Lost for words

My teacher’s just come back after some time off sick. He’d lost his voice. I asked him if he’d meditated on the ill-health and learned anything from that! I was being ironic or teasing a little: he asked me to do just this after an injury many months ago, and it was simultaneously the most irritating and most illuminating thing anyone has ever suggested I do with respect to my physical health. It has taken me on a long voyage of self-enquiry as I gently begin to unravel some of my deepest-held beliefs about how the world works and how I work — in mind, body, and spirit.

Some days are more knotty and tangled than others. I’m still unravelling.

And I’m still irritated.

I’m irritated by the clarity and perspective of others which then makes me irritated by my own stupid myopia. I’m irritated I didn’t find anyone I wanted to listen to sooner or that I didn’t know how to listen. I’m irritated by my endless ability to complicate and question when I (almost) believe that things could be very simple.

But irritations aside — and they are pretty damn uncomfortable to live with — this difficult meditation and ongoing enquiry has also brought me to a place where there is much gratitude, joy, and wonder.

I am endlessly amused and awed by the power these silly āsana shapes have in re-forming me, altering my inner landscape so deeply even as I wriggle like a baby cobra or pretend I have the wings of an eagle.

It all seems like some weird, crazy parallel world I’ve wandered into. I can’t explain it or describe it. But I don’t feel so much of a stranger sometimes. The natives are friendly.

And now there is a guiding voice again.


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