Source http://www.sonima.com/yoga/yoga-mission/
Traveling to see my guru, Sharath Jois, in Mysore, India usually requires a long journey of trains, planes and auto-rickshaws. With him now in the U.S. on his annual yoga tour for the entire month of May, you’d think a trip to practice with him at Stanford University in California would be much different. Nope. While I wasn’t leaving the Western Hemisphere for the East, I was still taking the long route to practice with the Paramaguru. An impromptu trip to Cuba had inserted itself into my schedule a week before his arrival, which meant I was making my way to San Francisco by way of Havana.
Once in the Bay area, I scouted for my Uber among a throng of car-lift expectants―at least six people deep on the curb―staring into their smart phones. This was worlds away from the post-Communistic island where cars are from the 1950s and testy wifi is sold in forms of perforated cards with long alphanumeric names and passwords by hot spot gangster types on the street. Their hushed-toned solicitations normally reserved for illicit substances intended for mental escape, which is maybe the function of the Internet at times anyway.
No matter where you go, traveling tends to illustrate the world’s contradictions and imbalances. Absorbing San Francisco airport’s exalted tech scene, I told myself that in the future the stark disparities of Havana and San Francisco would somehow be ameliorated by benign, caring, intelligent, and selfless world …
Source http://www.sonima.com/yoga/yoga-mission/
Traveling to see my guru, Sharath Jois, in Mysore, India usually requires a long journey of trains, planes and auto-rickshaws. With him now in the U.S. on his annual yoga tour for the entire month of May, you’d think a trip to practice with him at Stanford University in California would be much different. Nope. While I wasn’t leaving the Western Hemisphere for the East, I was still taking the long route to practice with the Paramaguru. An impromptu trip to Cuba had inserted itself into my schedule a week before his arrival, which meant I was making my way to San Francisco by way of Havana.
Once in the Bay area, I scouted for my Uber among a throng of car-lift expectants―at least six people deep on the curb―staring into their smart phones. This was worlds away from the post-Communistic island where cars are from the 1950s and testy wifi is sold in forms of perforated cards with long alphanumeric names and passwords by hot spot gangster types on the street. Their hushed-toned solicitations normally reserved for illicit substances intended for mental escape, which is maybe the function of the Internet at times anyway.
No matter where you go, traveling tends to illustrate the world’s contradictions and imbalances. Absorbing San Francisco airport’s exalted tech scene, I told myself that in the future the stark disparities of Havana and San Francisco would somehow be ameliorated by benign, caring, intelligent, and selfless world …
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