The pursuit of inner peace.music: the soho collection - golden cascade
You close your eyes, breathing deep into the stretch as the melody of gentle bells and Eastern flutes washes over you. The tightness and the strain are welcome sensations that rein in scattered thoughts. You dread, and yet you crave, for the point where your mind focuses on nothing but the pain.
I'd taken up a couple of yoga classes over the years, but I'd never stayed on in one long enough to fully connect, only enough to satiate my temporary curiosity. Time after time, I dismissed the practice as slow and boring and instead ditched the mat for a run. Yet time after time, despite my scoff at its languidness, I tried trial after yoga trial, only to repeat the cycle of dismissal.
I can't explain then what led me to sign up for a block of 10 classes at Whatever, without even signing up for a trial class. It was a leap of faith I would suppose, and it helped that I had a friend who was game enough to take the leap with me.
Despite a painful first class in ashtanga, and an uninspiring start in Sunil's, we stuck on. (Perhaps it had to do with the very realistic fact that we had each forked out $180.)
I was training for the Shape run then and I saw yoga as a stretching activity to complement the training, as well as mental food for my piqued curiosity since my last yoga trial - a curiosity I was pretty sure wouldn't be quenched until I had a faint inkling of what it was about the practice that had millions hooked worldwide. I had skimmed through yoga books, and I suppose I wanted to experience firsthand the holistic lifestyle and ancient philophy so often romanticized and idealized in print.
As I eased into the practice, the weekly sessions became a personal challenge - to stretch and reach that little bit farther, or to hold a pose a little longer than on previous tries. Intangible perhaps, as compared to shaving off five seconds off a run timing or running that 500 metres more, but it drew me in, and I started practising at home too.
Rewards and affirmations often present themselves unexpectedly, like how I realised one day that I was able to fully carry out the Halasana:
Picture from inmagine.And in class just this Wednesday, it was a pleasurable surprise to find that I was able to do a Urdvha Dhanurasana without assistance:
Picture from inmagine.Life started whirling out of control about a month into my practice, and however busy, I found myself rushing from meeting assignment deadlines to yoga class. For two hours every Wednesday, the shophouse studio was my sanctuary. I craved the peace I could find nowhere else but during the sessions, even if classes were ironically held amidst the din of the Chinese opera troupe just across the street.
Going to class and seeing the familiar faces - people, who like myself, had started out as beginners and were now comfortably initiated; welcoming the newcomers; and laughing at Sunil's crazy antics. My yoga class was a welcome respite after often taxing four-hour-Hedwig-Wednesdays. I always leave class a little less frazzled and a little more inspired.
Like in the recent Wednesday class, a fairly new lady said to Sunil when he told her it was her turn to try an assisted headstand: "Do I have to?" And this was what he replied, directing it to the entire class: "Nothing in life is compulsory. You can die now if you want to. Living is not compulsory." He paused, and then continued amid our chuckles: "But of course, some things are recommended."
The lady ended up doing the headstand, and she returned, feet to the ground, to spontaneous applause from us. This camaraderie and non-judgemental support I realized were what kept me going back week after week.
On a more personal level, I've begun to connect with the practice. Perhaps I came to yoga at a time when I desperately needed spiritual strength, but the bits and pieces of (sometimes warpedly amusing) philosophy Sunil dished out struck a chord in me.
The body, the mind, and the spirit. When misunderstood, notions like these can come off sounding like flaky new-age mambo jumbo. So perhaps those articles, books, and journals on yoga deserve more credit than I give them for. It is afterall the author's way of tangibilizing the intangible philosophy of living.
Moreover, I believe that yoga is a personal journey that is different for every practitioner. I have minimal learned knowledge of such mystical concepts, and I track this journey simply through self-awareness and self-learning.
Which possibly might be how yoga, like any other ancient practice, was created. Just don't quote me on that.
