MIND, BODY…SOLD!
Do you remember the very first time you practiced yoga, and why you were drawn to it?
Was it a close friend or family member
that introduced you to it, or were you enticed by the sales lady’s pitch at the
gym? Maybe you liked the cutesy, tight very impractical outfits that had become
the norm? Perhaps you were drawn to the philosophy behind the practice, or maybe
you were seeking to put your life in balance, and you really had no idea how to?
I think we all come to it in different
ways, some of us adopted it as lifelong practice, and others are temporary
practitioners following trends and then soon giving it up, opting to keep the
outfits as leisurewear wearing it in inappropriate places like malls and coffee
shops, to the high street and parks.
Whichever way you came to practice, I
think one of the fundamental takeaways of it is that the yoga space is kind,
soft place.
My yoga journey started quite late,
when I was in my 40’s. Starting out I dabbled (Can one dabble at being mindful,
mystic and zen?) I was not entirely sure that I had the discipline to practice
Yoga. My problem is, I tend to babble when challenged (and yoga was challenging)
Also I don't do peaceful, quiet and calm well. Manic and moody is more my
default.
But I do like trying new things.
So, I ask my friend, Kaashiefa to join
me on my quest to becoming a more
peaceful and demure version of myself. I also “encouraged” my husband to join
us, which is quite counter-intuitive to yoga principles (doh). I joined the
group of people with their yoga mats and their quiet calm feeling like an
elephant in the room.
I started off on the wrong foot (excuse
the pun) with our instructor. I got a stern look for disturbing the peace with
my fit of giggling and was harshly shushed. Being quiet and in a conscious
state felt oddly peculiar, like it was at odds with my body. My mind was
curious as to why I was suddenly in repose. Why was deliberate breathing
entirely necessary when I had been happy breathing unconsciously all along?
Lying on my back with my feet in the
air or thrusting my pelvis up; my body curved like a bow, seemed more fitting
somehow to the boudoir than to a crowded studio. At one stage I was rolling
around on the floor like a break dancer skilled in the art of back spins and
had a woman bending me over like a pretzel. I even had cause to wonder how my
right arm and my left leg ended up intertwined behind my back at one stage,
struggling to disengage!
Needless to say, I was like a fish out
of water, flapping inelegantly about, not at all fluid, or poetic in my flow.
And then, I caught a glimpse of my
posture in the ballerina mirrors, and I was well impressed.
I grinned, "I can do this! Challenge
accepted, yoga lady!”
One-and-a-half hours later I was still at
it like a novice, but every muscle in my body was singing as blood pumped
through tired veins. Revived and rejuvenated, my mind was finally quiet. And
all this for taking conscious breaths…
"Hiss! I want you to hear your
breath when you exhale," we were instructed, not so gently by our
abrupt, slightly cynical yoga instructor, tired of seeing a constant stream of
beginners looking for nirvana passing through her studio doors.
I hissed loudly, hopefully making up
for my earlier lapse in yoga etiquette.
I actually beamed like a two-year-old
when I eventually extracted small praise from the guru: "Well
done!" she said, stretching my legs even higher up against the wall,
while I was doing a particularly jittery handstand.
She called us "Yogi's!" and
after nearly two hours of stretching and bending and breathing and bowing... I
felt like claiming the name that sounded like a term of endearment to me coming
from a woman skilled in the art of yoga and tough love.
We ended the session in Savasana, the
corpse pose, my body resting comfortably on the floor, my mind quiet at last. I
had temporarily cast out my “baggage" with each breath and I felt lighter
than I had in years.
At the end of the class, she plonked
herself down next to me on the bench while we were all getting ready to go our separate
ways. "We should all just go to Spain in the winter, just pack our bags
and go!" said the woman I had just met 2 hours before.
"Yes," I agreed,
"we should!"
She was just making conversation
presumably hankering back to a time when taking a gap and setting off into the
world came easier.
Me, I meant it. Maybe not Spain, but decided on heading East instead.
I'm not sure she realized who she was
preaching to... I would probably be the first one catching that flight with
only a carry-on bag, my old baggage left far behind heading in search of the
sun.
I smiled and waved as I walk off with
my tribe, grateful I got to meet this awesome woman. She was well into her 70’s
and I softly prayed that I would be like her in my golden years.
In the end I knew her for all of 3 weeks,
as she had passed away soon after that first class. I remember her still 15
years on… she embodied the expression: “I am 80% namaste, and 20% f&*#k
you”. Crass, I know, but as with everything, balance is very important.
Some people you know for a lifetime and others for a short while and they are there as gifts to teach you the lessons you need to know in order to move forward to the levelled-up version of you that life demands.
Ingrid was that for me! On the 3 occasions we interacted she taught me to value being a woman, to ask for help, and to catch flights often to exotic places. Such great lessons to learn in your 40’s! I am following her teachings, and it is so profound that I am sleeping like a baby through menopause... (2 out of 3 lessons learnt is not at all bad)!
The mat life has saved me countless
times, and I am so blessed that it is something I get to share with hubby, my son,
family and friends. Catch you soon on a plane, boat or train or better yet on a mat breathing in unison, grounded and sitting in repose.
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