I lay there on the floor, spent, gasping for air, covered in sweat and surrounded by some symbolic puddle of the accumulated filth of an active weekend. I watched her cross the room towards me, slowly circling my body. We locked eyes and with a slight curl to her lips she said, “You did well this morning.”
I smiled back and ever so softly she offered her “Namasté” to the class and walked out the door.
“Namasté,” I replied. A voice so small that it was only heard inside my head as the gentle chorus rose from around me. I felt something in that moment: something genuine both within, and outside of myself. It was recognition of divinity. Not just me and not just the instructor. Through the class she had been little more than a manifest voice in my head. Her movement at the end was all that gave her away. I had a sudden awareness of being. I was suddenly aware of the woman to my left and the one behind me: the man to my right and the one in front of me. The two other women near the west wall and the other to the east, plus the men behind both of them. I realized I had lost myself in the moment and through the session had only suffered brief flashes of reality.
There is only one other time in my life I can remember anything close to that. The reality was like a skilled opiate; a morphine high. Endorphins. The conscious was like ecstasy; feeling the world pass through me and seeing richness of colors I had never seen before. Adrenaline. Nothing could describe how I felt by the end of class, but it soon became obvious to me that others saw it too.
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