This second essay in the series was written in reflection following my time at Sampoorna yoga, based on my notes and journal.
Always in the distance
the sound of cars is passing
on the road, that simplest form
going only two ways,
both ways away. And I
have been there in that going.
Wendell Berry, from Sabbath Poems VIII.
It’s truly incredible what can happen when you open the door to vulnerability, and whilst it’s also terrifying, it can in turn clear the way for realisation. As the days progressed to a week, and then two weeks, my time at Sampoorna nurtured a new sense of self and a realisation of that which has often held me back – mentally, emotionally, physically, and yes, even spiritually.
Sunrise on Agonda Beach.
However, this journey to vulnerability and subsequently realisation was not limited to those four weeks in India. It’s an unfolding, an unwrapping of the layers that have been accrued over time, that begun as soon as I was ready to embrace the idea of interdependence, not independence.
This is not more demonstrable than it is in my homelife and with my closest and most intimate friends. Where in my past I have longed to keep the secrets of my heart contained, a behaviour driven by the need to protect and keep myself safe from those that may wish to do me harm if they fully knew me, it is in recent years that I have allowed a softening of the cage that holds my heart.
I am learning, at a slow but mindful and steady pace, to allow myself to be fully seen by those that have demonstrated their love, and their commitment to being in relationship with me. Exposing wounds and scars, whispering hidden truths, letting go of past hurt through the depths of conversation – none of these are easy tasks for many of us, but I continue to gently encourage myself along this shaded forest path, stumbling at times but not stopping.
The fiery forge of Sampoorna increased the heat (literally – I’ve never sweat so much in my life) to soften that heart-cage a little further. The bars remain, but there’s a wider opening – a space for love to get in, and to get out with greater ease.
This scorching space was no more prevalent than the Friday morning of my second week; I was tired, longing for a change in the routine, frustrated with my body not responding as I felt it ought to. The class was led by one of our teachers who radiated compassion and insight, yet channelled strength in each and every one of her classes. That day, I felt the challenge more than I felt the compassion, yet that was my perception and not a reflection of any change in approach or style.
As we progressed through the ninety-minute class and my mat became awash in my sweat, I could feel my friend’s shared frustration on her mat to the left of me. Neither of us was having a morning in which we felt connected, strong, or balanced. Throughout the class our teacher called my name several times, attempts at encouraging me to keep going, to lift my hips a little higher, to reconnect with my breath, sink a little deeper into the pose – all well-meaning and done with that sense of compassion and challenge I have mentioned, yet that day I felt taunted, picked on, irritated by her calling my name repeatedly.
As we entered the third round of the sequence, I finally succeeded in getting into something that vaguely resembled the bind we were being taught. It was ugly, it was sweaty, and it was bloody uncomfortable. As my hands clasped each other behind my back, having passed through my squatted legs, I could feel something beginning to break in me – thankfully nothing physical, but instead a tiny crack in a dam that has long been holding back torrents of thoughts and feelings. I could feel tears, not just sweat, sting my eyes, and I wondered why on earth I was doing this to myself.
As the class ended and our teacher made her swift exit (she later joked, and we laughed alongside her, that she felt the need to extricate herself quickly lest we demonstrate our frustration), my friend and I remained sat on our mats staring out at the rising sun; both crying freely.
Pushing through and reaching that stage of vulnerability had nurtured the right environment for realisation. For me, it was fresh insight into how I respond to difficulty, what does it look like when I am confronted with something that on the first attempt I cannot do, what do I feel when I realise that I am not immediately good at something, and how often do I still keep trying? Not long ago I wrote a piece on “Perfection’s Pedestal”, and once again I found myself asking tough questions of myself, my perfectionism, and the harm it can do to myself and others.
Back to the mat, again and again.
In an episode of The Life Stylist Podcast where Luke Storey was in conversation with Charles Eisenstein, they discussed the concepts of gift and fortune. It is incredibly challenging to accept the idea of gift on a cosmic level – the idea that we have not earned the things in our life, but that they are a gift we have been given. This challenges us because it suggests that it is not through our own merit that we have achieved, and that for anything to truly be a gift it does not belong to us, it has come from another, and therefore we need to give forwards.
The realisation on my mat that Friday morning was a gift, certainly not one that I had sought, but one that arrived not because I had “worked really hard on the yoga mat”, but because I had journeyed into vulnerability and received in return. It is in writing this essay that I hope that there is also a passing on of that gift too, and in my actions that follow my time at Sampoorna.
Through vulnerability comes realisation, which in turn leads to opening – the final essay in this short series will explore this.