Yesterday I stumbled upon a dazzling quote of Roberto Bolaño “In poetry, you become infinitely small without disappearing.” And it reminded me how much I miss writing poems and that feeling of standing on the edge of unknown and leaving your self behind as you jump in.

It’s been a while since I wrote anything so beautifully flowing and irrational that you can dare call it poetry. Starting with a vague idea, or not even that, just following a familiar tickle in my fingers, grabbing a pen and seeing where it all goes. Scribbling on napkins in cafes and back of public transport tickets. Writing as an exploration, listening carefully to the ripples of the deep, instinctive mind and trying to mirror it in words. Letting the story smoothly thread itself through my fingers.

Funny… I realised this morning teaching a small class that it’s this same feeling I sometimes have while teaching yoga - stepping on the mat without any idea what is going to happen, letting the class unfold gently by itself, simply diving in. Of course, when you realise there are for example too many hip openers, it’s useful to let the rational mind jump in with a counter sequence to balance it out. But sometimes the class can unfold itself effortlessly, without the need for much interference and you as a teacher can simply step back and allow yourself to become infinitely small. One of my great inspirations, Malaysian yoga teacher Meng Foong beautifully explains it: “There is nobody. No students. No you… Just yoga.”