108 degrees in the shade

I love me some rhythm and blues.  I took an African Dance class in college where we learned the tribal skill of making love to the earth by reaching low with our hips and pouncing up with our leg strength.  I think they call them squats now. 
Anyway, if I could sing AT ALL I would grind it out from my soul to my extremities telling stories, scant singing all to the pulsation of a low bass.  Sing to me sisters and brothers!    Reggae, islands, and poetry are some of my favorite things.  I wish this were me:

This the the best song for summer. 96 degrees in the shade
Real hot in the shade.  (Third World)  On Sunday it was 108 degrees with 50% humidity in the hot room.  Real hot in the room. Bikram Yoga is NEVER easy but some days are better than others.  There have now been 2 times true panic has set in for me.  Claustrophobia, suffocating sensation where I wanted to leave The Room and give up.  And yet, I didn’t.  That is what keeps me coming back in the most oppressive of conditions in The Room.  My African sisters and brothers kept coming back time and time again in the most oppressive of social conditions to improve, progress and liberate their souls.  They still do.  And they still are.  We can then  use that inspiration to keep coming back to the mat, keeping lacing up your shoes and keep loving our lives.  True peace comes from within you not the space you occupy or the thing you do.  It comes even when it’s 96 degrees in the shade.
I wish this were me:

This is more like it:

It just needs to be 108 in the shade.  Sing it!
What inspires you?

Burning Funk

I love James Taylor’s R-rated version of Steamroller Blues.  He is so in his zone you can taste his ooze as his soul motor rides out those electrifying words in a poem of grunts and hums.  It gets behind my navel and waits to pounce like a cat.

 Well I’m a cement mixer for you baby, a churning urn of burning funk.

I am such when I:

• Nail a yoga pose and let the breath lead me.
• Make it up the hill by Grace Church on the route by the Y.
• Own my backbone

• See this.

• Do this

Today I cried before breakfast.  I ran 4 silly hilly miles at a laughable pace.  No churning or burning funk there.  Just a little throw-up threatening in my throat as I climbed up the hill near Grace Church.  I went to a little music café to pick up a latte to drown my sorrows before work.  I waited and watched Keith Urban sing the most beautiful soulful song on the big screen TV in this wonderful little muffin mecca.  The whole thing made me cry.  The words.  His sweat.  His closed eye lids as he chirped out the words we all love to hear.  I don’t even like country music but today it brought me to tears.  I blinked them back as the barista passed my potion to me.  He looked at me funny and I said I was fine there was something wrong with my stomach.

It was the churning urn of burning funk.  Brought on by an Australian hunk with a guitar.  Can happen really anytime, Anywhere.  Let it burn. 

Any funk in your life today?