Dear Yogafolk —
So many of you wrote to me following last week’s post that you resonated with the sentiment — that you too are shedding, unbecoming, and letting go of rugged perfectionism and no holds barred, action-oriented discipline. Which makes all the sense in the world. I believe yoga is simply a microcosm of larger collective happenings. That is, whatever is happening on a grand scale in the world — memes, movements, art, films, scientific discoveries, medical advances, and rhetoric shifts — is reflected and visible in our practices, on the mat, and in our spiritual communities. And vice versa. So that if you were to look at a yoga practice or sangha, you would find the patterns occurring there happening elsewhere in society, too.
“As above, so below,” say the occultists.
Quiet quitting isn’t unique to the Gen Z labor force. Lying flat isn’t special to Chinese rebels. Unbecoming isn’t strictly for philosophers. The need to take śavāsana isn’t confined to yogis.
Below, three cultural artifacts that reflect the current zeitgeist — this simultaneously micro and macro quiet quitting, unbecoming, and transformational urge we’re all feeling into.
I’d love to know where in the world you’ve seen this movement alive, nudging us to embody un-doing?
Mellowly yours,
Erica
The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are also ready to leave the heat, the tapas, the burning for less restrictive, more flowing worlds:
“What you gonna do when you get to the water?
Well, I'll release her
From the bindings of her teachers
What they're hiding there is broke, broke, broke
Like the River Styx, I flow, flow, flow
…
Into the sea, out of fire
All that burning
Into the sea, out of fire
All that burning
Into the sea, out of fire
All that burning
Into the sea, out of fire”
Noah Baumbach’s latest flick is an adaptation from a book with a cult-like following. White Noise is heady, totally absurd, and narratively convoluted, loosely revolving around an “airborne toxic event.” And I can’t stop thinking about it. Particularly: 1) The colors. Oh, the colors. Rich, buzzing, alive, and saturated. 2) The conversations between Don Cheadle (Murray) and Adam Driver (Jack):
“It's comforting to know the supermarket hasn't changed since the toxic event," Murray tells Jack. “In fact, the supermarket has only gotten better. Between the unpackaged meat and the fresh bread, it's like a Persian bazaar. Everything is fine and will continue to be fine as long as the supermarket doesn't slip…It recharges us spiritually. It's a gateway. Look how bright. Look how full of psychic data, waves, and radiation. All the letters and numbers are here, all the colors of the spectrum, all the voices and sounds, all the code words and ceremonial phrases. You just have to know how to decipher it.”
3) The characters’ subtle avoidance. The adults all, in their own ways, want to get off of life’s trajectory, numb out, and bypass the biggest, most difficult questions, while simultaneously leaning right into them — life, death, god, catastrophe, and purpose.
If you’re thinking, “E, this sounds bonkers, and not worth sacrificing two hours of my life,” then you might align with 70% of Rotten Tomatoes’ audience reviewers who ardently disliked this film. In that case, feel free to quiet quit before you even begin. However, I recommend at the very least watching the end-credit dance scene which is a bizarre, whimsical, and captivating grocery-store romp to the tune of LCD Sound System’s New Body Rhumba. And maybe have a lie-down in the produce section.
Sheila Heti’s 2022 novel, Pure Colour, is a lush exploration of what it means to be human in this apocalyptic moment. Throughout the poetic novel we follow the inner world of Mira, who eventually comes to deeply grieve her father’s death. And in some ways, Mira gives up, gently and without fanfare leaving the world to be with her father, which also happens to mean transforming into a leaf. It is a gorgeous, and cosmic read:
“As a leaf, she finally found her right dimensions, and soon enough she adapted to them, as she had never adapted to her dimensions in life…If she had known that she was the size of a leaf, she would not have bothered with those aspirations. She would have done her best to remain small.”
Headings and illustrations for Yogafolk are by Leah Tumerman and Chelsey Dyer.
It is in the air, in the breath, in the no...
It is in the rise of homesteaders, small sustainable farmers, soil protecters.
It is in the yogis, the Sahdgurus, the Tara Brach's, those who fall in love deeper and deeper every day--
It is in poetry, in the margins-- soon to be louder and stronger until it is
what is.