Hi. This sketch is massaging an idea for a yoga assignment. Putting the TANJA into PaTANJAli, channelling a bit of yogic wisdom, the whole “I see myself in others” line. Hence why I’ve ditched the pen name and back to the name I normally trade as, TANJA.
And this is what yoga means to me…
For some 265 hours, I’ve been inhaling, exhaling, backbending and heart opening with 19 other yogi-to-bes, as our teacher instructs us, the are-we-ready-worthy-and-able us, to instruct others who venture onto the yogic path (asana and otherwise).
It’s turned out to be much more than just announcing a sequence; It’s turned out to be about the SPACE. Physical space. Head space. Inner Om space.
Patanjali would call it ether. I, Tanja P, would too. I would also look at the color. What mat color folks have chosen? What hue Lulu Lemon are they wearing? And why are the walls white? Really. We need to move away from ‘safe’, solid white inside our worlds.
So back to this ether. Our teacher holds a space for us each day, and I would say she’s been sherpa-ing our rolled up mental mats up the mountain, as we make our way atop new summits. Having to deliver asana after years of just receiving instruction was hard. Not in the speaking in front of a crowd sense (I’m all for presentations). It’s been the speaking to the internal audience of One and a niggling doubt over “are you getting the space right?”. Can I really guide a mind-body-spirit connection in 90 minutes of physical flow? On day 1, no. Nor Day 2 or 12. But 265+/- hours in, certainly. It’s like after the autopilot ritual of grabbing a coffee, we all of a sudden get told to go find, roast and grind our own beans, maneouvre the machine’s handle thingy, froth our own milk (to perfection) and then add a swirly yin yang atop the frothy meniscus. All while binding the big toe. Om to that.
Ether, I’m learning, is this infinite element. Just like on the road. When faced with it (as I have been in the training) it’s been overwhelming (or maybe this the white walls, which can drag out into a sense of ‘will this ever end’). So, cliche alert but once I, not so much thought out of the box, but rather defined the box, then I worked out what can go inside it. I’ve filled mine with words, gestures, wonderful exchanges — and a regular chat to the Audience of One. Mental fist pump for each stamp in the I-just-aced-another-asana passport.
So, yoga to me is taking the path. Ergo, Yoga is just another way to travel.
Bush Babies (aka child climbing into giant gumnut)
The feeling of the thing you've built working completely as intended, against a heavy load.
Maybe you wake up—and everything is switched around. There's sixteen stairs where there were fourteen before. And you use emacs.