for at least four hours a day in the beautiful hot springs surrounded by mountains and greenery. After decompressing we were finally able to feel like ourselves again.

So we cut the trek four days short and were unable to reach our destination. We ended in Pokara, a very cool and chill town with a huge and beautiful man made lake. We explored the sites, ate at wonderful restaurants, played cards, had hot showers and enjoyed the sites.

Yesterday we explored Boudnath, a Buddhist spiritual center of Nepal which has an incredibly large Buddha stupa in the center. We walked around the stupa, chilled on rooftop cafes, were blessed by a few monks in the temples and were infused with a sense of serenity.

Next we explored monkey temple, named for the huge population of monkeys who have somewhat taken over the temple. On the way up I felt a huge thud on my chest as if someone was beating the hell out of me. What it was was a cheeky monkey who spring boarded off my chest in order to grab the fresh coconut out of my hand.

I LOVE Nepal! Kathmandu rocks and has a fun, charming, uplifting vibe. I think I was ready to leave India behind. I am not sure what happened there for me this time around but I was really ready to experience and escape the craziness of India. I did leave India with a smile on my face as I had a wonderful time in Dharamsala and was totally spoiled by my friend Sonam.

Kathmandu is a place I think we could both stay for months on end. The Nepalese are warm and friendly and have a good understanding of Westerners. There are quaint rooftop restaurants everywhere, the food is amazing and one can choose a different ethnic meal each day of the week. The restaurants are quaint, the city is relatively clean and hassling by touts is down to a minimum, besides the daily murmur as we walk by some Nepalese wishing to sell us some hash.

It is cold here as I have arrived for the coldest month of the year. Hotels boast to have 24 hour hot water but it is now taken three days before able to receive any. Last night I complained so much that at 7:00am I received a cheerful knock on the door from the hotel boasting to have hot water. I darted out of bed, let the water run 15 minutes before it got hot and was able to lather up in record time before the five minutes of water went frigid. Apparently this is status quo. For some reason there are also power cuts here twice daily for three hour block. The times are random and one has to be prepared at any time for the power to be cut. We have found the best time to go to dinner is during the power cuts as all the cafes turn to romantic cozy candle lit havens. When the power is cut the candles come out, when it returns the Nepalese cheer. We just have to hope that during the long blog writing the power stays on!

Despite the cold we have decided to go away for 11 days on a nine day trek to Annapurna Base Camp! Apparently this is one of the most beautiful and scenic treks in Nepal. We met a kick A$$ guide by coincidence our first day here named Dipulama. He seems to have a great heart and we connected with him instantly. We will be climbing to 4200 meters (about 14,00ft) and will be in -12C (10 F) weather. I am very excited and a little anxious about my endurance and managing the cold. I spent the whole day shopping for winter gear and with all seven layers of clothes I am now sporting the entire contents of my backpack. I realize I packed very efficiently.

Well, I am off before the power is. Bon Voyage for the next two weeks!

Did I mention the high is 32 degrees (low 17 degrees) and there is no heat anywhere in the city? I can no longer feel my toes and despite wearing seven layers of clothing, I am still cold most of the time. I have learned a good tip from the locals and have taken it to heart...only bathe twice a week. Since there is no possible way to sweat while here, I have taken their good advice as bathing on icy marble floors is not a pleasurable past time.

Dharmsala is wonderful and beautiful and quite spiritual. One main reason for visiting is I have a Tibetan friend here who I miss dearly. Sonam is 22 years old and I have known him and kept in touch with him now for the last three years. I surprised him in his shop my first day here. It was so wonderful to see his broad smiling face. He has been a gem and had treated us like royalty. We wanted to buy a little heater for our room and he would not allow it and gave us his own personal heater to use. He took us by motorbike all over Dharmsala and to see His Holiness the Karmapa. He has bought us meals, taken us places, entertained us, gotten us good prices while shopping and tonight is having us in his home to watch movies while he and this other girl I met last time I was here cook us dinner. We are a little worried as we mentioned we enjoy fish and red wine in America and this is the special meal they are making for us tonight. Hmm - fish and wine in India sounds a little sketchy.

Since it is so frigid here there are little to no tourists. The city is quiet, the Tibetans are warm and welcoming and we are much more at peace (Delhi sure did a number on both of us). Prices are relatively higher, but we did figure for the first ten days in India the total for all nights amounted to a whopping $66. Meals for two in restaurants average less than $4.

Today we had our second private Tibetan cooking class, another benefit of no tourists. We have learned to make momos and several soups. Making and preparing the food is simple but shaping the dough in beautiful edible delights is challenging. Both cooking teachers are Tibetan refugees and spoke a little of their plight from Tibet to Nepal and then India for religious freedom. The Chinese have pretty much taken over Tibet, most temples and monasteries have been destroyed or have been turned into museums and the Tibetan language is no longer taught in schools. It is illegal to mention the Dali Lama or to have his photograph on your possession in public. Any dissent is met with death or imprisonment. Most who escape Tibet do so leaving their families behind knowing they will never be able to see them again or be able to return to their mother country. We take so much for granted!

Tonight is dinner at Sonam's and tomorrow night is a 12 hour sleeper bus to Delhi to catch a flight to Kathmandu. I doing well and am almost totally recovered from my minor setback of illness which I thought I would never knock. Finally I feel strong and healthy and even had my teeth cleaned from an Indian dentist today for a whopping $12.

Somehow Adam, my travel companion,  talked me into going to the Taj Mahal again (I have already been). Now he owes me BIG!!!

Adam and I decided to do the Taj Mahal the easy way and take a tour. We felt this would be less hassle than hopping trains and rickshaws and doing it ourselves. The bus was supposed to pick us up at 6:30 am. The guide showed up at the hotel at 6:00 and walked us at least a mile through dark alleys and trash lined streets to wait for the actual bus. After waiting in the freezing cold for an hour we boarded the bus packed full of Indian, Nepalese and Bangladeshi tourists. The mixed cultures was nice, the language barrier was not.

After five hours the bus came to a sudden halt and the guide in broken English said for me and Adam to get off the bus - just us. He said he had arranged a guide and that the rickshaw driver would take us to the sites. He explained this was all inclusive except the tip to the driver and that we would be dropped at the bus later in the evening.

We arrive to the Taj Mahal and the driver instructs us to return in an hour and a half so he can take us to the other sites. We wait 45 minutes in line and pay our $20 admission (50 cents for Indians) and do a mad dash in and out of the Taj Mahal so we can be timely for our driver. The Taj Mahal is amazing but even Adam later admitted it is something one can really only do once. We rush back to the rickshaw and he begins to tell us how he is going to take us to some shops. Oh, I know this game! After being in Delhi for three days and being nickeled and dimed every exchange we have, I have little tolerance for this guy who made us rush through the Taj Mahal so he can make commission on taking us to overpriced touristy emporiums! In India my politeness is out the door! I told him I knew this game and that we did not spend five hours on a bus today so we could be taken from shop to shop for his commission. We compromised to go to only two stores for ten minutes each and that we would not tip him. Lunch as well was a trip to a very overpriced restaurant. We retaliated and would not get out of the rickshaw until he took us to get some good ole' dirty Indian street food. We won.

Back on the bus wishing we had taken a train on our own but pleased to be returning home. Ahh- maybe a few hours sleep on out bumpy ride. After a few hours the bus stops at Krishna's birthplace. We are so over the whole experience so we skip the temple and have a chai. Back on the bus again. Ahh - to go home. Another hour and the bus stops at some temple in the middle of nowhere. Tired and irritated we follow the herd and do as we are instructed. Well, instructed in Hindi. We remove our shoes, walk through the cow dung on the streets and file into a temple. We purchase flowers for offerings that Adam immediately places around his neck like a lei. I grab his arm and tell him to quickly take it off before anyone sees as the flowers are only to be enjoyed by the gods and are not to be smelt or worn. We sit on the floor with the others and babble some words in Hindi and repeat after them and blah blah blah. The baba (holy man) then gives an elaborate presentation and rips open the veil to the amazingly heinous miniature temple. We try not to snicker. The baba writes in a notebook the names of all there for prayers for them and their family members (excpet us)! I ask the guide if we can leave. We are not allowed. We are itching to get the hell out of this situation. Then in PERFECT English the baba, the one who forgot to get our names to pray for us and our families, asks for donations. I reply we are not Hindi. He responds in perfect English about how it is okay to donate. I refuse. What is this!

Back on the bus. Another hour we stop again for dinner. We are supposed to be back in Delhi by 11:00pm, we arrive at 3:00am. We arrive dirty, frustrated, irritated, ready to get the hell out of Delhi, hating India, and now sick (Adam has Delhi belly and I have a respiratory infection).

We hated India ...until now. We managed to survive another bus that left four hours late, once again standing on the polluted street inhaling fumes in the cold waiting for our bus.

Now we are in a little slice of heaven in Dharamsala where the Tibetan government is in exile and the Dali Lama resides. People are nice, streets are not overcrowded, we are not hassled, people smile etc. We are happy to be here.

I closed the doors to my new little business January 12th.  I plan on not giving another thought to work for the next five weeks. The purpose of the trip to India is definitely pleasure with a little work tied in importing goodies back to Ashland.

Last time I was in India was a year and a half ago and I was there six months. My heart gets a HUGE tug each time I think of India and Asia. I miss it. I feel part of my soul resides there. This is the reason for my trip.

For me the hardest part will be only being away five weeks. Last time I was away two years and even this did not feel like enough time. I know in Asia and India I feel so incredibly at peace and in my body. Being there for such a short time and having to leave will be difficult.

 

            It is cliché to say, when literature is adapted to cinema, that “the book was way better than the movie.” It always is, as well it should be; literature is by far the more visual medium, wherein you spend days, weeks, even months savoring the scent of love, weeping with the pain of loss, or being sick with the compulsive taste of obsession. Occasionally a movie adaptation comes along that stands on its own as a solitary work of vision, and can be appreciated separate from its source, but never can the emotional charge and truly artful story telling of a master work of literature be crammed into two hours of images and sound bites on the silver screen. Love in the Time of Cholera is no exception.

            The 1985 novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez is a luscious feast of love and obsession, the illusions of youth, aging and death, the questions of sanity and sickness, and the nobility of suffering for the sake of love. The language is thick with magical realism, poetry and metaphor. The attempts of this film to paint with a broad swathe the colors of Marquez’ language on the screen flops like a wet noodle.

            The movie stays faithful to the outline of the novel in a somewhat skeletal fashion and moments of the richness of the story do shine through, but a few shining moments do not make for an overall pleasing film experience.

 The story takes place over 50 years straddling the turn of the century in Cartegena, Colombia. It is the tale of the obsessive love (or illusory insanity) of the starry eyed youth Florentino Ariza (played by the tragicomic Javier Bardem) for the beautiful young flower of all of Cartegena, Fermina Daza (played by a not so floral Giovanna Mezzogiorno). The depth and intensity of Arizas love for Fermina is illustrated beautifully in the novel, in the many letters he pens to her professing his eternal, undying love, devotion and fidelity where in his longing for her he can do nothing but compulsively eat flowers until he is sick. The film reduces him to nervously barfing in a back alleyway. His slightly demented commitment to his ideal of the nobility of love is shown briefly in the film when he is confronted by Fermina’s father Lorenzo Daza (John Leguizamo (how is it that the only actual Latino in the film has the absolute worst Spanish accent?)). Lorenzo stands angrily when Florentino will not back down in his love of Fermina. “Don’t make me shoot you.” He threatens and pulls back his jacket to expose the pistol holstered there. Without hesitating Florentino pulls back his own jacket and points to his heart. “Shoot me here. To die for love is the most noble way to die.”

            Fermina becomes convinced that their love is an illusion of youth, nothing but a childish passing fancy and marries the wealthy doctor Juvenal Urbino (Benjamin Bratt) with the overwhelming approval of her social climbing father. Florentino is crushed but holds onto his love for her for the next 51 years and, in his own mind staying chaste (while seducing 622 women?) to her. In the novel Garcia uses the story as a backdrop to ask the big questions of love, sanity, the permanence of our decisions in life. The depth of the heartfelt writing is colored by the use of language and imagery; the flamboyant life and sounds of the jungle, the scent and vision of plague and death, blatant sexuality, race gender, art, poetry, science, religion…Yet, beyond it’s skeletal outline, the film does no justice to the imagery evoked in the novel. The use of the pandemic cholera as a metaphor for the obsessive insanity of the lovesick is reduced to two or three shots of streets filled with dead people (what does cholera have to do with any of this?). The questions of such an obsession and its fine lined proximity to lucid dementia, the raw, animalistic nature of lust and passion, the thick layers of symbolism and philosophy that are the only way to speak of the ultimate mystery that confounds us all; love. All of this is lost in the translation from paper to cellophane.

            So yes, “the book was way better than the movie” and no, the movie does not stand as its own work of art. Indeed, how could a work of art, so rich in language and symbolism translate to the screen? It simply cannot. So while this seminal work of a literary master will likely tell it’s tale of the lovesick obsessions of youth for many generations to come, this film is destined to be regarded as a dud of a side note in the story of the Marquezian cannon. Like a favorite bumper sticker of mine says; “Don’t Judge a Book by its Movie”.

 

Review by : Rueben Davis

             

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Internationally acclaimed Max Strom will be releasing his brand new groundbreaking DVD, Learn to Breathe. Find out how the body affects us in the context of our mind, our body, and especially our emotions.

 

The event will be hosted by Spirit of Shakti, a new and trendy yoga boutique in Ashland, on Saturday December 15^th from 1:00-4:00pm.  Spirit of Shakti is located at 471 A Street on the corner of 4^th and A Street attached to the Ashland Yoga Center.

 

Max will be holding a FREE breathing workshop from 2:00-3:00 and will be available before and after the session to answer any questions. This workshop is suitable for all ages and no prior yoga experience is necessary to receive the full benefits.

 

Max Strom is known for inspiring and impacting the lives of his students and has become one of the most revered and respected teachers of yoga in the US.  He travels worldwide teaching and lecturing on breathing, yoga, and personal transformation.

 

Call 482-9200 for more information

Tags: "Learn To Breathe To Heal Yourself And Your Relationships"

1)      Colorful new yoga mat

2)      Cool hip comfy yoga clothing

3)      Cork or bamboo yoga block

4)      Big colorful yoga ball

5)      Delicious herbal eye pillow

6)      Funky or relaxing new CD  

7)      Challenging and inspiring DVD

8)      Yoga book filled with illustrations

9)      Yoga strap

10)  Tibetan meditation singing bowl