Worldwide Princess Tales: 60~Hi. My Name Is Jess. And I Am A Yogaholic.

Hi. My Name is Jess and I Am a Yogaholic.

And when I change the way I look at things, the things I look at change.

‘Loneliness is the poverty of the self; solitude is the richness of self.’ ~May Sarton

As I sail away from Samui, having headed on the early morning boat, I feel liberated to once more be alone, comforted by my decision to hit the road one last time. I seek solitude, want to swim in the memories, the moments, the people and places that are stored within. I will 'allow the vast ocean of space around me and the ocean of space unlocked within me, meet.' Words uttered from my teacher over the past month float around in my head; poetic words gliding into our yoga practices, melting my heart and taking me that bit deeper, discovering emotions and peace hidden within.

A month intensive teacher training could probably branch into at least 50 different blogs with character studies, highs and lows, moments of hilarity and tears, feelings of pressure and fear, euphoria, fatigue, a head exploding with information…

I will share is this word: sangha. The sanskrit word for community. This moment this magical group sat in an opening circle our sangha formed and a month later our closing circle confirmed that this sangha will forever be in all of our hearts. Our sangha was pretty darn harmonious; our teachers say it was a very special one.

To quote good old British gal Jan, “I have been surprised while being here because no one has really got up my nose." Living in close proximity can result in disharmony (however yogi and non judgemental we attempt to be!), especially when we were subject to such intense amount of hours. Although there were no evident irritations, the close living spread some nasty germs like wildfire and did result in a quarantine situation. By day three the group dropped like flies; 4 being hospitalised and many ill in their beds. It was like some scary film, witnessing the group fade so rapidly; watching from the window as the ambulance arrived and took our teacher on a stretcher, a paramedic supporting a frail looking student. This was serious. Crying and writhing in the night, stabbing pains all over the body and wondering if this is what yoga does to you??

With every cloud comes a silver lining; perhaps all the monitoring of each others most recent toilet escapades helped to speed along the sense of intimacy. One might hope interrelations amongst the group would have been better (or more fittingly) formed through a chant, a beautiful yoga practice or partner work, but this horror film pretty much sealed the tight binding of the sangha. One teacher was hospitalised, our other two teachers nursed. They did rounds amongst the ill that can but be compared to the work of Florence Nightingale. Doortje, a strong Dutchie that became my bestie within the sangha, struggled to her first class, elegantly wrapped in a shawl. She managed to make her suffering look glamorous and royal somehow. She confessed she had not had change to write her 100 words on what yoga meant to her, but she lay awake thinking about it last night. ‘The way you, Simon and Annie, nursed us- this was yoga.’ The care, love and stoic nature in which they did this blew us all away.

By day 4 of this epidemic, the three students hospitalised were nearing a release but still not strong and our teacher was really struggling. The Sangha that were still at the retreat slowly began to regenerate; some weakly rejoined the modified lessons, and there was camaraderie amongst the sick and those in health. We continued with our programme and our bond was stronger than ever. But hearing the news that our hospitalised teacher needed an oxygen mask was terrifying. This woman was a yoga goddess, a firecracker of Finish strength; she may be like Thumbelina, minute in size but wow, what braun. I had walked to the shop, needed some time alone. As I stood at a crossroad I stopped to watch the humongous dragonfly majestically hover near and then soar once again. One seemed to suddenly turn to two, then three, then many more. Remaining still, I was mesmerised by a sea of dragonflies that glided around. I stood in the middle of this seemingly isolated spot of a dragonfly dance, feeling the power of their encircling movements and said a prayer for our teacher.

Needless to say, the sangha was soon restored and the days flew by. Turns out my bestie is a real life Dutch baroness. Cool. We had the same flip flops (which were interchanged on many occasion- I was nearing feral status and for days would leve them outside our practice room or the restaurant) and sunglasses. I did not want to confess to being a princess as it seemed somewhat unsavoury next to true royal blood; my glorified label paled with insignificance under a genuine title. But Doortje was my pal (but surely my immediate attraction before the much later discovery of royal roots in my bestie is evidence of my princess calling!?) and we were also great study buddies. I strong on the Sanskrit and some of the philosophy and she was super hot on anatomy. I could give endless loving details and personal observations on every member of the group- such a plethora of personalities, fantastic people from all over the world; I could not have wished to share life and the beautiful practice of yoga with a better bunch. Chanted from Patanjali’s Yoga sutra: maitri, karuna, mudito, peksanam = friendship, compassion, delight and equanimity. This is the lesson in how we should act towards fellow man. Our sangha was this personified; there was no hierarchal or caste system here. Sharing flip flops with a baroness, confessing predilections of pancake binging over the buffet with a world famous rugby hero (he was here accompanying his wife and what a gentleman), beautiful yoga practices, laughter and learning- this was just all a normal day here; quite simply the rays of light that was in each us was endlessly reflecting and refracting.

So for fear of being inadequate, presumptuous and arrogant in my ability to undertake yoga teacher training, I was reluctant to share my intentions with some. This sangha and the teachings shared by our wonderful guides, Simon, Eija and Annie, made me edge closer to believing. This is priceless.

In the final whispered words of my teacher, “Go out and teach straight away. You have a real presence as a teacher. This is a gift.” I remembered the dance of the dragonflies the moment she said that and felt a wave of courage; I may just now believe that I can try. Thank you, Eija, because I floated away on these last words and it was that lift I needed. ‘My mind could rest in the hammock of my heart’, to steal some of Simon’s poetry.

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I believe in the yoga they Simon, Eija and Annie shared and if I just squint my eyes a little and change the way I look at myself, with a little help from the words of my teacher, myself and my sister, I realise that the self doubt continues to dissipate. From the words of Wayne Dyer, reiterated on the beach to me by my sister as I shared my fears (Who am I to say I could even attempt to be a yoga teacher? I should not be doing this; I can’t do it.) :

“When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”

So, I come away from the training with certified status of yoga teacher. But by and far the most important thing I have learnt is I come away with a deep understanding of the kind of practice I want to share and how to keep my body safe. I do not have to be able to bend myself in half. Stand on my head for a long period of time. I can just be me. A yogaholic. I think of the new people who have crossed my path and I have taken them to yoga or talked to them about yoga, so much so that they have joined me in a class or gone home and sought a class. I have already been spreading the love and benefits of this ancient practice and now know I will be forever studying the deep forests of yoga.

I share with you my 100 words of what yoga is to me and the teacher that I hope to be:

Yoga is my komorebi. Komorebi is a Japanese word, untranslatable in any other cultures, meaning ‘the sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees’. As I am drawn deeper into the forest of yoga, komorebi is increasingly bewitching, an orchestral symphony of leaf and light.

Through a yin and yang yoga approach, the mechanics of our bodies reveal awesomeness; a universal matrix and map within. Safely, with a respect for our unique anatomy, students can be guided into this forest of yoga; exploring the texture and pleasure of the movements. With this practice we leave behind who we think we should be, savour the komorebi, and come back to our true selves.

I managed to unravel myself from the bosom of the sangha, my final bow to Rhianne and Joanna in Bo Phut. As tempting as it was to remain within this precious vortex, I spiralled out of our trio and headed down the familiar walking street of Bo Phut.

I awaited my transport as the sun rose and said good bye to this wonderful island.

This was the very town that Eve and I had stayed 2 summers ago; the very place I had my first experience of the Simon Low style teachings and felt that very deep resonance, a calling to explore this style of yoga further. I am drifting now on the remnants of the magical force in Koh Phayam, finding my way from the darkness and party bungalows (with no space for my mat) into the light.

In my escape for solitude, I have found a spot nestled in the hillside of Koh Phayam. Komorebi is rife, lotus flowers in abundance. I have my yoga books and a mat donated by Rhianne.