The first time I experienced yoga nidra was the same day as my friend’s funeral. It had been a long morning of gathering with my fellow friends and coworkers, a full funeral mass in Spanish, and bearing witness to the pain in his mother’s cries as his casket was being prepared for interment. I had resolved to not hide my emotions as I might have in another era of my life and cried so deeply, so many times. I found a new level of connection with my friends by being open and vulnerable. We had lost a friend and a work-family member far too young.
Yoga nidra is a state of deep but conscious relaxation. Done completely laying down, fully supported by props, yoga nidra allows the physical body to fully and completely relax while the brain enters a state of consciousness that is awake and aware yet also supporting deep relaxation. It’s like taking a nap while being fully awake.
I had scheduled this initial session so far in advance there was so way to know how raw I would be. I broke down while explaining to our yoga nidra instructor the events of the day, somehow uncovering more tears and heaving, stuttering breath. My head hurt from so much crying and I was hoping yoga nidra would sooth my aching heart.
In this state of grief, I settled in for the practice and succumbed to wave after wave of sensation. It was like floating in a dark pool, the harness of the instructor’s voice bringing me up to the surface to direct my attention somewhere else in my body before lowering me back into the inky water. My third eye ached like it was going to split my head open from sadness.
Gently back into the waters.
So effortless yet so painful. Soaking inside my sorrow.
When it came time to bring my body back to sensation, it as like breaking hard clay off my body to find movement. I had fallen so far into myself it hurt to move.
I’ve been chasing that level of radical relaxation ever since. My brain doesn’t ever seem to stop; my body perpetually in motion. And I miss my friend so deeply … for someone I only had the privilege of experiencing for less than a year, he left a hole in my heart that is slowly repairing itself. But in this loss, I found a way to go so far inside, to the core of my being, to sit with my grief and really experience it.
I wish it didn’t take tragedy to give ourselves permission to be radically vulnerable.