Huddled together, we practice

It's a cold February morning and it is almost 5:45 AM. The moon is still out, sunlight floods the skies from outside the windows. People trickle into the sadhana class. We choose our corners forming two columns of three. We find ourselves close to the walls, perhaps it is comforting to know that the wall exists as a prop to our bodies, to catch us if we were to fall. Medha’s voice echoes from the door, prompting us to come front, to come together. Some of us protest quietly, reluctant to leave our walls. There is space between the two columns, comfortable enough for us to practise apart. When she asks again, mats and bodies are dragged ahead with reluctance.

One would wonder, why do we have to huddle up? Why can we not simply allow ourselves the space to spread out our bodies? Do we really want to have to mentally measure if our foot might end up on our neighbour’s shoulder, or worse, right in their face? Moments like this remind me that our relationship with learning begins before we do our first asana: it begins the moment we walk into the shala, enter our practice rooms and settle into the space. Medha offers to teach us simply using our reluctance to share as a lesson. Learning begins with the orientation of our bodies around each other, with each other, the placement of our mats and the dimensions of the space we practise in. 

"Why should we come closer at all?", I wondered.

Yoga, she teaches us, is a concentration practice that brings together mind and energy. Where energy flows, the mind follows. Too much space, energy too is scattered and diffused, as is our minds. Comfort creeps into our being in strange ways. Bringing our mats and bodies together brings our intention and energy together. My practice adds to my neighbours' and their practice adds to mine. Our practice as a class adds to the families, friendships, workspaces, and communities we return to. A borderless ocean of energy that each of us pour into.

As we bring our mats and ourselves closer to each other, minds follow. A bringing together of bodies and minds. While each of us may have different intentions or sankalpas, practicing together reinforces a collective intention to bring peace and energy to the worlds we are a part of outside our mats. To carry with us the energy we receive from our practice and offer it to those who may not have access to it: to those we know and hold in our hearts and also to those we do not know.

We notice, that morning in class, that our bodies warm up quicker than usual. Perhaps, it is each other’s heat that’s adding up. We are simply more ready to move, because we attempted to come together. Off the mat, I wonder if this extends to our ways of living, working and being. We come together to share, and coming together allows us to bear with life, in all its joys and suffering.

What if our elbows find their way to our neighbour’s knees? Well, Medha uses these moments to teach us that our bodies will inevitably collide. When we practise together, we will be affected by each other. However, it is for us to use this to support each other. So, we find each other’s hands or ankles and lend them assistance. We find that we do need each other to be able to strengthen and move deeper into our own practice. On and off the mat, perhaps if we allow ourselves to depend on each other, we open ourselves up to greater freedom. On the mat, the freedom to experience a new feeling in an asana. Off the mat, to accept that our independence lies in our capacity to find interdependence.

That morning, class began before it began. It began when we rearranged our mats and moved closer to each other. The bodies, minds and beyond, all huddled up, and we practised together.