It may be 7.30am but Kundalini is something I was really curious to try before this trip. So here goes. As I expected, the teacher focussed on our breathing, guiding us to take short, fast breaths in and out through our nose, while holding different poses. It was hard work. It felt odd and I struggled to keep the intense breathing going for as long as everyone else.
Nevertheless I felt the effects. Strongly in fact. Throughout the practice the teacher kept mentioning emotions and that we should just allow them to come up. I thought little of it, feeling only irritation that I couldn’t keep up the breathing, but then suddenly I felt an overwhelming urge to cry. I did as I was told and allowed tears to form and plop on my mat, angling my body slightly to the wall so that B wouldn’t notice my dramatic change of mood.
At the end of the class I darted out to the bathroom and splashed my face with water. It was useless. Still the urge to cry. I went to find the teacher and ask him if this was this normal. ‘Do I look shocked?’ he replied, with the most calm, serene yogi face you’ve ever seen. ‘There’s always a handful of people after every class who go off and have a good cry. Go down to the river and get it all out.’
So I did. With my feet dangling over the bank I let memories like sad movies flood in and I felt awful. I wondered how these feelings could still be stored up inside of me when currently life is happy? ‘Don’t over-think it. You don’t need to know why your body is choosing now to let stuff go’, the other half of the teacher’s advice. Gradually other thoughts crept in. How long should I stay here? Is B ok? What must he be making of all this?
I settled upon a final thought for the morning. Whatever heartache had passed before, right now I had a commitment to the current chapter of my life, and to B and his happiness. I retraced my steps through the grounds of Yoga Barn, through walk-ways and thatched domes searching for him. At last there he was. In Garden Kafe. With an enormous slice of cake.