I would like to eat there
Are you vegetarian, Charlie-D?
Yes I am, not all my life but for quite a long time now. I can not see meat without the steps and story before it is in the store or on the dish anymore. 
The moment I took the decision was a great relief. 
Excellent. I’m open to it. Following the inner guru…
Blog #64: My Trip to San Francisco
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-64-my-trip-to-san-francisco/
After leaving my AYP comrades in Los Angeles, I flew to San Francisco, where I had not been since moving back to Tampa in 2010.
On the plane ride, memories and emotions flooded my consciousness. I wondered how I would react once I set foot in the courtyard of my old apartment—the place where my sobriety, divorce, and discovery of AYP had unfolded. Would I burst into tears and experience some kind of major catharsis, or would it be something calmer and more subtle? Either way, I was pretty stoked to find out.
First I had to make my way to my cousin’s condominium in the Mission Bay neighborhood. She had recently moved to the city with a job working for Rolls Royce. I bought a ticket for BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) and boarded one of the inbound rail cars. The shimmying and shaking of the train, the whining and grinding of its wheels, made me feel like it had only been yesterday since I had commuted within the city, and across the bay to Oakland and Berkeley. The sounds, the scenery, the tactile sensations…how quickly my perception locked onto every detail and connected them with past experiences. At one point along the ride, the screeching noise was so loud, that I found myself laughing jubilantly and in tune with the pitch of the friction. And yet, I felt inner silence at the core of it all.
My cousin was taking care of her boss’s dog, a little pug named Buster. His tongue hung perpetually out of the side of his mouth. We took the little beast to the park, along with my cousin’s own dog named James, a wiry-haired mutt who had two bottom fangs protruding from his shut mouth, much like the tusks of a wild boar. The park was across the street from the baseball stadium, adjacent to a canal within the bay called McCovey Cove, where fans gather in boats and kayaks to catch home runs that fly over the fence. We reclined on the big grass lawn and basked in the sun with our canine companions.
Farther down the lawn were an affectionate man and woman intertwined on a blanket. They looked sublimely in love. They hopped up and starting throwing the frisbee. After a little while, I couldn’t resist, so I jumped up too and yelled: “Hey, can I throw a few with y’all?” They both replied in the affirmative simultaneously. We formed a tight triangle and created a sweet rhythm as we torqued our hips and elbows—letting the beloved disc soar through the pristine air to and from each other’s hands. (I’ve written about this before, but chucking the frisbee reminds me of samyama. There is a lot of finesse in the technique, and the release of the held object into space is reminiscent of a sutra set off into silence.)
The next day I met my dear friend Rob at the Lands End Trail near the Golden Gate Bridge and the Presidio. We hiked along the cliffs and admired the wetsuit-encased surfers riding down the barrels of cold waves below. To me, the Pacific Ocean is so palpably different than the warm, familiar Gulf of Mexico that kisses the west coast of Florida. Whereas the Pacific conjures up feelings of stark, masculine fierceness, the Gulf embraces me in a sultry, feminine haze, like an intoxicating bosom. (Also, I forgot to mention something in the L.A. blog, and that is that on one of the days there, some gale-force winds lambasted the beach for a couple hours. We walked to a pier, and I could literally lean into the wind and stay standing by virtue of the gale’s leverage. The grains of sand spewing off the beach were pelting us like microscopic shrapnel. The waves were so choppy and monstrous that we didn’t see a single surfer out there braving the elements. But I loved every second of the barrage. It was so real, and so exuberating.)
Anyway, walking and talking with Rob was a real treat. He had counseled me during my divorce, and had become a true saving grace for me during that time. He exemplifies the kind of sturdy tenderness that I appreciate in fellow men. On a professional level, he filters psychology through a spiritual sieve, which is a strategy much needed in the market today, especially when it comes to purifying and balancing the pharmaceutical monopoly and marginalization in the mainstream. The world needs more Robs. When I told him about my up-to-date dream of starting an AYP center in Tampa, he said: “It will come to be.” In fact, we might collaborate in the future and do some podcast stuff. He also holds vision quests for men by going out into the wilderness and fasting for several consecutive days (check it out: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/advice-to-men-go-wild-wcz/).
After vibing with Rob, I headed to the courtyard of my old apartment building in Cole Valley, where my bedroom window had looked out upon an adjacent shop called The Sword and Rose (http://www.theswordandrose.net/). Six years ago, I had managed to unintentionally land next to this highly-charged, spiritual nook and cranny, and to end up spending quite a few months with its owners, Randy and Patrick, who also lived together as gay partners.
I sat down on one of the ornamental, concrete benches, where I used to play mandolin as an accompaniment to Randy’s guitar playing and singing. A couple years ago, Randy had tragically passed away in a house fire. I learned of the news from a mutual friend, but had not spoken to Patrick since the event. As I rested and reflected on the bench there, an image of Randy appeared on the bench across from me, flickering holographically like a lively memory. It was faint, but of real substance.
The shop’s single wooden door was adorned with vines and looked like it could fit perfectly in a Tolkiensque world of hobbits, dwarves, and elves. I walked through, and there was Patrick, tending to some incense on the shelves in the dimly lit interior. “Hi Patrick, it’s Cody. Do you remember me?” I said. He squinted pensively through his glasses and replied: “Oh yes, you’ve gained a little weight, but you look healthier and more settled. You’re doing well, I can tell.” I thanked him, we hugged, and then he showed me his hands—telling me they had healed remarkably fast after being burned in the house fire while attempting to save Randy’s life.
Patrick had dragged Randy’s burning body down the stairs when the ambulance arrived, and that was the last time they ever saw each other alive, at least in the sense of incarnate body to incarnate body. Now, Randy appears to Patrick in his dreams at night, and also through mutual, clairvoyant friends. In fact, Patrick said that Randy had been hounding one of their friends in an attempt to get an important message through to Patrick about renovations and repairs to the house. Death, it seems, has not separated the two, but merely created new forms of communication and interaction.
The more we talked, the more it seemed like old times. Patrick was highly optimistic about many things, and he had me sit down in the rocking chair by the fireplace, where he gave me a card reading from a deck filled with Native American symbology and power animals. I don’t remember the exact spread, but it all boded well for me. Patrick said: “If you ever feel afraid that your dreams won’t come true, transmute that fear by imagining what the joy will feel like once your dreams actually do come true, which they will. See the vision as if it is real right now. You must have faith. Faith is the opposite of fear, and that’s how we transmute the emotional energy.”
He had spoken the language of AYP’s path of bhakti and devotion to a chosen ideal. It resonated deeply, and that feeling of progress and coming full circle was upon me. I left his shop in very high spirits, and he extended an open invitation to call him anytime, which I sincerely appreciated and reciprocated in kind.
On my last night in town, back at the condo with my cousin, who is kind of like a sister to me, we talked about some of our family members…the dysfunction, addiction, resentments, and lack of transparency. We were sweeping through the shadows. Not that our family is overwhelmed with darkness, but there are certainly some kinks to be worked out. Sitting on the balcony, we could hear Metallica playing a live show in the baseball park across the street. I could see the lead singer James Hetfield on the Jumbotron. He was pouring his dynamic voice into the microphone—at times full of rage, at times sweet and melodic. The band rolled into one of their classic anthems, “Nothing Else Matters”:
So close no matter how far
Couldn’t be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters
Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don’t just say
And nothing else matters
On my early-morning flight back to Tampa, I knew that what mattered most was for me to stay active, and to keep teetering on the radical edge of progress. I couldn’t settle for the passive, do-nothing spirituality. I had to maintain and improve my daily routine, and to keep putting myself out there—taking advantage of my current network, and staying perpetually open to new people and opportunities.
Metallica had it right: Life is ours, we live it our way.
Beautiful, Cody! There is specialness in being present when revisiting past “haunts”, as if the films laid atop of each other warp time and space. It is a real opportunity to be young and older simultaneously, enhanced manyfold by your spiritual progress. Thanks for sharing
As the wise words of Dogboy said…
So true. Very well said and captured, Dogboy.
[OM] Yogani [OM] Sunyata [OM] Charliedog [OM]
Blog #65: Why is Drinking Alcohol Still Cool?
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-65-why-is-drinking-alcohol-still-cool/
It’s a good question, and the answer might be easier to surmise than we think.
First, let’s look at smoking cigarettes, and how that’s changed in our culture.
There was certainly a period in America when smoking nicotine-laced tobacco was considered hip and fashionable. Hollywood and the mass media portrayed the habit of inhaling cigarettes as a desirable activity. Images of celebrities breathing in the carcinogens tarnished movie screens and magazines across the globe. But eventually…the game started to change. What happened?
Well, the evidence of cigarettes’ detriments became too painfully obvious. The handsome, rugged Marlboro Man was stricken with lung cancer. Tobacco’s image of coolness began to rapidly deteriorate in the face of neurobiological reality. Like a castle in the air, the delusion and mystique of unintelligent consumption was seen for what it was—a vaporous apparition bearing little weight or benefit in regards to health, well-being, and especially transcendence.
Nowadays, it’s not cool to smoke. It’s more like a pitiful addiction that we’re desperately trying to flush out of our cultural system and collective body. Smoking is being increasingly banned from restaurants, workplaces, airports, and public spaces in general. Bye bye, cigarettes.
But alcohol, a dear cousin to nicotine and other artificial intoxicants, is still going strong. Oh yes, some might say it’s going stronger than ever.
A quick look around will yield instant confirmation of alcohol’s prevalent status and endurance. There are bars and liquor stores populating nearly every city and town in the nation (except in the rare “dry” counties in conservative-minded regions). Drinking beer, liquor, and wine are intertwined with the notion of fine dining and enjoying exquisite foods. Megastars like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie even own their own vineyard and winery, and their parent film industry undoubtedly perpetuates alcohol’s place as a substance and activity for recreation, celebration, and inebriation. There is no denying it.
Yet, the nightmarish effects of drinking alcohol are more apparent than ever. Cirrhosis of the liver, alcoholic hepatitis, drunk driving, increased violence, volatility, and horrendous deaths are happening across the board. I don’t need to write another sentence to prove those facts.
And how does Alcoholics Anonymous, the mainstream option for recovery from alcohol addiction, fit into the Great Booze Machine that still has a vice grip on our society?
In simplest terms, and to cut to the chase, let me say this: AA merely reinforces, rationalizes, and validates the stranglehold that alcohol has on the neck of popular culture. Not that Bill Wilson or Dr. Bob ever intended for that to be the case. With all their humility and postures of kneeling down on bended knee before a masculine, paternal god, they merely wanted to follow “His Will”, which they deemed to be living soberly as disease-stricken alcoholics. But for men that could still “drink like gentlemen”, Bill and Bob tipped their hats in reverence and respect. In their eyes, there was no intrinsic problem with drinking alcohol. Only when drinking in excess or “unmanageablely” did the Higher Power need to step in and take the wheel.
But poison is poison, and the common-sense observation that alcohol is intrinsically toxic cannot be swept under the rug forever. The clear light of consciousness ultimately shines upon the darkness. For this reason, booze, like cigarettes, will begin to fade from the global landscape of products being ingested. And how will that happen?
First, not through punitive prohibition or anti-alcohol campaigns. AA definitely has it right in that arena. There is no effectiveness in trying to take down the animal by spewing animosity at the beast. After all, alcohol is just being alcohol. It is what it is. You can’t blame or negate the chemical composition of certain liquids that undergo decay. That’s just what they do (fermentation). That organic process is innocent.
What is not so innocent, or shall we say, not so wise and intelligent, is the conscious choice to imbibe in the elixirs. That’s where we have to redirect our desire for transcendent euphoria and joy towards better means, and that’s where AYP comes into play. It’s all about how we accomplish our transformation and satisfy our pure, primal desire to be happy. Very simple.
So, why is drinking alcohol still cool? Well, the main reason people are still catching the rough, harsh buzz of firewater is because there is a lack of visibility and transparency in regards to superior methods of intoxication.
If we can demonstrably show that Deep Meditation, Spinal Breathing Pranayama, Samyama, bhakti, karma yoga, diet/cleansing, and other tools in the AYP toolshed—comprehensively and undeniably result in a far more functional and lasting divine intoxication, then people will flock to this yogic reservoir like thirsty camels in the desert. It will happen. Guaranteed.
The time has come to educate the masses with truth, and the truth is…our nervous system is the doorway to the Infinite.
I call upon and eagerly await the like-minded souls who are ready to facilitate revolution in the world of recovery.
It is hopeful to see, when I started teaching yoga&meditation 4 years ago not so many students were open for meditation or daily routine of yoga. It was once a week in class and thats it. As time passes by, and some students are with me from that time, more and more are open to daily routine. Also the meditation classes grow, there is more and more interest. What I did last year was a kind of challenge, do 40 day’s in row sun salutations every morning, that worked, some do it still one year later.
This also works with meditation, next to the new 40 day’s sun salutations this year, I will start today with a group 40 day’s of meditation.
My experience is, if one can do it 40 day’s in row, there really is a change and one will stay easier with the new routine. Grateful.
Onward
Just spent some wonderful time reading your California posts. And now the current one about why alcohol is still cool. LOVED all of it. Thank you for writing. As for the last post, I stumbled across a small Andrew Weil book years ago called the Natural Mind where he talks about exactly what you just wrote: That humans have an innate curiosity/desire for altered states of consciousness and he does a little blurb about everything from caffeine to LSD. He shares your view of alcohol… Near the end of the book he comments that it is not uncommon to see drug/alcohol users move toward meditation. But how uncommon to see a meditator move to using drugs/alcohol.
Nice!! There seems to be something magical about 40 days, for sure. I like how you’re using that format as a catalyst to get students deeper into sadhana.
Natural Mind is a book I read pretty early in sobriety. Very inspiring. I’m glad you also see the connection between addiction and bhakti. And I’m glad you enjoyed the California journals! Thanks for reading, Beehive.
Love.
Blog #66: The Advantages of Alcoholics Anonymous
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-66-the-advantages-of-alcoholics-anonymous/
In the “Why AYP?” section of my website, I spend a considerable amount of time reviewing certain weaknesses I perceive in AA, while also highlighting some of the benefits. I have obviously felt a deep drive to improve the recovery paradigm, especially because I have witnessed relapses and failures firsthand, even by friends in the fellowship that have diligently followed the 12 Steps. In this blog, I’m not going to do any constructive criticism, but will instead focus solely on the positives of AA.
One of the immediate benefits of AA is its openness. Anyone can walk into a meeting, and I mean pretty much anyone. Even if you’re drunk (non-threatening), you can sit in on a meeting. (If you’re belligerently drunk and threatening other attendants, of course, appropriate measures will be taken to ensure the safety of the group). This open-door policy promotes and fosters inclusiveness, rather than exclusiveness. People in the raw, beginning stages of recovery need a place that is non-judgmental and welcoming, and AA fits that mold.
Because AA is self-supporting through its own contributions, there is a healthy autonomy at work. AA has spread worldwide, and it is fairly easy to start a new meeting anywhere, with the approval of a district committee. In that sense, it is much like AYP. Actually, AYP is even more flexible. The open-source platform of AYP has opened the floodgates for anyone to draw from the baseline and manifest community gatherings devoted to enlightenment. In fact, it is incumbent upon us, as leaders and practitioners, to bring AYP to the public in our respective localities. Yogani isn’t going to do the work. We are. He laid the blueprint, now we have to build the sanctuaries. The architect has handed off the design to the carpenters.
By far and away, the leader of the budding trend of community development has been Tristan Dorling, and with his unveiling and roll-out of the certification program, it will surely bring AYP further into the limelight. Time, money, and divine will permitting—I will be in France in 2017 to complete the course. I most definitely want to pin the gold star by my name. It will be an official stamp, a resume booster, and a mark of commendation. Such things are certainly attractive to the public, and there is merit and value in having a diploma that signifies time well spent studying and mastering a discipline.
But, back to recovery.
AYP for Recovery is like the Mission Impossible message that is designed to self-destruct in 5 seconds once the message is received and understood. Once alcohol and drugs fade off the global scene, there will be no need for recovery. So my little project is a temporary measure to bolster and supplement the more long-term trajectory of AYP itself. In other words, recovery is merely a peripheral entrance to the main show…a kind of side door that leads to the central chamber.
Yogani’s endorsement of AA, despite his lack of direct experience in the fellowship or program, is understandable. But I think that with the passage of time, AYP for Recovery will stand on its own as a viable alternative to AA and the 12 Steps. In particular, I have promoted the Dare to Dream Formula as a beginning stepping stone for anyone in recovery, precisely because it has been an instrumental strategy in my own recovery and movement forward.
To move forward, it is necessary to review and reconcile the past, but it is equally vital and important, perhaps more so, to envision and co-create a future based on personal talents and longings. The recovery and enlightenment equation is not complete unless there is a visionary dream emanating from the heart and mind. It’s pure mechanics, and it’s basically non-negotiable (in the best kind of way).
So, I am going to hold onto what I’ve learned from AA, drop the ineffective parts, and get a little closer to Paradise, here and now. At least that’s the plan.
End of line.
Wow I’m 90 days clean, just resolved to boot back up my TM practice, and bolster it with all the additional AYP techniques… and have been having internal conflict with the fear-mongering/sponsorship-or-die aspect of the 12-step community in LA. I am so blessed to have found this link! Jeeezz Louise!
Jump on board, bro. I could use all the help I can get. Time to reform the recovery paradigm, AYP-style.
I was in L.A. a couple weeks ago visiting an AYP friend, but he relocated to Brooklyn last week, otherwise I would connect you two. In any case, feel free to email/call me whenever.
Unity. Strength. Wisdom. [OM]
Cody
Blog #67: Meditation on Wall Street
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-67-meditation-on-wall-street/
I don’t watch much TV, but every once in a while, a show catches my eye. There’s a new series on Showtime called Billions, and it’s definitely sparked my interest.
In the pilot episode, two lead characters are introduced. One is a U.S. Attorney named Chuck Rhoades. The other is a self-made billionaire named Bobby Axelrod. Chuck is trying to take down Bobby for financial crimes, but there’s all kinds of tangled webs in between the two. For instance, Chuck’s wife works for Bobby’s hedge fund operation. Can we say conflict of interest?
Anyway, I mention the show because Chuck and Bobby both share a common habit: meditation! Yes, these white-collar adversaries are portrayed as daily mediators, sitting quietly with eyes closed, in their offices and homes. They may be unscrupulous and perverse in other areas, but at least the script writers of the show have given a shout out to the beloved practice of cultivating stillness. It’s a good sign.
I don’t recall which exact lesson, or maybe it’s from a forum post, but I’m reminded of Yogani’s example of a businessman that wants to meditate to become more profitable and successful in the material world. What does Yogani say about such a seemingly shallow motivation? He essentially says: Go for it!
That’s right, the mechanics of Deep Meditation will morally self-regulate a person, even if someone starts out with less than noble intentions and aspirations. Such is the power of following the mantra into inner silence. With enough time, persistence, and consistency, the goodness and virtue of our divine self will shine through, despite our shadowy beginnings. It is a hopeful and promising trajectory—to rely on the mechanics of active surrender, and to not worry too much about how pure our intentions are from the outset. It all gets taken care of if we apply the tried-and-true methods of full-scope yoga.
More than a guru, more than a man-made law, more than any amount of money…do I trust the reality of cause and effect, and the omnipresence of eternal stillness underlying all causes and effects. That’s where my investment strategy resides: in the heart of pure bliss consciousness, and in the continuity of karma, which came long before Wall Street, and will be around long after it crumbles.
In the meantime, at least Hollywood is sprinkling some meditative fairy dust in the dark, sophisticated corners of our evolving culture. Pretty radical.
Catch you on the flipside.
Blog #68: Self-Inflicted Cigarette Burns
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-68-self-inflicted-cigarette-burns/
When I used to drink a lot of booze in my early 20’s, on a few separate occasions, I put burning cigarettes out on my arms, and even let a couple friends press those pointed, smoldering embers into my flesh. I have some permanent scars where the tissue got singed. Obviously, it’s a foolish, macho-type thing to do, but, believe it or not, there’s a spiritual truth hiding underneath the chicanery.
You see, I already had a sense of the witness back then. I knew that I could damage my body, but I knew that something inside of me was unbreakable, and beyond pain, which the witness surely is. So, I would witness and feel the pain surging through my body, and stay unshaken inside.
Actually, athletes do the same thing all the time. Whether in extreme sports or more mainstream games, competitors push themselves to the edge of their pain threshold and level of tolerance. Without an establishment in the witness, they could not keep striving to go beyond the boundaries. The barrage of uncomfortable sensations in the mind and body could not be overridden and transcended unless there was a silent watcher inside with its hands on the controls.
So, the witness can be there even without practices like Deep Meditation. If the witness is already there, Deep Meditation will just expand the native state and saturate the organism with more inner silence. If the person’s awareness is so strongly glued to thoughts and feelings, then Deep Meditation will be the first step in unpeeling consciousness from the sensations.
Of course, from the witness perspective, all objects of perception are seen as separate from the observant self. It’s like watching a movie—everything is projected on screen, but the viewer is separate from the screen and its events. This begs the question: What links the witness to its observations? Ah, there’s where it gets interesting.
The link is none other than the heart. The heart is where empathy arises, and empathy is the direct sharing of another person’s presence and feelings. To share is the realest thing an individual can experience. There is nothing realer.
The essence of enlightenment is not merely to go BEYOND everything. The essence of enlightenment is to BECOME everything. That is the merging and union that yoga delivers. Transcendence is not a denial of identity with body, mind, thoughts, or feelings. Transcendence is an encompassing of identity with All That Is (including body, mind, thoughts, feelings, and inner silence). That is unity. That is truth. That is the alignment of all temporal parts with their source, and the only reason that such a union can occur, is because there is no absolute division between the source and its parts. They are One.
The witness, and detachment, are only an intermediary stage in awakening. Ultimately, immersion and saturation in the entirety of Being signify the wholeness and completeness in what begins as a sense of separation, and ends with an ongoing flow in unity.
Therefore, I wonder: Am I the cigarette burning my arm—and all the painful sensations that come along with that trauma—or am I the silent witness watching the real-life movie unfold?
The truth is: I am both. It’s a paradox.
Marinate on that for a little while.
Blog #69: LSD and Fantasia in New Orleans
http://ayprecovery.org/blog-69-lsd-and-fantasia-in-new-orleans/
I remember taking a sugar cube of LSD in New Orleans when I was 16 years old. The sugar cube glistened with a special kind of sacramental power and forbidden allure. I was fascinated by the fact that such a potent chemical could be contained inside a small, normally mundane piece of candy.
The anticipation of swallowing the dose brought up a little nausea and nervousness, and once the cube touched my tongue and went down the hatch, there were tingling sensations pulsing through my stomach and bloodstream. It was a slightly alien feeling, and I definitely could discern that the effects were artificially induced.
I had very high expectations for the trip. I wanted to see reality in a totally different light, and to really “trip balls”, as they say. I wanted to break on through to the other side. Most of all, I wanted a show: a sensory extravaganza.
We went to a Blockbuster to rent Disney’s Fantasia, which is often recommended for stimulating the mind during a psychedelic experience. I was already becoming giddy in the store, and loudly describing to my brother how everything looked liquid and luminescent. He kept hushing me, probably because the customers and clerks were starting to notice my largely dilated eyes and the goofy grin plastered on my face.
We made it back to our friend’s house in one piece, and after deftly bypassing his parents, we retreated to the bedroom to watch the movie. As the hallucinatory acid in my system began to pick up more momentum, my heart was deeply touched by what I was beholding on the screen. It was an intimate, underwater montage unfolding to the music of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite. It was so delicate and precious, so resplendent and exquisite. There was a goldfish coyly hiding—enveloped under its own silky tail and lateral fins, like a mermaid concealed by a blanket of finely spun seaweed. The animated scene was the epitome of beauty.
But, I became disinterested with other scenes later in the movie, and the acid began to wear off. After the trip, I was left with a strong sense of yearning—a residual desire to further unpeel the layers of the physical world, and of myself.
Fast forward to the age of 28, when I first laid eyes on the cover of the Deep Meditation book. The plain blue background and run-of-the-mill font might have appeared boring to most, but to me, it sparkled with the same kind of magic that the LSD sugar cube had. But this time, my talisman wasn’t a shortcut; it was a navigation manual for the long journey ahead.
With a dose of LSD, it’s mainly sitting back and watching the show, but with AYP, it’s more of an active surrender. The mantra has to be easily favored; the spinal nerve has to be traced up and down the central channel; the sutras have to be repeated and released; the vision of an ishta has to be cultivated, and so on. There’s more outward flow. Not that people on LSD haven’t done creative things, but the path of full-scope yoga requires much more participation on the inside and outside, which makes the letting go all the more sublime and rewarding.
The higher power is in us.