During our Thailand retreat we spent one morning practicing in the beach shala, where we floated through our yoga accompanied by the sound of waves and felt engulfed by the magnitude of the ocean as we meditated. Exhaling our way to shavasana, this was a picture-perfect yoga moment. But before the exhalation was over, something made its presence felt. I’m still not sure what it was, but it sounded like a mix between an extroverted, slightly angry duck and a large frog with an upset stomach.
Having my body described as mythology rather than an actual physical shape that I could easily connect with left me with a feeling that I wasn’t really getting what was going on, probably because I just wasn’t advanced enough. To be able to understand I would have to keep sitting at the feet of advanced-enough teachers, until that one happy day when - by the grace of the Gods of Yoga - I would simply fall into the non-verbal intelligence of my breath and… well, I honestly don’t know, because it never happened.