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Remembering my (Yoga) debuts in Somerset

Last week-end I went back to Somerset. I hadn't visited the place for twenty years. At the time I spent six years there, first near Shepton Mallet (famous for its very old jail), later near Wells (well-know for its charismatic cathedral). That's also where I started Yoga and gave birth to my first two children (a boy and a girl, lucky me). Happy time, lovely part of the country which I probably didn't appreciate enough at the time, being in a constant daze, lacking sleep and finding myself chronically distracted by meal times and teething. I went back and felt disorientated. Going through towns and villages, reaching T-junctions, which I had done dozens of times... It all felt new when nothing there has actually changed.

This is also where I started Yoga. My wonderful first teacher, Wendy Teasdill, introduced me to the practice. Glastonbury was her town. So I went back there as well, didn't call her, but wondered about, remembering. I thought things would have slightly changed. Actually nothing has really changed either, except for the Abbey which you can't approach now without paying a ridiculous price. Shops selling crystals and healing magic potions are still standing and beggars selling a joke for £1 as well.

I enjoyed being back , but felt new to it as if I had never lived there. This is also what I like today about Yoga: every time I come to my mat, something feels new, or at least I have something new to find out about the practice every day.


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