Every now and then, I pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming, ‘Me. I’m the one who gets to do this. I get to do what I’ve always dreamed of doing.’
It’s said that serving at the Guru’s lotus feet is one of the highest blessings you can receive.
Hold on.
Rewind.
Who’s the Guru?
Lotus feet?
Who says that kind of stuff?
The Guru… the real Guru, is the Infinite Self incarnated. It’s not something you can intellectually understand. It’s more something that you experience in the Guru’s presence.
The physical body is a mere representation of infinity in a form we can comprehend. The Guru’s lotus feet are a symbolic way of saying the edge of infinity.
To do the Guru’s work is to do God’s work, the work that raises the collective consciousness and is for the wellbeing of all people everywhere.
It’s not charity; it’s empowerment.
It’s giving people the tools, wisdom and willpower they need to get themselves out of misery.
There are so many parts to this story that I want to share, but I’m going to focus on a very personal aspect of how my biggest vulnerability became my strength.
I always felt like I didn’t belong.
My parents are from Punjab, India, and I was born in Canada.
I grew up feeling like I was neither here nor there; I wasn’t 100% Canadian, and I wasn’t 100% Indian. So, what was I?
… I was nothing.
I spent my whole life looking for a place where I truly belonged.
I tried my best at my studies, even though engineering didn’t interest me very much.
I gave my all to my workplaces and relationships and even travelled for a year.
None of the masks I tried on fit.
They all left me feeling empty and wanting more.
More of what you might ask?
At that point, I didn’t know.
I was scouring the Earth and exploring every part of my life for where I belonged, a place that filled me up and where I could rest easy, knowing that I was giving back to society in a way that mattered.
So far, I hadn’t found anything that resembled what I was looking for.
Six months into my first job after university, I quit.
Every morning, I dragged myself out of bed, packed a lunch, shovelled breakfast, and ran out the door to start my commute.
All the while, observing the intense conflict inside me continue to rage:
I don’t belong here.
I hate it here.
My work isn’t important. It’s not making any difference in anyone’s life.
It’s a waste of my time.
By the time I got home in the evenings, I was exhausted from my day and did nothing other than to eat, shower and fall into bed.
Is this all there is to life?
Is this why I’m here?
I couldn’t quit because I needed the money to pay rent, and I couldn’t do anything else because I didn’t have enough money.
I was stuck.
I allowed cannabis to become my escape, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t continue to compromise with myself and allow my life to pass me by.
I knew something more was out there for me, but I didn’t know what it was.
I quit and decided to move back in with my parents.
In the two weeks, I had left of my summer lease, I lit up every morning and then trekked up to my building’s terrace on the 22nd floor to practice yoga in the morning sun.
At some point during my practice, my mind would come into sharp focus. It was then that I started practising.
A force deep within me moved my limbs intuitively, working into the stale crevices I’d disregarded my entire life.
By the end, I’d lie on my mat in savasana, dead to the world.
This was my favourite part.
My yoga practice made me come alive like nothing else could.
The remainder of the day would be calm and peaceful with a relaxed awareness.
I had no idea what I would do with my life. All I knew was that yoga made me happy. It brought me peace where nothing else could. It even gave me more control over my trips.
I moved back home and gave up smoking. I didn’t want my peace to be hinged on an activity that inherently gave me anxiety.
In a sort of limbo, I focussed on my practice. I didn’t want to work because I knew I wouldn’t last: the same conflict would spark again, and I’d be right back where I started. And I couldn’t do anything else because I had no money.
Finally, I decided to pursue yoga. It was the one thing that made sense to me in this world; my mat was the only place where I felt whole.
I booked a 200-hour teacher training in an ashram in Quebec, which is when my journey ramped up.
I received a message from a neighbouring ashram that they needed a volunteer for two and a half months. I had done a breathing workshop with them not too long ago. Two months before my teacher training, I decided to go.
Upon arrival, I learned that they needed a volunteer because their Guru was coming to host a course for Guru Purnima. They needed to get the place ready.
The words didn’t sink in; a guru? Like they had in my parent’s religion? Guru Purnima?
As we neared July, the ashram directors invited me to do a silence course before I left for my yoga TTC. A thank you for the work I’d put in.
I smiled and nodded, “Yes!”
I had no idea what I was getting myself into. The silence course promises deep rest and rejuvenation. They don’t say that you face your demons to get that rest.
The entire time you’re in silence is a battle. You’re battling your deep impressions and patterns to learn to let them go.
It’s absolute torture.
And somehow, at the end of the four days, you come out shining and can’t wait to go again.
When I came out, it dawned on me that what I’d been searching for my entire life was coming to me.
I’d always thought that a life away from society was meant for me. At some level, my year abroad had been inspired by this deep desire for truth and stories of seekers finding enlightened masters in the mountains far away from society.
And now, an enlightened master was coming to my doorstep. I lived here, and I was leaving right before his arrival. It didn’t make sense. Unlike the seekers from long ago, I didn’t have to search in the mountains; the master was coming to where I lived, and I was leaving.
Without hesitating, I emailed the other ashram to cancel my yoga TTC and ask for a refund. I extended my stay where I was to meet the master.
The moment he stepped onto the ashram grounds, I knew. There was a subtle shift in energy, and I knew it was him.
Later that same day was the Guru Purnima celebration. Guru Purnima is the Day of the Seeker; it celebrates the one that seeks the truth and is an opportunity for the seeker to go inwards and reflect.
For me, it was when the next phase of my journey began.
I sat in the crowded meditation hall with thousands of people in colourful, festive dresses waiting for Gurudev to appear.
I found a place to sit near the doors Gurudev would be entering.
People around me couldn’t settle down; they laughed and pushed to get closer to the red carpet he would be walking down. Cell phones hung in the air, ready to snap photos.
I sat still. Alone in the crowd.
I gazed at the door, unsure of what to expect, and all of a sudden, warmth blossomed inside me.
My eyes widened, and my hand flew to my chest. Tears pooled in my eyes.
I’m home.
I felt safe and cared for, like all the scattered, broken parts of me had been pulled together and mended.
A sense that I had finally found the home I’d been searching for settled over me. I closed my eyes and allowed tears to stream silently down my cheeks.
Somewhere in my soul, I knew that my search hadn’t begun at the end of university. I had been searching for this home for lifetimes.
And I had finally found it.
The bump in my throat grew, and I exhaled shakily.
I smiled and laughed through the tears.
I’m finally home.
I’m home.
This is what I was looking for.
My journey with my Guru led me to see that my biggest vulnerability, the thing that had driven me to try so hard at everything, was what made me unique.
It’s kind of like Kung-Fu Panda, where he’s chosen because he’s a blend of the old and the new.
My demeanour, language, quirks, and heritage set me up to do the work I do to be where I am.
For me, making a difference doesn’t mean creating new technology to solve man-made problems. It means educating and empowering people to change their ways.
Little did I know that helping people change their ways meant guiding those people to do deep inner work.
My Guru led me to training after training until I was ready. Then, he gave me the opportunity to do the work that I’d always wanted to do.
He showed me that my vulnerability and what I considered my biggest weakness was my biggest strength. It was what made me uniquely me and what made me fit for my work.
My journey with my Guru is a journey from tears of anger and frustration to tears of gratitude.
To this day, I still tear up and get a bump in my throat when I tell this story.
Before this moment, I felt so unworthy. Not just because of societal conditioning and because I didn’t think I fit anywhere, but because nothing in my life worked the way I wanted it to. Nothing ever went my way, making me hate and blame myself.
But this moment showed me that I was so much more than that.
All that stuff was at the surface, and I was not only worthy, but I was perfect the way I was.
I never could’ve imagined that I’d be fortunate enough to do what I’d always dreamt of, and not only that. I have the guidance, support and inner knowing that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I couldn’t have asked for more.
Parm Saggu
Parm Saggu is the owner and founder of Parm’s Yoga. Parm’s work is centred around reviving the ancient knowledge and wisdom of yoga. She guides spiritual seekers through their spiritual awakenings, limiting beliefs and blockages to higher states of consciousness and fulfillment in life with her signature course the Book of Balance.
