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Making mistakes

Every morning I lay my son’s clothes out to help him get dressed. It was PE day so it was navy tracksuit trousers. Once dressed, he headed downstairs and was dancing to the radio. The bottoms of the trousers were above his ankles.

“Oh Jacob, I think you’ve got your sister’s tracksuit trousers on,” I said.

“But you laid them out for me,” he replied. I told him I’d made a mistake. I’d got them mixed up. 

This stopped him mid dance move. He spun around to look at me, eyes and mouth wide open. “But you’re a grown-up,” he exclaimed in shock. “Grown-ups don’t make mistakes!”

I was blowing this six-year-old’s mind.

His response really surprised me. I explained that we all make mistakes and that no one is perfect. 

It made me realise we need to show our imperfections more. The pressure we put on ourselves and, as a result, those around us isn’t realistic or attainable. It’s about being kind to ourselves.

In an entertaining podcast with Brene Brown, she talks about whether people are honestly doing the best they can. She carried out research and found that those who thought others weren’t, tended to be harder on themselves. They lacked self compassion.

Jacob now knows about my recent speeding ticket and that the police told me off. When he asked whether I was going to jail, I reassured him that probably wasn’t going to happen.

Let’s hope I’m not raising future criminals…

If you feel ‘off track’, remember that there is no ‘track’. This is your life. It ebbs and flows, twists and halts and speeds up. It all belongs. Stop trying to be a robot who is productive and perfect all of the time. You’re not a robot. You’re a human. Be alive to it all.

Jamie Varon

Yin yoga workshops in St Albans

My next yin yoga workshop will be on Sunday 14 May.

More info
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On yoga, on life: a review

Have you got Netflix? If you have, I highly recommend a film on there called ‘On Yoga: The Architecture of Peace’. It’s about a bloke called Michael O’Neill who used to photograph Hollywood stars. In a nutshell: he got injured, was told he’d never use his arm again, found yoga and meditation, his arm recovered.

As a result, he decided to devote his time photographing yogis. The film features interviews with teachers talking about yoga philosophy. They are wonderful. The kundalini teacher Gurmukh talking about fear of death, Eddie Stern on community and peace. Swamis explaining how we are not our body and how yoga is every minute of the day. I particularly remember one teacher saying that we’ll only be happy when we let go of desire. It’s the wanting that makes us unhappy.

Not so great are the clips of him taking photos of young yogis doing extreme poses in front of beautiful scenery – silhouetted against a sunset, a grafitti’d wall, the New York skyline. Skimpy clothes. Why do it? Why conform to a yoga stereotype? If these teachers are saying yoga is so much more than the physical body, why bring it back to that?

Kumbh Mela, 2010

Anyway, it was good to watch. He visited the Kumbh Mela – the massive Hindu pilgrimage that takes place at different locations along sacred rivers. I had the honour of being part of the Kumbh on Ma Ganga in Haridwar, India, in 2010 – something I’ll never forget.

I finished the film and took a moment to consider my current life with a one-year old baby and how my life has changed since I took my dip in the Ganga eight years ago. I felt that I had drifted away from yoga somewhat. I’m struggling to get on my mat and there are a lot of pooey nappies.

But then I thought a little more: this is my yoga at the moment. It’s not the beautiful asanas but it’s the day-to-day grittiness of life. One Swami in the film explained Bhakti yoga – the yoga of devotion. I’d also say it’s Karma yoga – giving without any expectation of reward. I am devoting myself to my son and my family.

Can I care for him in a way that is kind and caring? We do our gratitude practice while he has his bedtime milk. We chant along to Swami Vishnudevananda in the car on the way to the local soft play centre.

And while I haven’t managed an unaided headstand for over a year now, it’ll come back at some point. I’m happy if I manage a few sun salutations and standing poses.

So if you have Netflix, watch it. But please pay more attention to the words of wisdom than the cliched contortions…

Have you seen it? What are you thoughts?

(Thank you to my Berkhamsted buddy Laura for suggesting I look it up.)

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Lessons from Lucy

I was talking to a neighbour this week about how I’d cried on my mat that morning. “You’re so not selling yoga to me,” she replied.

I’ve just done a week of Ashtanga Mysore practice with Lucy Crawford at BAYoga in Berkhamsted. Since giving birth to Jacob almost seven months ago, I’ve managed to get to a handful of Mysore classes. My home practice has mostly involved soft bolsters and cosy blankets.

Lucy was wonderful as always. She talked a lot about coming into relationship and how to live and practice according to the yamas – the yogic principles for right living or ‘observances’.

This resonated deeply. I have a new body and I don’t recognise it. Looking after a baby takes its toll physically, let alone coming to terms with the physiological changes that happen during pregnancy and breastfeeding. My rib cage has expanded outwards in all directions, my shoulders and hips are broader. I’ve lost a lot of strength and a friend called my breastfeeding boobs “magnificent” the other day. I’m doing my pelvic floor exercises as I type this.

Lucy talked about ‘sukha’ or joy. Was I able to find joy in my practice? The first three days felt distinctly lacking. It was all an effort – sorting childcare drop-offs and pick-ups, getting to Berko for a 9am start… and then I had to do sun salutations?!

She spoke on ‘satya’, the yama relating to honesty. I feel really tired at the moment so why push it? As a result, my Monday practice was surya namaskars and standing poses followed by some yummy restorative poses. Lucy: “Right Clare, this is what we’re going to do with you. Let’s put this bolster here…”

And can we let go of the grasping – the yama ‘aparigraha’? The wanting: wanting to be ‘better’, wanting the pre-pregnancy practice. Lucy spoke about when Guruji would give her a new pose, she’d feel anything but excited (“Ugh, not another one!”). She said she’d much rather hang out in restorative poses although she knows her body needs to move. I can relate to this.

On Wednesday morning the tears came even before my first surya namaskar A. Steamy tears falling silently down my face during our breathing practice. More tears after attempting purvottanasana – feeling like I’d left my cervix on the mat as I lifted my hips up. “You’re very wobbly around that whole area,” said Lucy with loving eyes and a gentle smile. “That’s to be expected. Give it time.” The yama ‘ahimsa’ has various translations including non-violence and non-harming. Essentially it’s about being kind – to ourselves and others.

I was trying to explain the tears to my neighbour. I said about how we move and breathe in the poses. The emotions we’ve been holding in our bodies are released. It’s almost like a wringing out of all the stuff we’re carrying around. It’s cathartic. There’s no hiding on your mat. Everything comes out. It’s very positive.

My yin teacher Norman is fond of saying “shift happens”. And it certainly did for me. After Wednesday’s tears, I found my rhythm. There was a lightness, I had more energy both during and after practice and I was smiling more (sukha).

I had come into relationship with myself. I found ‘me’ again. My body is more open and I am less creaky. My thoracic no longer feels stuck. My jaw has softened. There’s a spring in my step. I feel stronger picking Jacob up and my happiness makes him happy. This body is slowly recovering.

I have so much gratitude for this practice. I bloody love yoga.

 

Two more yin workshops in 2017 before I go away on a little adventure:

Sat 2 Sept at BAYoga, Berkhamsted: info
Sat 9 Sept at The Studio, Mid Herts Golf Club, Wheathampstead: info

I’ll be back teaching regularly from January 2018.

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A pregnant pause

A quick search on Google produces various definitions of this familiar idiom. My favourite is:

A pause that gives the impression that it will be followed by something significant.  (www.en.wiktionary.org)

 

I am now 15 weeks pregnant and I paused for nine of these. I’m now coming out of the other side and safely into my second trimester.

During my nine-week pause, I didn’t teach a yoga class. Making it into London for my freelance work felt less like a step too far and more like an entire staircase out of reach.

My world shrank. On a good day, I had the energy to make cheese on toast and who knew it was possible to throw up so unexpectedly and forcefully!

I found myself sharing the contents of my stomach with a motorway hard shoulder and then refuelling at a service station with an emergency Nando’s.

When I told this to a friend and yoga student, she said how she’d thought she’d be doing a modified ashtanga practice and drinking green juice during her pregnancies. Instead, she found herself lying on the floor eating peanut butter on white bread and bags of crisps.

And the changes your body goes through! In the very early days, I had such intense muscular sensations across the sacrum and back of pelvis, I could feel everything stretching and moving to make space for what was to happen over the coming months. The only thing that helped was child’s pose with a hot water bottle across the area.

At ten weeks I looked pregnant and I’ve been told that my ever-expanding boobs are now the temperature of the sun – by my fiancé, Rob, I hasten to add.

Although anything more than child’s pose and the occasional cat/cow eluded me for the length of my pause, the lessons of yoga were ever-present. Never before had listening to my body been quite so important. If I tried to get out of bed before 10am, I was sent running to the toilet, head over bowl, and then straight back under the duvet and my ginger oatcakes.

I concentrated on my breath when any pregnancy fears rose to the surface and the ‘what ifs’ threatened to take over.

I had to accept what was possible for me on that day as there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. This beautiful little being inside me has been totally running the show, gradually making its way through bigger and bigger fruit-based size comparisons (‘this week, your baby is the size of an avocado’).

In the ancient teachings of the Bhagavad Gita, on a battlefield, Krishna teaches Arjuna to do his duty. He’s a warrior facing a battle that doesn’t appeal. My duty right now is to do what’s best for our baby. And that has nothing to do with trying to advance through advanced ashtanga poses.

Now I’m able to leave the house more, I am appreciating the little things. I’ve made it to a yoga class and enjoyed being back amongst familiar faces. Just being able to move with my breath in a sun salutation has been an utter delight.

“The practice helps me to process things in life more effectively; that is important, as during pregnancy and the aftermath there is a lot for us, as mothers to process. The changes in our bodies – the hormones alone – can alter our perceptions and experience of life enormously.

 

… We are all so lucky to have this practice as a central and stable resource, bringing awareness and light into our lives and into our being.”

 

Lucy Crawford, taken from Yoga Sadhana for Mothers.

 

I am so grateful to Celia, Louise, Niki and Sam for covering my weekly classes. I’d also like to say thank you to my regular students who’ve known I’ve been pregnant for what feels like ages! All your emails and texts of support and congratulations have meant so much.

I will be back teaching from Monday 8 August. View the classes schedule to see what’s going on with classes during the summer.

In light of being in bed by about 9pm every night, I have decided to give up my Thursday evening yin class at The Yoga Hall, St Albans. It hasn’t been an easy decision and I thank all of you who have attended the class over the years. I have enjoyed our after-class natters over tea and fig rolls. I hope to see you soon and keep up the practice.

If you’d like to get an extra dose of yin, ashtanga or gentle yoga, Cathy and I have places on our October retreat near Bedford. View details.

baby scan pic

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How has yin yoga influenced my practice?

I’ve written this in preparation for an advanced yin teacher training I’m doing with Norman Blair in June…

‘Practice’ is an interesting word. For me, it means:

  • moving in this body
  • being in this body
  • living with this mind.

That’s how I’ve structured this piece of writing.

Moving in this body

Yin has undoubtedly had an impact on how I practice ashtanga yoga. Although I pretty much discovered both simultaneously, it’s been more recently that I have considered how one affects your attitude towards the other.

I’ve seen people so focused in their ashtanga practice. They throw absolutely everything at it. It’s an attack or an assault and there’s no ease. I used to be a bit like that but now I try and bring the yin to the yang. I try not the force the asana.

Michel Besnard taught me on my 500 hour training and his favourite phrase is “who cares”. Who cares if you don’t get your head to your shin in paschimotanasana. Who cares if you don’t jump through. A good mantra if ever I heard one.

So I think about how I can create space. I listen inwardly and there’s less striving.

As a result, there’s more connection to breath. It really feels like a moving meditation and I feel more. I certainly notice more. How does my lumbar and glute medius feel in supta kurmasana? Am I really engaging my adductors in navasana? What’s going on with the bandhas?

Moving slowly suits me. Given half the chance, I’d happily lie in bed all morning. I’m a naturally tamasic person. I find it more challenging to gee myself up to practice ashtanga at home. But yin? I’m there in a flash – sprawled out across the living room carpet – I need to be peeled off with a spatula.

Being in this body

I remember being at university one day and walking across campus only to be brought to a standstill by the sight of a huge flock of Canadian geese flying overhead in formation, above the spires of the neo-gothic buildings. The sky was bright blue and they stood out against the grey Yorkshire stone.

I looked at all the other students scurrying around me, anxious to get to their morning lectures on time. No-one else saw this natural beauty. The geese were so peaceful and elegant, quietly making their way to wherever they were heading. The encounter inspired me to create scribbles in my sketchbook.

At that point in my life I’d never even been to a yoga class, didn’t know what yin meant but that act of noticing the little things has always been in me. I was brought up with a father who made me look at the tiny flowers growing on dry stone walls on country walks and I’m pretty good at spotting a typo. I’m all about the details.

But at the same time, I’d say that I’ve lived my life quite detached from noticing the subtleties of this body and what’s going on inside.

In my twenties, I got terrible anxiety. I couldn’t eat in some social situations and I got really stressed about it. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I remember going to see a lady for some cognitive behavioural therapy. She said, “You’re going to do a yoga teacher training? Oh that’ll sort you out!” She was right. It was through yoga that I realised it was tension-related – where do I hold my tension? In my stomach. It made sense why I struggled to eat.

While the process of looking inward can be scary at times, I’ve learnt that it’s so beneficial. Being still in a yin practice facilitates this. You notice the sensations. It’s a practice you can take off the mat and into your everyday life.

I had a run-in with someone not too long ago and there were a few very tense phone conversations where I had to make it clear that I wasn’t a happy bunny. Every time I came off the phone I spent a few breaths noticing the impact on body – the tightening, the holding, the shortening of breath. I wouldn’t have thought to do that before I’d discovered yin or Martin Alyward.

Living with this mind

Yin has allowed me to reconnect with a meditation practice.

Having done my initial teacher training with Sivananda, I was given a mantra and for about six months after coming home from India, I’d religiously get up early, silently chant my mantra for 20 minutes and then get on with my day. And then winter crept in, I got busy at work and the Sanskrit went out of the window.

Ryan Spielman introduced me to the teachings of meditation teacher Martin Alyward and I began doing my yin practice at home listening to his podcasts. So much of his teachings resonated. They applied to a yin practice and to life in general.

I began a sitting practice again and went on a five-day silent retreat to Gaia House with Martin last October. Since then, I’ve made time to sit during the week. For me, it feels right to spend this time noticing my breath – its nuances – and noticing sensations. I notice how distracted my mind is – and that’s ok. An insight meditation practice does exactly that: it provides insight. I notice what is instead of filling my mind with something else like a mantra.

My mind now appreciates the quiet. My boyfriend Rob likes listening to BBC Radio 5 Live and it’s a lot of talking. I struggle to have a conversation with him if it’s on in the background. I like eating in silence and enjoying the taste of food. I like listening to birdsong and watching the squirrels.

Yin has taught me about acceptance – again, the softening around the striving – accepting situations and people as they are, not willing them to be different. Of course, it’s a work in progress.

Martin talks about how we’re so fixated on ‘letting go’ and that it’s an overused phrase in today’s yoga and spiritual industry. He says we should focus instead on ‘unclinging’. I like this. There’s the unclinging and softening in yin poses and then how this translates into the everyday.

I’ve been a cling-on. In the past I think I’ve verged on the control freak end of the spectrum. My organisational skills have been praised in past jobs and I’ve taken pride in being on-the-ball. I’ve tried to find the ideal man that ticked all the boxes. But since practicing yin and finding this softening, I’ve been able to open up – physically and mentally.

I’ve relaxed my tick box exercise and now I’m engaged to be married. Would I have dismissed Rob in the past due to his love of football and for having never stepped foot on a yoga mat? Probably. But now I’m able to see deeper and recognise his wonderful goodness.

Recently I met with a friend of a friend who was considering resigning from her safe, well-paid but boring job to try freelancing. She was full of ‘what ifs’: What if I don’t get any work? What if I’m no good at it? I was talking to a mirror. I was looking at me from a few years’ ago.

I talked to her about fear. I told her that she had good skills and experience. If freelancing doesn’t work for her, she can get a job doing something, anything. Fear can paralyse us. I wouldn’t know this stuff if I hadn’t practiced yin and worked on unclinging.

I could go on talking about the way yin has had an impact on my life, but I’ll stop now. Suffice to say, it’s all about the noticing. I’m much happier as a result. And for this I’m truly grateful.

I’ll leave you with Roger Keyes’ poem about the wonderful Japanese artist, Hokusai:

 

Hokusai says look carefully.

He says pay attention, notice.

He says keep looking, stay curious.

He says there is no end to seeing…

 

He says everything is alive –

Shells, buildings, people, fish

Mountains, trees. Wood is alive.

Water is alive.

 

Everything has its own life.

Everything lives inside us.

He says live with the world inside you…

 

It matters that you care.

It matters that you feel.

It matters that you notice.

It matters that life lives through you…

 

Look, feel, let life take you by the hand.

Let life live through you.

 

Hokusai

How has yin yoga influenced your practice? I’d love to know. Feel free to leave your thoughts below.

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Moving house, moving mind

I’ve heard it said that selling and buying a house is one of the most stressful things you can do. I’m selling two and buying one.

There’s calls to estate agents, followed by follow-up calls. You’re not sure if they haven’t responded because they didn’t get the message or if they just haven’t called you back yet.

There’s emails to and from solicitors and the estate agent for my flat in London. And don’t get me started on trying to sort a mortgage when one of you is self-employed. My accountant has the patience of a saint.

I’ve had a love affair with a house in Kimpton village. It was brief. We met online on the Friday, I fell head over heels but he wasn’t sure. I lay awake a night thinking of nothing else. By Monday when I phoned wanting to take it a step further, I learnt that it was too late. Decisions had already been made.

But it’s funny how you move on so quickly. The mind is fickle. You obsess, but immediately we move onto the next infatuation (aka a semi in Sandridge).

The result is feeling very ungrounded. Everything feels urgent. My self practices are shoe-horned into my days, they’re much shorter, and I’ve noticed my mind flitting all over the place. Very short concentration spans. Very short sentences.

Today has been no different: a mental list of all the calls, chasing, appointments and things to do. After lunch, I made time to sit for 15 minutes and watch my breath. It was noticeable how much tension was in my hips, my thighs, my jaw and shoulders. I watched my exhalations. I softened. And now I feel like I’ve reset my body.

Try it some time.

PS. There’s a very nice one-bed flat for sale in Chiswell Green, St Albans, if you’re interested. Have a look at it on Rightmove – start your own love affair today…

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Soulful singing at Buddhafield Festival

I’ve recently come back from Buddhafield festival in Somerset. It was a beautifully free and open place to be with plenty of opportunities to grow, learn, laugh, stretch and be stretched.

I went to early morning ashtanga yoga classes with Joey Miles and enjoyed cups of chai with my yin teacher Norman. I caught the end of a Shamanic Journeying workshop where I was supposed to identify my power animal. No idea. I furrowed my brow when I realised I missed the ‘how to stop frowning’ workshop. I looked deep into strangers’ eyes and said what I felt in my heart.

But for me, the highlight was Mahasukha’s singing workshops. In essence, he’s a smiley bloke with a drum who teaches people songs with nice harmonies. But really, he does so much more than that.

On Friday evening there were maybe 300-400 people at his Beauty of Mantra workshop. He announced that we’d be singing the Padmasambhava* mantra:

Om ah hum vajra guru pema siddhi hung

You can listen to a recording of it on his website but it’s not the same as doing it surrounded by hundreds of people.

Split into groups according to our singing voice, he taught us the tune each group would sing. And then we were off.

Now I know that singing and chanting makes me happy. I’ve talked about it often enough on this blog but there’s a deeper connection to voice. I know for me it offers a release, a connection to emotion held within my body.

People sang with heart and I got lost within the words and tune. My voice became stuck. It’s like it catches in your throat and the only way through is to allow the emotion out. Tears fell. I didn’t know why I was racked with sobs, but they came. At times I was able to come back to the music, and at other times, the tears were the focus.

People were going up to the front, doing prostrations and lighting candles and incense in front of a statue of Padmasambhava. The candle light lit tear tracks down people’s cheeks. And you knew there was no need to hide. We were in a safe space and it was ok to let it out. The last time I felt anything close to this was when I was at Amma’s ashram in Kerala (read about it).

I’m not sure how long we sang for but at the end, there was a feeling that we’d all been through a cathartic experience and there was hugging and smiling. There were words and silence. We’d created something beautiful together. Harmonies created by humanity. We were singing sounds that have been sung by cultures and communities for centuries.

The next day I went to Mahasukha’s Soulful Singing workshop and we sang South African songs – one sung during apartheid that translated as ‘white men, we are coming’. It was Nelson Mandela’s birthday so we sang his song (hear song). Again, it was all stirring stuff but it felt much more joyful and celebratory. People let go. There were beaming smiles. We moved our bodies in ways that felt good and natural.

I took a short video and you can watch it here: Morning workshop. You may need to turn your screen 90 degrees…

Towards the end of the festival, I was sitting drinking chai with friends around a fire and Mahasukha came into the tent and sat nearby. We got chatting and he spoke of his enjoyment in bringing people together and the connectedness that singing creates. He said, “As clichéd as it sounds, the harmonies create harmony.”

Buddhafield buddies
Buddhafield buddies

And they really do. The human connection creates happiness. It doesn’t matter if you get a note wrong or you come in at the wrong moment. You’re simply held in the space by everyone around you – whether you’re bawling your eyes out or grinning like you’ve never grinned before.

I guess that’s Buddhafield in a nutshell.

 

Have you been to Mahasukha’s workshops? What are your experiences? Feel free to comment below.

Learn more about his workshops in Brighton.

 

*Padmasambhava is a central character in Tibetan Buddhism who is said to have brought Buddhism from India to Tibet.

 

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Step inside my mind

Today I am sharing with you some of my recent ponderings.

  1. We could learn a lot from bats

Hanging around at In Sabina, Italy, on the recent ashtanga/yin holiday
Hanging around on an Iyengar swing on the recent ashtanga/yin holiday at In Sabina, Italy

I like being upside down. And I would love an Iyengar swing at home. It could be the norm. We could all hang upside down and natter about our days. We could even sleep upside down! This would avoid duvet wars and accidental encroachment onto the wrong side of the bed (yes, I am settling into a life of co-habitation).

I appreciate that eating meals upside down would be a challenge but our spines would be so long! All that space between vertebrae! I really do love creating space.

  1. Just say no

Those Grange Hill kids were onto something (watch their video). As well as space in our bodies, let’s try and create space in our diaries. It’s easy to fill our time with things that aren’t necessary and don’t serve us. Let’s take a step back and think about our priorities. Who do I really want to spend time with? Will this conversation/coffee/day trip/film about strippers* make me happy?

  1. There’s a time and a place for song lyrics

From an early age I’ve loved music. I never missed Bruno Brooks and his mullet on Radio 1 and I’m one of those people that has a song for everything. I grew up with lots of music in the house and it doesn’t take much for me to burst into song.

A yoga class is not the time for singing pop. But I find it so hard to resist! When I ask students, “how deep is your breath?” I hear the Bee Gees (or Take That) asking about love. When there’s talk of letting go, I’m transported to Disney’s land of ice and Elsa.

 

I say no to singing in class and filling diaries. But I say yes to bats and making space.

What will you say yes to?

 

*Magic Mike XXL is on general release at cinemas across the country. I said no.

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Habits, histories and Watford FC

Recently I’ve found myself thinking about samskaras. In yoga philosophy samskaras are seen as mental or emotional patterns that are part of us, passed on by reincarnation and karma in past and present lives.

Basically put, a samskara is a deeply ingrained habit or behaviour and we all have them. I bet it’ll take you less than a few seconds to think of one of your bad habits. I bet you have lots of good ones too.

The more a samskara is repeated, the deeper the impression becomes. Think of an old record and how the needle dutifully follows the hard-to-resist groove.

We’re all creatures of habit and often we feel the pull of the familiar – in our physical bodies, our thoughts and how we live our lives.

I’m approaching a change that I know will definitely alter my samskara. In a few weeks I’m moving in with A Boy.

Now before you say anything, yes, I know it’s exciting. I know it represents a step forward in our relationship. And I want to move in and be with him.

But change can be scary.

In an article on the Yoga Journal website, it talks about how “we often resist new patterns for fear of losing the identities we’ve so carefully constructed.

I get this. We both have different ideas about what it means to relax at home. He has two TVs whereas I have none (he says it’s the equivalent of having one each which is perfectly normal).

We’re building new samskara and we’ll deepen those grooves together. I’m learning about his beloved Watford FC and he’s been to yoga classes. I’m optimistic that some day we will find a way to stack the draining board that keeps us both happy.

The Yoga Journal article continues to say,

“When we change a long-held pattern, we undergo a rebirth of sorts. This rebirth hints at a new incarnation, a more evolved version of the self. Yet improving our samskara brings us closer to our true nature, which is the goal of yoga.”

So if you’re undergoing any big changes to your samskara (and I know some of you are), hang on in there. It’ll be worth it.

 

April and I will be exploring samskara in our next yin yang workshop on Saturday 25 April at All Saints Studios. Visit the workshops page to learn more.

This is Troy Deeney. He is the captain of Watford FC. Just in case you weren't aware.
This is Troy Deeney. He is the captain of Watford FC. In yoga, yellow is the colour of learning. In the world of Watford FC, it is the only colour worth knowing about.

 

 

 

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The value of friendship

These past few weekends I’ve seen various old friends. And by old friends, I mean people who I’ve known for about 15 years – since I was a teenager and a fresher at university.

I am very grateful for these friends. As we get older, we might not see each other as much as we used to, but our friendship deepens. We’ve seen each other when we’ve been happy and we’ve been there for each other when we’ve been very sad.

Some friends come and go – I know I’ve made conscious decisions to let go of friendships that no longer serve me – friendships where I’ve felt that I’m not getting anything back. I believe we need to surround ourselves with people who make us feel good about ourselves. Our time becomes more precious and we must spend it wisely.

Many of my best friendships started out through drinking and partying. I’ve seen these people grow up, mature, and deal with some pretty heavy shit.

Who’d have thought. And that’s the beauty of knowing someone for any length of time. You grow together. Your lives interweave and become richer in the process.

Friends can provide opinions grounded in experience and an understanding of you. They can pull you up on inaccuracies. And they know way too many embarrassing anecdotes about your past (and they’re not afraid to use them).

I’m interested to see where the next 15 years take us. I know there will be plenty more laughter (and anecdotes) and probably a fair number of tears but you’ve got to have the lows in order to appreciate the highs.

Thank you to my friends.

In true friendship, mutual love produces a constant upward movement of the two souls. There is nothing in the world too precious to give to win a friend with whom you may tramp together around the universe of the sun and the universe of the soul.

Sri Ananda Acharya