Wanderlusting

I’m back from Wanderlust, that festival of festivals that has been soaked in all things yoga; given you a big spoon and said, dig in. That festival.

Although it ran over four days I had a one-day pass that I used to fit in as much as possible and had myself an experience that was different from any festival I’ve been to before.*

I don’t know what I was expecting from Wanderlust other than a lot of yoga, a lot of yogis and yoginis, kombucha, more yoga and a lot of yoga-related gear being worn, sold and coveted. There was that, yes, but there was so much more.

There was an air of exhilaration, of celebration, of being swept up in a party where you think you know everyone even though you probably don’t. There were old friends, new friends, family groups, musicians, artists, and smiley, glowy, blissed out gorgeous beings everywhere.

Dropping in part way through and leaving before the end, and being on my lonesome, lent a different observational bent to the whole thing. I thought I’d go, listen, learn, immerse myself in the schedule I’d filled out, go back to the hotel, shower it all off and go home.

Then this happened: I heard some beautiful words that resonated, that touched on some truths that I’d felt before and shrugged off, not confident enough to own them. I hugged strangers, I danced, I chanted, I connected.

I sat on my mat looking out over the trees in the early morning sun, watching steam drift upwards, listening to the birds and I breathed.

I breathed.

I lay on my mat with my eyes closed feeling the vibrations of a didgeridoo, and I breathed.

I breathed.

And I don’t want to lose that sense of peace, of knowing there’s more to explore, yet belonging just as I am – unfinished, imperfect. I’m still very much in the stage of processing it all right now, but I know with even more certainty than I did before, that yoga is my happy place.

Is it possible I’m a hygiene-obsessed, Zambesi-wearing hippy ? Yes, yes it is. I’m okay with that, so I’ll go with it, probably over-sharing and at the same time quietly laughing at all the intensity and earnestness. With love though, because I’m filled with awe at all these incredible individuals walking the walk with conviction, with truth and I think, thank god, let’s make some changes here.

I’m going to take this slice of wonderfulness that I inhaled in one day, believe I can make a difference too and embrace being part of this truly inspirational community.

 

Did you go to Wanderlust? Do I need to take a breath? How would I be if I’d gone for the whole time? I’d love to know your experience.

 

– Jane

 

* The last time I went to a big event like this was… a long time ago. There was sleeping on a beach near Marseilles, portaloo issues and getting into a car with a complete stranger so I could use a proper bathroom at his family home in St Remy. His mother only spoke French and I only spoke English so we sat in awkward silence until she suddenly started playing the piano and singing in a piercing falsetto. It became somewhat more awkward when I kept clapping and she clearly wasn’t anywhere near finished. Her son, who’d taken the longest shower ever, kept stopping on the way back to my friends to ‘see someone’ which involved many ‘someone’s’ running out to the car and, well, transactions taking place. I don’t remember there being any yoga and definitely no didgeridoos – no comparison really.

 

© The Yoga Connection 2015