Recently, in a certain yoga class that entices a certain divine lock of curled hair at the base of one's spine, I entered an asana where my hands were wide face open stretched, thumbs pushing towards the temples, and the pulse on the palms tingle thump. Its the posture of fearlessness. The body is wide open, vulnerable, and confronting death with a bring it on you f-ing pest love. Love as confrontation. Love as strength. Love as fearlessness.
Than again I paid money to be here, and the atmosphere is about as space-cult as it can get, but it's True. It's devoted to and therefore worth my time.

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