The Tree of Yoga
He sensed I liked him about three months after we met.
His sensitivity was strong — shaped by years of caring for his family, learning to notice the subtle: body language, energy shifts, unspoken feelings.
One day in April, he expressed his feeling directly:
“Your smile shines like the sun, always makes me feel happy when I get one.”
I explained my kindness as cultural — “because you are a foreigner here, and so am I, I understand the feeling of isolation and want to be friendly.”
His response was simple, but it pierced through:
“It is a pity that you don’t like me.”
Several weeks later, he gave me a book — Iyengar’s The Tree of Yoga.
The fact he gave me this book was one reason our connection deepened without real communication, except short greetings.
Years ago, I had been a vegetarian for eight months because of another Iyengar book. I was so convinced by his teaching — to purify body and soul through discipline and diet.
So this gift struck something deep in me. Real connection doesn’t always need many words. Sometimes it is inner recognition. By giving me Iyengar, he acknowledged my journey of discipline, purity, and searching.
It built a bridge without words — he handed me something that aligned with my essence, something I myself hadn’t recognized at that moment.
Reconnecting with My Old Self
Before marriage, I followed Iyengar’s teaching — vegetarian life, discipline, purity, integration of body, mind, and soul.
After marriage, I gave it up. I adapted to my husband’s way of living: video games, comfort, abundance in life instead of searching for meaning.
Love for others sometimes pulls us away from love for self.
The book he gave me reopened that chapter of my life. It was almost as if life was reminding me: “This part of you still matters.”
Planting a Seed of Awakening
More than that, he planted a seed.
I read the book carefully.
Iyengar’s words reminded me that the body, mind, and soul are not separate threads, but one woven fabric. That seed stirred inside me. I kept reflecting: What does it really mean to live with body, mind, and soul in harmony?
By the end of July, something clicked. I realized I had already been training each part without seeing the whole picture.
- For the body: weight training gave me strength, discipline, vitality.
- For the mind: writing became my weight training — stretching, strengthening, refining thought.
- For the soul: surrender became my practice — not weakness, but releasing control, expanding capacity, trusting life.
Each was a different gym, yet all were part of the same training ground.
Now I see the ultimate form is not to keep them apart, but to unite them — body, mind, and soul — through what I call 5D awareness: physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, and energetic. Together, they form the architecture of my awakening.
The book he gave me was the root.
My reflections became the branches.
What has grown is my own tree — my personal system of wholeness, born from practice, longing, and insight.
The Iyengar gift is not just a memory. It became a pivotal moment in my Awakening Diary, the seed that grew into my body–mind–soul–5D architecture.
Love’s Paradox: Recognition and Space
Love revealed itself to me as a paradox — recognition and distance, closeness and space, missing and silence.
When he told me, “your smile shines like the sun,” that was recognition. He saw my light and mirrored it back. That’s why it touched so deeply — recognition affirms our being.
He recognized the past me — the one I had forgotten myself.
He recognized the present me — determined, searching, disciplined.
He recognized the future me — encouraging, “you have everything you need to change.”
He recognized my body, mind, and soul.
The highest form of love is recognition.
The longest form of love is to give space to grow.
To step back, to trust, to let the other expand.
To feel deep attraction → yet choose distance.
To recognize rarity → yet let go of possession.
To love in silence → while building yourself louder.
Recognition says: “I see you as you are.”
Space says: “I trust you to become.”
This is the paradox of love:
To recognize deeply, but choose space.
To let go, but still feel connected.
To step back, but still hold an open heart.
Close enough to miss someone every day.
Distant enough to avoid contact for years, for wholeness.
Because real love is best when two whole souls meet together.
Love that comes from need is fragile — it clings, it fears, it breaks.
But love that rises from wholeness is free — it recognizes, it trusts, it endures.
This is the paradox I hold.
Because I need to complete myself first.