I took an amazing six day yoga therapy training last week. (Here’s the description, in case you’re curious.)
It was a crash course in Five Element Theory and acupressure 101, through the prism of yoga. Definitely my idea of a good time.
Of course, my deepest learning experiences weren’t contained in the course content. Immersive trainings of this nature usher in healing (and often turbulence) and the “lessons” come in unexpected forms.
Here’s one example:
At the end of each day we engaged in an energy healing session with a partner. One of us acts as the “healer” with the other as “patient,” and then we switch roles.
On Day 3, I pair off with a partner to take the role of healer first. She lays down on her yoga mat. I place my fingers gently on a Triple Burner acupressure point on her neck, close my eyes and vibrate with the healing mantra.
I am both relaxed and energized after fifteen minutes acting as healer, and it is time for us to switch positions.
Then it starts to get weird.
My partner is lying on her sheepskin mat, and I’m supposed to take her place.
I’ve been warned to NEVER lie on someone else’s sheepskin because it carries their energy. (It’s kind of like the yogic equivalent of wearing someone else’s underwear.) It’s common courtesy in class to avoid interaction with a sheepskin belonging to someone else.
So as we prepare to switch roles in silence, I start to panic.
“I can’t lie on her sheepskin! It’s against the rules!”
I’m struggling to figure how to not break the rules when we’re not supposed to talk–which would also be breaking the rules. My partner whispers to me, “The floor is cold. You might want a blanket.”
I relax, assuming that she also doesn’t want me to lie on her sheepskin and is suggesting that I lie on the floor. So I grab a blanket and set myself up beside her mat.
That should have been it, but it wasn’t.
I’m suddenly feeling rejected.
“She doesn’t want me on her sheepskin. I’m such an idiot.” My mind bombards me with insecurities and accusations.
I know my thoughts are ridiculous because I didn’t want to lie on her sheepskin in the first place, but it doesn’t help. I’m anxious, insecure and miserable.
Then it occurs to me that these feelings have nothing to do with my partner or the situation. They were just the trigger for a feeling that wants my attention.
So I imagine the insecurity as a small child. She’s shivering and cold. I tell her, “I see you. Come let me hold you.”
The child curls up on my stomach and I feel the weight of her as I breathe. She’s scared. Alone. Feeling worthless.
I comfort her as my partner holds my neck and we listen to the Ra Ma Da Sa mantra. My breath deepens and my fear of rejection and worries about doing the wrong thing evaporate.
When we finish, I sit up, look at my partner and burst out laughing. I share my experience and it turns out that she wasn’t inviting me to sit on the floor; I misinterpreted her words because I was obsessively afraid of doing the wrong thing.
The drama only existed in my own head.
My fear created a “situation” out of nothing. An old insecurity got triggered, and spending some time with it allowed for a profound healing and insight.
In the microcosm of a training intensive, simple situations like this become powerful teaching experiences. They provide opportunities to examine the mind and emotions, and to create new relationships with them.
My big takeaway:
Every interaction, whether we label it positive or negative, is an invitation for healing.
The people who drive us nuts, the ones we love with all our hearts. No matter what happens, there is an invitation to integrate, let go of what causes suffering, and relax into love.
I shared my experience with the group, even though I was embarrassed at how silly it was, because it felt important to transform that insecurity into acceptance.
Look around. These are your teachers, your healers, your salvation disguised as misery and pain.
Everything is necessary.
