Yoga journey

Life is like a river, always flowing. Yoga is like a boat that helps you navigate — calm waters, turbulent waters.

I took my first class at sixteen. A quiet hatha class at a surf camp. I did not get enlightened. But something hit differently. The noise in my head turned into a sweet melody. The edges softened. I walked home lighter — like the world had bright colours again and I wanted to hug everybody. Floating. Being part of something greater. I didn’t understand it. I just knew it wasn’t just “stretching.”

Then life accelerated again. I moved countries alone before twenty. Learned to survive abroad — new culture, new languages, new people — working and studying at the same time. Independence came early. From the outside, I looked brave. Resilient. Capable. Inside, I was on fire. Or maybe just smoke from a burnt engine. Fast. Always (over)thinking. Feeling too much. Moving constantly with no clear direction — like an empty plastic bag in the wind.

I’ve always loved movement. Ballet as a child. Martial arts as a student. Dance. Sweat. Precision. Discipline. Fighting my own limitations — physical and mental.

But yoga was different.

It is movement aligned with breath. Consciously. That combination allows something subtle — and powerful — to unfold. It wasn’t about conquering the body. It was about listening to it.

“What really helps is to breathe.”

I rolled my eyes. Too new-age. Too simple. I was tough. Skeptical. Contrarian. Am I not breathing all day?

Turns out, simplicity is brutal — especially when you add consciousness.

You don’t calm a wild mind by arguing with it.

You give it space. And oxygen.

Two books also shifted something in me: The Way of No Attachment by Dhiravamsa and Catching the Big Fish by David Lynch. They brought me into meditation — into the idea that we can dive into our own chaos so it doesn’t own us.

I moved countries again. Found another yoga class almost by accident. And I could breathe again. Since around 2012, yoga stopped being occasional and became non-negotiable. My jumpy mind loves having an anchor. A daily recalibration — like tuning a musical instrument.

Some days I’m sharp.
Some days distracted.
Some days strong.
Some days confronted.

The mat is honest. It reflects without commentary. Over time, yoga became less about fixing myself and more about clarity. A moving meditation. Watching thoughts pass without turning them into identity. Feeling intensity without being hijacked by it.

I still feel deeply. That hasn’t changed. But I’m no longer impressed by every emotion that knocks on the door.

Curiosity pushed me further — psychology, philosophy, Nietzsche, Buddhism, Tantra, Stoicism. I kept asking: What runs us? Who is thinking the thoughts? Why do we obey them? Tantra didn’t ask me to escape the body.

It asked me to inhabit it — fully. To experience life without apology. To refine emotions instead of suppressing them. Expanding consciousness, not attachment.

Then I deepened my exploration of the body–mind connection and became a Tantra and Holosomatic Therapy facilitator.

Where My Work Stands Now

Sovereignty.

Over your body.
Over your attention.
Over your choices.

This world thrives when you are distracted, busy, tired, doubting yourself. It’s profitable. Reclaiming yourself is actually rebellious! Yoga, breath, movement, consciousness — these are not aesthetics. They are instruments. Not to escape life. But to experience it. As it is.

Descartes said, “I think, therefore I am.”

In this physical world, I would say:
I move, therefore I become.