Four weeks passed, forty new faces, four hundred ‘Fuck what is this?’ thoughts, four thousand million new breaths… and...
when your whole world is alien…when even the basic structure of your body, your physical being feels like it's not your own - what do you do?
You get on your mat.
Gruesome as this has seemed (and most days dragging myself kicking and screaming)… my mat has been the only home I have known this month.
Over the last few years my yoga mat has been more of a laboratory. A place where I have enjoyed experimenting… manipulating my nervous system. A place where the magic happens.
These past few weeks it has been a rubber ring, a support, a small structure that I have placed myself within to help keep afloat, to help protect those parts of myself that I think are truth, those parts of myself being called into question (both the real and the unreal).
Finding a studio on the beach close to where I have been based, I have been blessed with a generous community of Thai yogis to practice amoung.
These yogis practice, ‘flow’ - for the most part a rocket based vinyasa where, whether you are attending a level 1, 2 or 3 class, you are essentially practicing the same thing over and over - for me bringing back the nightmares of Bikram. The heat is intense (there is no air-conditioning) and we are lucky when the studio only reaches 30 degrees.
There is little Bhav (the feeling state) - there is only repetition. Lost in translation?
Same every class. I’m bored in my head. I’m struggling in my heart.
I can’t breathe.