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Reckless O soul, exploring, I with thee and thou with me,įor we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go,Īnd we will risk the ship, our selves and all." "Sail forth - steer for the deep waters only, I loved the intimacy of a shared practice, the relationships built, the growing community, the learning process, and the pains and joys of being part of something truly alive.Sea Shepherd Prevents Pilot Whale Bloodshed in the Faeroe Islands Operation Ferocious Isles Pilot Whale Defense Campaign is a Success There are stark contrasts, but the similarities run deep as well. It is the yoga that gets me steadily through these unnerving thoughts about my practice and all the day-to-day matters, whether here or there. I realize there will always be uncertainties in Mysore as in Manila. I’ve been blessed to meet others in that same journey, that same passage, and in that place where they say it all started. The initial strangeness, however, was steadily replaced with stronger friendships, a deeper appreciation of the practice, that joy of “letting the yoga grow within.” MARKET sceneīeing in Mysore meant being absolutely present there, out of the Metro, out of the routine and easy convenience of a familiar culture. Yoga is union, and in Mysore, that took on a special meaning. PhilipPINE! (like the tree), he would say, sometimes followed by “Shart (short)” which, for the most part, we were and could therefore, fit in the small spaces in the room. Sharath called us by nationality sometimes, for our turn to practice. Then again, at the heart of it, we always were. There, we were immediately family and comrades. We traveled individually and united in Mysore, practitioners and teachers from different places. One pleasant surprise was the number of people from the Philippines. I came here to practice and learn from within, from the teachers of Ashtanga’s lineage. I settled quietly into this experience, pruning down all notions and trivial preferences. I could have sworn the room seemed alive with the sound of collective breathing. I had never seen an Ashtanga studio sweat until that time.

Imagine, everyone contained in drops of liquid. It felt natural that the beams dripped with the condensed heat of the practice. My nose has made friends with a few toes. My alertness heightened as I came close to getting kicked in the face a couple of times, and once felt my foot on someone’s head (and I apologized profusely). I also embraced the concept of not having any sense of personal space and got used to new looking limbs “trespassing” on my mat. I felt more and more at home with the idea of a surprise space-I never knew which small spot I was going to get. Over the next days and weeks, I began to settle down.

The first 48 hours of my journey carried this strange and beautiful richness and it was only the beginning. There I was, officially registered at the KPJAYI, school and “source” of Ashtanga Yoga. Shortly after, I headed out to the shala (school), wishing I had someone to share the giddiness that came with my first official day in Mysore-the rickshaw ride and cows, the taste of Indian food in India, that first step in the yoga shala, and seeing Sharath Jois’ face as he scribbled my name on my ID like an autograph in reverse, and that surreal first day of practice. After two plane rides and a four-hour cab ride, I finally arrived at The Green Hotel. What could I possibly need that would not fit one expandable handcarry, a travel tote and a yoga mat bag? For five weeks, I was going to pay tribute to the home of Ashtanga Yoga-Krishna Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute in Gokulam, Mysore. In the face of uncertainties, it is best to travel light (another first). It arrived-the visa that barely made it on time.Īt the last minute, my suitcase was downgraded to less than half its size. I asked for the last proverbial sign that I truly needed to go. Still, the universe unfurled its agreement, one confirmation after another. I read mixed reviews from blogs, heard the hesitation in people’s voices. This was different from my previous lone yoga travels in the quiet tropics. I was traveling to India for the first time and alone (for at least a few days). True, I have always been drawn to India and I dreamed of going to Mysore, to pay respect to the birthplace of Ashtanga Yoga, but I had my share of uncertainties. The decision to go was almost an afterthought, albeit a very persistent one. I sensed this journey was not for the fainthearted but it seems the most important journeys never are. Passage to India, Walt Whitman MEETING a cow in Chamundi O daring joy, but safe! Are they not all the seas of God?