And so I find myself, again, sitting in London's Heathrow Airport waiting for my connecting flight to Bangalore, India. It was actually only eight months ago that I was making this journey for the first time, to study Ashtanga Yoga at the KPJAYI in Mysore.
Last week a student asked me what I loved so much about going to Mysore to study. He used those words, "love so much," which I have to admit, caught me a bit off guard. I actually can't say I ever thought about loving my first trip to Mysore. I needed it. I appreciated it. I respected it. I am thankful for it. I am, though cautious to use this word, proud of it. But I've never actually thought about whether or not I loved it...
The journey was challenging and rewarding. It was frustrating and beautiful. It was complex and yet, in some ways, so utterly simple. It was an extremely important time in my development...a critical moment, in which I took steps to devote myself to this specific practice, re-evaluate my creativity, witness my evolutions (physical and spiritual) and learn a lot more about world travel.
But I felt a bit off during my time in Mysore last year. I was overwhelmed by the fervor of the other students and wound up in the mystery of my weird Indian-induced hair-loss. But at the same time I was incredibly inspired. I wrote poetry. I felt my body in new and exciting ways. And there was a warm, challenging comfort during my study with Sharath, Saraswati and Laksmish.
So when I think about returning to Mysore, actually, the only feeling that comes up is this new intense longing love. I'm longing to see those worn-with-use rug-covered floors in the shala. To taste the fresh perfection of a coconut after practice. To remain still in the sensory bombardment of colorful Indian smells, delicious sights and strangely textured sounds...
I'm already falling in love this time.
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