Contemplative fieldnotes: Last night I dreamt I was atop Mt. Snowdon, the wind howling as I looked across. Singing a yogic song. Strange thing in dreams, if you turn towards the aesthetic quality of stillness amid chaos, the chaos collapses. Something about symbolism in there.
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+1 for Bubbles. I mean, anyone or anything can claim to be an accomplished Yogin(i). Even qualifiying authorities, such as they are, are often degenerate. People rely on cynicism more than anything to protect them from cons, because people are naive and easily taken with fraud.
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Yeah....I guess I wouldn’t know, as I’m not a Yogin.
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