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White Tantric Yoga

May 3, 2010

On arriving back from white tantric yoga…

It took me ten years to get myself to the annual European Kundalini Yoga festival in France. Ten years too long. Somehow whenever the option came up I would find a reason why this was not the time. Truth was, somewhere inside me, I knew that if I took the step to commit more fully as a yoga teacher, I would have to make a more solid commitment to my life as a yogi and a teacher. And the idea scared me!

The day I booked my ticket finally, I maxed out my credit card. I knew that this was I needed to do. That the time was right. Needless to say, once I had booked it my mind came up with reasons why this was a bad idea; A long trip. A non-favourable Rand-Euro exchange rate. The thought of 4a.m. sadhanas. Sharing a dormitory room with others. A restricted diet of mung beans and rice. These are not the choices of a sane person with two weeks of precious holiday time in hand, and a need for rest and recovery. It was not a choice that was easy to explain to those unfamiliar with the deep passion that a yoga practice can bring. To those uninitiated to the world of yoga, the description of my upcoming holiday sounded more like an army boot camp!

So we headed to France, and instead of the gastronomic feat that such a trip might provide, we chose a time of mung beans and rice. Instead of endless shopping in the Champs Elysees I chose buying yoga books and cds from the Festival Bazaar. Instead of lazing around on the beaches in the South of France. I chose a week of intensive yoga practice from 4am to 10pm.

And here’s the strange thing.

From the moment I arrived I was blissfully happy. How does one explain the magic and beauty of 1800 yogis being woken up at 4am every morning to the sounds of live music and singing? The feeling of rolling out of bed at 4am and stumbling into the dewy darkness with the aid of a feeble torchlight, to engage in a guided Sadhana practice. The sounds of 1800 yogis chanting in the misty coolness. My first morning there when tears sprang into my eyes inexplicably. A French field covered in white-clothed people, like human daisies. The feeling that the layers of stress, worry, control, fear, that I had accumulated over years and lifetimes were slowly lifting off me.

Three days of intensive yoga practice and cleansing mung beans were followed by three days of white tantric yoga. White tantric yoga is a practice of face to face meditation and chanting with a partner that is done in lines. Rows and rows of yogis dressed in white created a human energy field. It was explained that white tantric yoga works on the diagonal lines of energy created by the group. The energy in the room by the end of three days could have kept Eskom in power for years.

There is no greater evidence to me of yoga truly meaning union. Surrounded by Italian, French, German, Belgian, Scandinavian, Russian yogis all speaking the common language of yoga and what it means to us.

One morning in Sadhana I realized why I had come. I realized I was part of one big family of yogis around the world. A world family whose common language is the language of the soul. It felt like in this tiny spot, a chateau in the French countryside, we had created a human beam of light. The festival has run in the same town for 27 years and apparently the people in the town tell stories of how when the festival runs, the people in the town experience changes in their lives without knowing or experiencing the yoga themselves. If yoga is a vibration, the story is plausible.

I came back home to the inevitable questions. How was France? The truth is, I wasn’t in France at all. I had entered a timeless, universal zone of love, light, bliss, joy.

And all I know is that it might take some time for my feet to touch the ground!


This article was submitted by Linda Kantor. Linda is a psychotherapist, yoga teacher and practitioner who has been in private practice for the past 15 years. Connect with her via email or on facebook.

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