Maybe it’s because I make my living with words, but lately I’m feeling bombarded with words in places where I don’t want them.
Yoga is a good example. I look forward to my weekly Jivamukti class with something close to reverence. After a long day of people and meetings, focusing on yoga sutras and breathing is a welcome relief. It’s also dedicated time to just “be” and I have to work hard not to plan the next day’s class or wonder what’s for dinner when I get home.
But lately this little bubble of being is in danger of bursting because my teacher (who, granted, is new) is a bit too enamored of the word. I’m all for passion, politics, and civic action. I’m all for practicing yoga both on and off the mat. And yes, I too was horrified and sickened by the beef recall. But I really, really don’t go to yoga for that. I don’t want to listen to more words, I just want to breathe. I don’t want to go to yoga for a lecture.
To escape from the didactic nature of my yoga teacher, I went home to soak in a hot bubble bath. And that’s when I noticed all the words on my organic lavender liquid soap. Dr. Bonner is all about God and morality. Who knew? Words were everywhere.
So when I saw the picture in the recent Country Home where the decorators had opted for turning the books backwards on the shelves (it appeared less “cluttered” and more neutral to only have the parchment visible), I was momentarily delighted. Quiet! Wordless! Pretty!
And then I realized that my books were words I’d chosen and sought out. These were words I needed and craved. How ridiculous to subsume books under some kind of pale decorator’s palette. If I can just figure out how to quiet the other words in my head–in yoga, in the tub–then I’ll be fine.