A Secret Property of Yoga

I’ve been doing yoga for between a few days and a week. Everyday. Before that I have been meditating for quite some time, exercising daily and even stretching after jiu-jitsu. And yet since beginning yoga I feel different.

It seems to amount to so much more than the sum of its parts.

I’m a believer in the notion that the body carries wisdom. It’s connected to our subconscious. It tells a story, whether or not we care to listen.

My most hopeful and surprising discovery about yoga is that I feel that it’s healing me. Since I’ve started doing daily practise I feel like I am reacquainted with my body. And when one is acquainted with their body they are within earshot of their emotions.

I feel something. I feel like something has come to the surface. To awareness. In my everyday waking existence, I feel this background resolution. Ever so slightly painful but satisfying because it feels like it’s been repressed for so long and now it’s having its time.

I feel it behind my eyes. In my heart. I feel a field around me and in front of me. Circular. It’s moving, no longer stagnant. My heart feels grateful without the need for any conscious suggestion.

My being knows what it wants. How it is. It has an opinion on society. And that opinion is that people don’t honour what this is. People are not awake and that hurts others and makes them be the same way.

It’s like my emotional body is being stretched, even in this moment. At a steady, continual tempo. Not too much to handle. And as it stretches, what’s hidden deeper within seeps out through the pores. What is this feeling?

The closest thing seems to be love. Love for what though? Is it self? It feels like an automonomus healing process. Healing my inner child. Healing what has been starved from lack of trust. From the person I was conditioned to be.

It grows in intensity. Pain.

I search for it but it’s gone now. I search for words. Thought. This is the self I’ve been accustomed to over the years. Where did it go. I only see infrequent glimpses now. When I forget to look it begins to glow and hum.

I cycle between having my head on my crossed arms on my desk, searching, and finding the words to write.

That’s enough for now. This state of articulation doesn’t hit the same mark. The practice will continue.

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