Again a quick word from my TT whirlwind, to capture a moment, although I am too tired for careful words. Stay with me, my beloved readers.
At the end of the day on my mat, a circle of yoginis around me, I don’t know how many. My eyes were blinded by tears and I was hanging my head, desperately seeking stability through my outstretched hands, palms pressing into the ground in front of me. They sat with me, they breathed with me. One of them started a gently audible inhale and exhale, calming me. I tried to match it, but I kept breaking down. One of them held my hand. Ultimately one of them cradled me, staying patiently until I got my breath. I still don’t know exactly which girls they were. It’s kind of nice that way.
If I hadn’t been such an emotional wreck, it would have been funny. It felt like a birthing scene. An all female, intense experience, with them quietly helping me breathe through my pain. And the comparison is perhaps the right one, since yoga (and now TT) feels like I’m bringing something out of myself, giving birth to something new or something that has been gestating a while unseen, deep within me.
My pragmatic teacher asked what the problem was.
“I can’t do it” I whimpered.
“Which part of it?”
“Any of it. All of it. It’s too hard.”
“But you are doing it. I see you.”
And of course, he’s right. I am doing it.
And I will go back tomorrow and do it all again, even if it tears me inside out. The yoga alchemy will work its magic. All I need to do is get out of the way. My teacher tells me I have no choice.