The practice of being: Love, yoga, and the truth of who we already are

As I sit across from him, watching his hands and feet dance across the cajón, I am reminded of the words of Swami Satchidananda: “When you become a channel for the music, the Divine flows through you.” He is not playing an instrument; he is the instrument. He is not making music; he is moved by it. In those moments, I feel the same vibration in my own body as when I am deep in meditation, or held in stillness in a long-held asana. That sense of being moved by something greater. Of union. Yoga.

When I first fell in love with him, it caught me off guard. I didn’t think of myself as the relationship type. I considered it a distraction, something too limiting to my sense of self. He didn’t meditate, didn’t practice yoga, didn’t come from any spiritual tradition. He is a man, and I had come to understand myself as a bisexual woman with a strong preference for women, especially in relationships. I no longer dated men, and it felt unlikely I ever would again.

And yet, in him I saw what I had spent years searching for in spiritual circles: a longing for truth, a hunger for freedom, an unfiltered presence, and a deep, instinctual love of life. On the surface, we seemed so different. But the resonance was unmistakable. I recognised him not with my mind, but with something ancient and wordless, something I had known long before thought.

For most of my life, my spiritual path has been about learning to be free; not from outer limitations, but from the tight grip of my own anxious mind. And behind that anxiety was always a longing to connect, to feel at home in myself and with others. Like so many of us, my early experiences taught me that connection was conditional and that love had to be earned. I became a people pleaser, losing my sense of self. And so I built a path paved with self-discipline, deep inner work, and a fierce desire to liberate myself from the wounds that bound me.

And yet, this path, this yoga, also became a new way to prove myself. A new way to be “good.” A new ideal to chase. I told myself I could never be with someone who didn’t meditate or “do the work.” But then I began to notice something: many people who practiced yoga, even those whom I met in my teacher trainings, didn’t seem to love it. They wanted to be someone else. To fix themselves. Their practice came from resistance, not reverence. And from that place they can’t embody the practice.

The Yoga Sutras tell us: “Sthira sukham asanam”; the posture is steady and comfortable. This is not just about the body; it’s about life. A true practice is grounded in ease. It flows from love. When our sādhanā becomes yet another battleground, we are moving away from yoga, not toward it.

It was only when I began to truly accept myself (messy, anxious, sometimes contradictory) that I began to experience real freedom. And it is this same freedom that I feel in my relationship. We do not try to change one another. We do not attempt to mold each other into better versions of ourselves. We simply witness each other as we are.

My partner never studied the Gita, but he lives its wisdom. “He who sees inaction in action and action in inaction is wise among men.” He doesn’t sit in meditation, yet I have watched him drop into presence while playing a beat for hours, entranced. He doesn’t label it practice, but it is. It is sādhana through rhythm. Through living.

And perhaps that is what I had forgotten: there are as many paths as there are souls. Some move through asana, some through breath, others through drum, or through silence, or through the way they serve tea. We do not need to fit into one mold. The point is not to be a “yogi” or “yogini” in the way we think one should look or live. The point is to be in union; with life, with self, with Source.

As Swami Vivekananda once said: “Each soul is potentially divine. The goal is to manifest this Divinity within.” You are not broken. You are not lacking. You do not need to be fixed.

Yes, we need tapas; discipline, commitment, the willingness to stay when things get hard. But true tapas is love in action. It is not punishment. You will only sustain practice if you are drawn to it. When I meditate, I do so because I love the silence. When I move through asana, I do so because my body feels alive. When I chant, it is because my heart opens. “Abhyasa vairagyabhyam tannirodhah” Practice and non-attachment still the mind. But the practice must be authentic. Otherwise, it becomes performance.

So many people in my first teacher training came from a place of self-rejection. They forced themselves onto the mat, hoping yoga would make them someone else. And when it didn’t, they blamed themselves. But yoga is not about transformation in the sense of becoming someone new. Yoga is about remembering. Coming home. Returning.

Ramana Maharshi said: “Your own Self-realisation is the greatest service you can render the world.” And this realisation does not require you to renounce your joy. Maybe you like to dance till late and also rise with the sun. Maybe you crave solitude but still long for touch. Maybe you are wild and soft. Sexual and sacred. You are not light or dark. You are the full sky.

In yogic philosophy, we call this non-duality: Advaita. No separation. No labels. No hierarchy between stillness and movement, sacred and profane. Just the eternal, indivisible Self behind it all.

For me, the most spiritual relationship I have ever known is not one built around shared practices, but around shared presence. Around freedom. Around love without control. We don’t live together. We don’t see each other every day. But when we do, it is with joy and spaciousness. There is no need to possess. There is only love.

I often tell him he’s more of a yogi than any yogi I’ve ever met. Not because he’s into postures or philosophy, but because his way of being is so deeply embodied. He lives it. His care for animals, his honesty, his natural way of being in the world; it all reflects something pure. When we spend time together, there’s always space to stop and give love to a street dog. He doesn’t bypass anything, he meets life as it is.

He embodies satya, truthfulness not as a rigid ideal, but as a living authenticity. He holds a quiet acceptance of the fullness of life, the light and the dark. He can be playful and happy like a kid, and together we love life’s silly, random moments. Laughter, weirdness, dogs, temples, quiet… it’s all part of the same prayer.

This is what I hope others can find too: a practice, a path, a friendship or partnership that emerges from within. That feels natural. That calls to you. Not because you’re trying to fix yourself, but because you love yourself enough to listen. Follow what brings you alive. Be devoted not to being “good,” but to being true.

As the Upanishads whisper to us:
“Tat tvam asi” You are That.

Already. Always. Just as you are.