As my Asana practice began to strengthen my body, reduce low back pain, open up my hamstrings and hips and peel away layers of tension, I became more curious about the less physical aspects of Yoga. Pranayama helps me cope with discomfort, let go of frustrations, reign in positive energy and juggle the precarious balance between chaos and peace.
So maybe it was worthing giving Om a chance. So the next time my teacher inhaled preparing for Om, i didn't smirk and tighten up my lips; instead, I was at the ready, waiting for it... As the vibration in my throat turned to sound, the release felt good. It wasn't legendary, and it wasn't a cathartic experience but I could tell it helped me find grounding and focus. I began to Om in every class. Voices connected in unison, I could hear the sound traveling through the air, and felt the residual vibration once silence set in. Pretty cool.
When I became a Yoga teacher, I couldn't bring myself to Om. I was afraid my voice wasn't nice, that the students wouldn't Om with me - ouch for the ego - or that they would think it ridiculous just as I once did. And so for many classes I spoke of breath, grounding, effort and release, awareness, without every letting the energy out. Sharing Om was just a little too personal, a little too big; no judgement thank you.
That was until last weekend. I was teaching a Sunday evening class. Playlist ready, sequence ready, torture block ready. Something was in the air; maybe the stars were perfectly aligned; my lucky Yoga pants may have had something to do with it too; or perhaps I just believed in myself a little more. Teaching that evening was special; it was nourishing; I felt opened and receptive.
Savasana. Time for a change. **** it, I'm going to Om; perhaps this will change something for someone. I can't say I wasn't afraid; filled with self-doubt - here's the bitch again - and there was definitely a lump in my throat as I asked everyone to inhale. Om. Harmony with 15 souls. It was natural; authentic and liberating.
There was a connection. To what, I'm not sure. Was it the human experience, me, the universe? It's hard to say, and it lasted a split second. But in that moment, I felt what it was like to find my voice. And that was magic.