Love and light (and darkness)

As I closed my eyes, a mixture of past dark memories and unfamiliar dark images appeared. Whilst continuing my meditation practice, I felt like I was doing something wrong. How had I once enjoyed meditation, considering it moments of calmness, clarity, and safety? Why couldn’t I meditate anymore? Why had this practice I loved turned into something so dark?

I remembered my ‘tapas’ (discipline of practice) and felt like pushing through. I sat, watching a compilation of my darkest moments in life played on repeat. I started to doubt what actually happened as repressed memories resurfaced. Could I even trust my mind? Where these my true memories? Did it matter? After all, I had just come to realise that I wasn’t my past, so was it even relevant?

My day-to-day life lost its moments of joy as I felt lost and alone in a darkness I didn’t know before. Just before everything turned dark, I had experienced one of the most beautiful feelings of bliss I had ever felt. During a meditation, I realised that I wasn’t my past. I saw that I was identifying with victimhood of negative past experiences, but that I had the freedom to stop this identification because it had nothing to do with my true essence. In that meditation I had rested in this beautiful, strong, continuous, calm, certain, loving, divine essence. Tears rolled down my cheeks with feelings of bliss and I continued to weep with the relief of my realisation that I wasn’t my past. It was like I finally understood what real freedom was—the end of identification with a false self.

Then a series of events stopped me from flying around in this gravity-defying bliss. I got into a motorbike accident, which prevented me from doing my usual yoga routines. I left my safe surroundings (of Thailand) and had to get back into the ‘real world’, working hard to deal with the rising costs of living. I was surrounded by people strongly identifying with a story of the self which no longer seemed true to me. I wanted to shake them up because I felt like they were missing the point. I started to doubt whether what I had experienced even mattered in a world whose reality no longer aligned with my own. Then, this massive shift came in my meditation practice, thoughts and feelings. It felt like the old pain from past events went to war with my new realisation. It was as if ‘the pain’ was going to show me I would always be a victim of my past. It said, ‘Don’t you dare think we are going to let this go. You are in pain whether you want it or not’. Coming from a family with quite severe mental health issues, I worried that it was now my turn and I might be schizophrenic. I felt like two versions of myself were at war, and it looked like the version of me in pain was winning.

I was so ashamed and scared by what was happening that I didn’t share it with anyone. I was reminded of family members who ended up in institutions, and I feared of going down that same path. I also felt like all I knew about meditation was that it would bring happiness, calmness, and peace—not the total war I was experiencing in my mind.

Luckily one day someone pointed out to me how I was always pushing myself so hard, and said it is okay to let go of practice for a while. I remembered a teacher telling me once about tapas coming from a place of love rather than a mere harsh discipline. The loving thing for me to do was to stop pushing myself and simply sitting with the reality of all the feelings, memories and anything which was asking for my loving attention.

I tried to lean into anything that made me feel good—the smallest things like cups of tea, reading uncomplicated novels, swimming, spending time with friends. I let go of my usual practice, knowing that I would come back to it one day, accepting that it wasn’t what I needed right now. There was a strong sense of surrender in me, accepting rather than fighting what was there. With kindness to myself, the internal war ended, and my new realisation became my new reality with time. My past became a story I could tell people—a story that could help others make sense of their experiences. There was a new distance that allowed me to help others going through similar experiences. I came back to my practice with an amazing amount of gratitude.

The darker period lasted about five months, after which I felt a deeper compassion and connection to people. I started working as a yoga teacher, and let go of work which didn’t align with my new realisation anymore. I also focused on volunteering and finding ways to help others with similar past experiences.

During my 300-hour yoga teacher training, I opened up about the experience of this darker period. Through conversations with fellow students and teachers, I realised that this experience isn’t unique, it is simply a part of the practice. It became clear to me that these are stages of awakening we go through on our path. The darkness served as a catalyst for deep transformation, forcing me to confront my shadow selves, heal old wounds, and release limiting beliefs. Although these periods can be extremely challenging, they ultimately lead to greater clarity, strength, and authenticity.

By navigating through this dark period with self-compassion and patience, I emerged with a deeper understanding of myself and a more profound connection to my true essence. The darkness, therefore, is not an obstacle but an essential part of the spiritual journey.

I wish I had known this beforehand to prevent the self-blame and doubt it created for me. It’s important that we don’t just describe the yogic path as all ‘love and light’ but also as a path that isn’t always easy yet is incredibly rewarding. I am so happy with who I am becoming thanks to yoga, and I am forever grateful for its teachings. I want more people to know that sometimes you might experience some darkness only to shine an even brighter light afterward. It’s important we release ourselves from shame and self-blame, and know that we can find support from our Sangha / community / and loved ones.