Redneck Yoga Teacher

“Be who you are. Be as you as you can be.” – Anita Moorjani

But, no. Don’t be like that.

We could end there. That would be enough.

Rednecks have a reputation for being assholes because they are assholes. I could fall in the category of ‘reformed redneck,’ but even then, rednecks don’t like reform.

Not all rednecks are racist, but it could be argued that all rednecks are mouthy. Okay. All the rednecks who aren’t mouthy, are sweet, dumb and would still fuck your husband. Or, if Sagittarius were involved, some combination of the two.

What I like about rednecks? I can be my mouthy, asshole self around rednecks and nobody blinks an eye. What happens when I start talking about angels, astrology and quantum fucking? I’m suddenly off my rocker and rednecks don’t know what happened to me. Smoke another one, Jill, they say. No. Seriously, smoke another one.

Okay. To be fair, literary rednecks can’t handle conversations about the quantum field (their scientific educations aren’t up to date); however, fundamentalist rednecks can talk about blowjobs, sex and pussies any old time. Reformed rednecks, too.

These aren’t words I typically utilize when teaching yoga classes.

Serious people, it dawned on me, are always working and that’s why they’re so impossibly serious. Seriously, holier than thou yogis and spiritualists, we’ll never reach rednecks if we strip them of their dirty words. Perhaps reaching this crowd is not your dharma. Right? So lay off mine.

Let’s save the karmic scrutiny for another day. For now, we have rednecks to reform. Somebody, bring me a bag of chocolate dicks. Eating chocolate dicks is okay (we tell them), while killing Indians for oil is wrong.

Growing up in Saskatchewan, I remember learning about slavery in the deep south, while closer to home—yes, the Catholic school system used the term Indian—we learned about long houses, tipis, totem poles, potlatch ceremonies, weapons, tools, hunting, migration and bannock bread. That’s it. I didn’t learn about cultural genocide until I moved to Victoria twenty-one years after I was born. Even then, I knew the Missing Sisters was a thing, but I didn’t know that 6,000 Indigenous children died at the hands of Catholic nuns and priests, which doesn’t include the many who were beaten, raped and remain alive and illiterate today. I don’t know specific numbers or details without further research, that’s how uneducated I am.

But then if we’re having our Atlantean brothers’ backs, I want to talk about literacy. What is that? Oh yeah, we stripped them of their languages, their art, their spiritual practices and their resources, and now we’re appropriating a culture that white people nearly obliterated. And we think it’s okay because rednecks are masters at makin’ a livin’.

Who built the pyramids? Probably you, rednecks. Who was likely responsible for four of the five known previous mass extinctions? Probably you, rednecks. Who holds the tipping balance of power for good on this planet? I would imagine all of the people doing whatever they need to do to get by—at the expense, not only of the environment, but also of their souls. The balance of power is in your hands, rednecks. You are the workhorses of the planet. We need your manpower to create a sustainable future. Otherwise, step aside.

Rednecks are basically Leos, and don’t like talking about consequences unless the gun isn’t turned on them. My beef with rednecks is the whining and bitching they do about their failing health and relationships. I have this theory that health doesn’t fail in healthy relationships, unless, of course, you have an unhealthy relationship with yourself. The universe doesn’t usually kick your ass for doing work you love, unless you have a permanent head injury. But then what does a workhorse redneck know about that?

Vacation. Ah yes, vacation.

Disability, to a redneck, is basically a vacation.

Here’s a prayer from A Course in Miracles that can help to retrain the biology of the mind: Dear redneck, I forgive you, and I release you to the holy spirit.

I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m called to run online redneck reform camps, but even then (I keep telling High Jill), I just want to teach yoga. Maybe this is what the cards mean when they keep telling me that I’m going to work with children. I intend to write and publish books, too, but I’ve made peace with the fact that my writing doesn’t appeal to adults with the intellects of seven-year-olds, while only the reformed and unconventional of rednecks have the capacity to understand and appreciate my writing. I want to be a big deal only so that I can show the world that you’re not confined to selling out to white supremacy to succeed, otherwise I just want to play with fun people and do what I love.

The secret, rednecks, is meeting limited circumstances with unlimited thinking. What can I say? I’m studying A Course in Miracles, and I, too, benefit from taking my own advice. Spiritual psychotherapy—or, psychological mind training—goes hand in hand with yoga, the mental science of self-realization.

The secret we use to achieve results in yoga? Intention.

Neuroscientist and chiropractor Dr. Joe Dispenza said, “Intention is a vision, a potential that already exists in the quantum field—that you get to select.”

And yes, rednecks, you must move your masses on the matter, moo.