Living the Dream

I had this dream back when I first got to Pushkar and started this Yoga regimen:

Bablu sees me eating and points out I have something on my upper lip. I go to the mirror and see that it's not exactly a lassi mustache but a full on mini-mustache and goatee on my face. My dream self goes "Holy Smokes! How did this happen? How could Sarah & Jessie not mention my facial hair was out of control?" It did not occur to me that it would be odd I hadn't seen it before myself. I just thought, why didn't they tell me? It's so pronounced and noticeable - what kind of friends are they?

I woke up and didn't feel too anxious, like I didn't run to the mirror. Or perhaps I should say, I resisted the impulse to run to the mirror. I mean, the image of me with a pencil-thin mustache and goatee was already burned into my neural pathways, why push it? And I was a little disappointed that I looked so....so....sleazy. Within seconds of waking I had the interpretation I needed: The dream just means I'm developing my masculine side with this Yoga practice. Building muscle. Building strength.

Works for me.

The dream came shortly after a conversation with Mincho. Ah, Mincho! You're missed muchos, muchacho. (Heck, I hope that's not a bad word in Spanish) In the early days, Mincho would often comment I that looked so happy, and like years were dropping off my face. "Look like 21 today I think, Mia." I would laugh and say I feel good, even though everything hurt. "Torah, torah," Mincho would say. Little, little. Little by little.

He would ask about my writing and say "Make this your seva (selfless service). Only no ego. Don't care about, and no attachment just write. "

One particular conversation Micho said "You look happy, and smile is good, this yoga and writing. Sometimes ego can give you a mustache on your face," and indicated what he meant by frowning and letting the sides of his mouth go down without using his hands to distort the shape of his face.

I said "Actually, Mincho, I have the mustache already. I'm Italian."

"Ack. But you understand me," he replied.

"Yes, yes I did. Thank you."

Next thing I know, my subconscious creates Mr. Eufemio - my hair was slicked back into a braid too. Like, ouch.