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Early on in the throes of passion everything seems very intense. You live, breath and consume the object of your focus and cannot consume anything else.

It happens in every relationship, and the thought that it will never change goes against the very grain of yoga, that this very belief of the permanence of things impermanent brings discontent.

For three years I didn’t, couldn’t or wouldn’t pick up a novel, read a magazine in the bath or spend hours occupying myself unrelated to my immersion.

Yoga.

Its wonderful, but limiting, as I realise now that there is no frame of reference if there is no room for anything else. How can one grow if one consumes only one food.

So if you love it, let it go.   Let the dust settle and see what remains.  For what remains will stay. What remains is authentic.

So I let it go. A combination of frustrations with other teachers, doing their yoga and not necessarily what my body wanted to do. Reading about others ideas, thoughts and musings centuries old. It was enough.

Spending instead more time immersed in my own thoughts, percolating away, distilling it all down to

what remains is authentic.

At some point in your life its time to stop all the research and start writing the essay.

Step outside and take a breath.

Away from all that tweeting, retweeting and blogging amongst too many yoga enthusiasts and the business of yoga, which in truth business has no place in yoga.

A friend said recently that maybe this is what will save yoga in the end.

So I sat in my body, read a stack of Lee Childs Jack Reacher books and sometimes when I wanted to practice I broke all the rules.

I used music,

I did backbends early in the practice

I didn’t meditate

I danced on my mat

I did what I darned well wanted to

And that is the business of Yoga.

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