Haiku, Meditation, Yoga, Tea, and Why I Don't Have The Self-Discipline to Engage in Any of These Except Maybe for Tea and Haiku

I am sitting next to my oldest son as he draws a picture of what he describes a "sweet robot". My second son is tracing his Gambit action figure. We're on the front porch of our house in a small town just outside of Milwaukee. My youngest son is upstairs, getting a bath, because apparently he hasn't taken a crap since Tuesday.

When a four year old says, "Gambit", it sounds a heck of a lot like "Dammit".

My wife and kids were away for seven days. They returned from Florida, on a visit to my wife's mother, this afternoon. These trips tend to take place two to three times a year. The first two hours after I pick my family up from the airport are always difficult. When did the world get so loud? I spent the last week reading Murakami's Kafka on the Shore, breathing in humidified air, and walking my dog.

Now my middle son's Gambit has, according to him, a "big booty".

I'm glad they're home. However, their presence reminds me of my desire to find some balance and inner peace or whatever in a house where three children take great pleasure in beating the crap out of each other sixteen hours a day. While the kids were gone I had planned on meditating, etc., but I more or less blew the sort of self-discipline associated with the activities in this entry's title. I watched basketball and read Murakami instead. I know activities like yoga are supposed to make me feel better, and when I engage in their practice, sometimes they do actually make me feel better. But I hardly ever actually get around to, you know, writing haiku. I want to touch on each activity and outline my reasons (excuses, maybe) for my personal failures.

Haiku: Actually, I haven't failed yet at haiku. I've ordered some books from the inter-library loan system on haiku, and I may have a shot at haiku success. I like the focus and discipline of haiku. Plus, unlike all of the other activities, haiku leaves me an artifact of the experience beyond the ethereal. Haiku's been on my mind for about eight months. Last fall I wrote a few in department meetings, even though I'm the chair, and I wasn't entirely displeased with my efforts. Later, near Christmas, I checked out some websites put together by haiku enthusiasts, but I found that haiku enthusiasts (like, uh, most people who could be described as "enthusiasts") left me wanting to leave the party early, so to speak. More on haiku later.

Meditation: I haven't meditated for a few weeks. I've got no excuse. Normally, I can blame the kids, etc., since they get up so goddamn early, but they were gone this week, and I still didn't meditate. I don't last more than five minutes when I sit down on my yellow yoga mat. Don't get me wrong. It's a good five minutes. I peek at the clock, though. Something tells me the Dalai Lama doesn't peek at the clock during meditation. Maybe Heather Graham does. I don't know. Maybe I should try meditating at night. Worth a shot.

Yoga: I took a yoga class at the local YMCA and lasted five sessions. Allow me a few words in my defense. First, the class took place on Wednesday evenings from 8PM to 9PM in the dead of winter. So, after I stretched, warmed up, and got into a yoga state of mind, our Wisconsin February blew any progress straight out of the goddamn water. Plus, the yoga teacher, a thin, wispy graduate student with a crew cut and nervous eyes, was a sadist. We talked a little before class once, and he mentioned he was studying German literature. What kind of yoga teacher studies German literature? There is no rational defense for my concern except that I assumed my yoga teacher would at least choose a more politically correct academic program (women's studies?). I guess he was nice enough, but I couldn't keep up with him, and if I'm worried about keeping up with the yoga teacher, I'm sure as hell not relaxing or growing spiritually. He wanted us to contort our bodies in the most unnatural ways possible. I'm convinced he made up wacky new poses based on how stupid we looked. I read somewhere (Karen Armstrong's Spiral Staircase) that traditional yoga, the kind in which the Buddah engaged, was actually a physical motherf--ker. I can't imagine.

Tea: Tea, on the other hand, works pretty well in a Wisconsin February, esp. at work. I don't know what I'm going to do in the summer, though. I tend to drink soda for the kick, which is sort of like substituting mountain air for cigarettes. This past week I sat in the dark, drank some Zen tea (yes, I'm a sucker for good marketing) and listened to the Lost in Translation soundtrack. I slept well that night.

More later. I'll update my haiku progress as I go on. Maybe I won't die young. More on getting old later as well.

Randomanthony