Years ago, my friend approached me to sign up with her for a six-week ashtanga yoga intensive. I had no idea what ashtanga was! But I was intrigued, and she was enthusiastic, so I figured I’d give it a try.
Over the next six weeks, our beginners class collectively moaned, groaned + sweated. We learned about asana, vinyasa, pranayama and mula bandha. We learned the ritual of ashtanga practice according to the teachings of Pattabhi Jois. At the culmination of the six weeks, we were deemed ready to now step into our own daily Mysore style practice.
And so, each morning before sunrise, we’d make our way to the studio, slipping our shoes off at the door and settling ourselves onto our mats. The teacher would manifest at the front of the room and we would all stand up, hands in prayer to begin the opening mantra:
“Vande Gurunam Charanaravinde….”
At the time, I no idea what these Sanskrit words meant… but they captivated me, nonetheless. The words + tones danced around in my vocal cords like a sacred dance and I could literally feel my energy shifting + aligning. Three oms signalled the end of the mantra and the beginning of our practice.
In those early days, it was loud on my mat. Thoughts, emotions, images + sounds relentlessly infiltrated my zone. My eyes would wander. I’d think about the coffee I’d be having in roughly seventy-four minutes. I was there, but I was not really there. And the noisier it was on my mat, the more difficulty I’d have with my practice. I’d forget the sequence, struggle with balance + focus and lose my centre.
The teacher would spot me a mile away. He’d casually walk over and sit beside me. “Just be here, on your mat” he’d say. From the first time I heard those words, my practice began to drastically improve. Not because distraction didn’t arise, but because when it did, I simply reminded myself to come back to the mat. It pulled me away from the past + future and anchored me back into the very moment I was in.
I didn’t realise it at the time, but this was the beginning of a deep commitment to myself. I began to honour + appreciate my time on the mat. Here on this rectangle-shaped piece of rubber, I was free to think of absolutely nothing. It was a tonic, an investment, a devotion to self – a sacred place just for me. The world would always be at the door, ready to rush in with what was seemingly important…. but until I rolled up my mat, it could wait.
Over time, my practice organically became less physical and more spiritual. I showed up each day in acceptance of whatever physical, emotional or mental state I was in. I could feel myself opening, surrendering to something larger than me and the world. My breath had stopped being something I took for granted and instead, became a powerful tool of body + mind. With each inhale I cultivated peace, focus and softness and with every exhale, I expelled stress, expectations + fragments of my ego. It was constant, beautiful catharsis.
My practice remained strong for some time.
Until, along came my cyclonic Saturn Return… uprooting me from my job, the town I lived in and my long-term relationship. Within a matter of weeks, everything in my life had changed. Sadly, my ashtanga practice waned and over the years to follow, it ceased altogether, taking a back step to a busy life of kids, work + study.
I missed my practice and I would often feel a pull towards it. But my ego and mind were always at the door, dutifully and wrongfully telling me that I was now too old, tired, busy + unfit to pick up where I’d left off. I promised myself I would resume my practice when I had more time.
But that’s the funny thing about time – we don’t suddenly find more time in the bottom of our underwear drawers one day. Time doesn’t just magically appear, but instead is something that we consciously carve out, create + honour.
The truth was, there was always going to be something to tend to: children, work, study, obligations + responsibilities. I couldn’t change this.
So, instead, I would reclaim a little space for myself.
And so, a few weeks ago, I awoke at 5am to dark skies. As the rain outside drizzled gently onto the roof, I slipped into the living room as my family slept, rolled out my dusty mat and laid there deliciously in child’s pose, gently breathing.
Just be here, on your mat.
My practice would look nothing like it had in the past. I was a different person now. My practice would be wobbly, probably interrupted by little people and it was it was likely that I’d forget much of the sequence.
Could I show up anyway?
And so, with my toes touching the end of the mat, I inhaled deeply, raising my arms to the ceiling before diving down to the floor in what would be my first Surya Namaskar A in a very long time.
Yes.
I would reclaim the sacred connection + space that I had cultivated so beautifully all those years ago. I would free myself of expectations + ego for just a little while, and simply be here now. I would accept my beautiful insecurities, uncertainties + imperfections without judgement and show up here… on my mat.
** Article written by Cassie Douglas from @heartcraftcreative on Instagram.
