And now, Yoga

I've been meaning to do a couple of things lately: 1) read/study more; and 2) write more. 

And it just so happens that Purple Valley Yoga (in Goa, India) is hosting an Instagram yoga challenge that will encourage me to do both of those things every single day for the month of September. {Check out their IG for full contest details and to join us ~ this is a wonderful opportunity to delve deeper into yoga philosophy, and there's also an incredible prize for one lucky winner at the end of it all!}

Interestingly, I had just started blogging some reflections of Patanjali's sutras and my personal relationship to them, so the timing perfectly coincided with my desire to both explore and share more of my own yoga experiences.  I don't know that I'll be able to share a blog post every single day this month, but my intention is to do so as often as possible. Please follow along with my Instagram posts, where I'll be sharing truncated/summarized versions of these blogs, and posting every day along with the #purplevalleyyogachallenge2018 participants. *I'm using translation and commentary by Sri Swami Satchidanada for this challenge and blog series.
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This first post is a reflection of Sutra 1.1, and my very first experience with yoga over 10 years ago on a beautiful Indian beach. 

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Sutra 1.1, from Book One (Samadhi Pada):
​ATHA YOGANUSASANAM ~ "Now the exposition of yoga is being made."*

I was first introduced to yoga in Goa, India, in January 2008. I was on a trip with my then-boyfriend, who was there on business, but had been afflicted with a nasty gastrointestinal illness that had him bed-ridden for this leg of the journey. This, unfortunate as it was for him, was an important twist of fate in my life - we'd been doing only the things he wanted to do until this point in our trip, but since he didn't want me around while he was sick, I was finally able to explore this incredible country in a more personal way. 

So I woke up early the next day and decided to check out the offerings at our hotel. I waked down to the beach and found a yoga class about to begin; I was curious, so I joined in. 

We stood in a circle, and in the middle of that circle stood a handsome middle-aged yogi wearing white robes, a long black beard, and the warmest smile I'd ever seen:

"and now," he said, "we begin yoga."

The closest thing I'd ever done to yoga was pilates, but this practice felt familiar to me somehow, sort of like coming home after a long time and dancing with your family. I remember our teacher asking me to demonstrate an asana for the class (though I don't recall what it was). I nervously tried to get out of it, letting him know I'd never done yoga before, but he lovingly replied: "it doesn't matter - you know." 

We closed the practice with alternate nostril breathing, and I was overwhelmed by the palpable force of shifting my awareness inside my own body, to my breath. I'd never heard of pranayama before and had no idea that was what I was doing, but that lack of rational understanding didn't matter: as my very first yoga teacher so sweetly pointed out, I already knew: I felt it, and lived it. 

As the group shuffled off toward their daily plans, I felt a sense of vastness, or unrefined potential - like something deep inside of me had been broken wide open, and I was finally ready to receive. I walked over to the shore, took my shoes and clothes off, and waded into the ocean. The beach was already very quiet that morning, and as I continued to walk, I felt as though my surroundings began to disappear. The tide rolling in and out guided my breath into the rhythm of nature, and everything I'd been carrying with me started rolling off my shoulders and into the sea. Eventually, I felt as though I'd become just another drop in the ocean, and this momentary freedom from ego was like a warm embrace from the universe, reminding me that everything was just as it should be - including my place in it all.

There was no pain or exhilaration, no cathartic release, no drama or sensation whatsoever - just peace and calm, and that new feeling of wide-openness. I hadn't identified as religious for quite some time at this point, but the only way I could explain this experience to myself was divine intervention: I was stepping back into God's love. I understood my own divinity through my connectedness in that moment, seeing (feeling/knowing) Source in all things around me and within me. 

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Until now, I hadn't shared this story with many people; it felt similar to a near-death experience in that I wasn't sure I'd be believed, or that I'd be able to describe it properly. (Even now, this retelling feels like a clunky rendition and fails to truly capture the pure bliss I felt in those moments.)
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But, this wasn't the first time I'd had this sort of experience, and being in that all-encompassing grace once again was a reminder; it had happened just once before, while I was sitting on my front lawn at four years old, and for the longest time I thought it was something only children could feel. For the longest time, I doubted that initial connection and felt like there was no place for me in this world. (I desperately needed to be reminded.)

I also knew that I was at the very beginning of a journey that would become my life's work and passion, so this experience truly felt like a nudge from the universe; I was at a sort of fork in the road at the time, and my life could have gone in a completely different direction. But I was listening, and I was ready to begin the adventure. Just as Patanjali's first Sutra in Samadhi Pada (the portion on contemplation) introduces us to the practice of yoga, so had this cosmic communication reminded me of my own path. 

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(to be continued...)