like a flower
like a flower
MY YEARS OF YOGA WITH VANDA SCARAVELLI
Sandra Sabatini
with photographs by
Dr. David Darom
translated by
Ann Colcord
Like a Flower: My Years of Yoga with Vanda Scaravelli
First published in Great Britain by Pinter & Martin Ltd 2011
Copyright Sandra Sabatini 2011
Translation Ann Colcord 2011
Colour photography Dr. David Darom
ISBN 978-1-905177-29-5
Sandra Sabatini has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade and otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
Printed by Tien Wah Press Ltd, Singapore
Pinter & Martin Ltd
6 Effra Parade
London SW2 1PS
www.pinterandmartin.com
To all my travelling companions
contents
infinity
This lonely hill was ever dear to me
And this green hedge, that hides so large a part
Of the remote horizon from my view.
But as I sit and gaze, my mind conceives
Unending spaces, silences unearthly,
And deepest peace, wherein the heart almost
Draws nigh to fear. And as I hear the wind
Rustling among the branches, I compare
That everlasting silence with this sound:
Eternity is mine, and all past ages,
And this age living still, with all its noise.
So in immensity my thought is drowned,
And sweet it is to founder in this sea.
Giacomo Leopardi
LInfinito from I Canti 1819-20
translated by Iris Origo
preface
M y years of yoga with Vanda are wrapped in a gleam of light, like childhood memories and other special events, so that the memories remain untouched by the passing of time.
For many years I barely spoke about them with my students unless certain memories could add insights to the yoga practice. If that was the case I would extract a few of them from their protective bubble and later replace them very carefully.
I hope to enter that world of memories with great respect and love for those special years of studying with Vanda and at the end seal it up again, so it can go on glowing with that special luminosity for many years to come.
meeting vanda
I had heard of Vanda and her house from people who had been invited to her Sunday lunches. On these occasions, she used to gather friends and artists and open her house to them. The house was situated a few kilometres outside Florence on the hill of Fiesole. It was surrounded by tall trees and overlooked the beautiful valley of Mugnone.
When I was first invited to her house, it was to celebrate my yoga teacher Dona Hollemans birthday, and on that special occasion Dona brought some of her students along.
At the time, Vanda was around 70 years old, a small woman with wonderful hands, very vivid eyes and white hair. From that visit, I learned that her remarks were always sharp, short and cleverly to the point. She did not enjoy long sentences or long conversations. It felt like she was very happy to offer her friends and guests the chance of meeting and she was very keen to provide time, food and beautiful surroundings. But she would never sit at the table for more than two minutes and often when you wished to talk to her she was nowhere to be found. Not in her house, not in the garden. To this day I wonder where she disappeared. And yet the few words you exchanged with her were like nectar, condensed. Intensity in its purest form.
At lunch, almost like magic, the doors to the dining room were opened. The table, almost three metres long, was laid with delicious food: lasagne, risotto, naked gnocchi, fresh eggs, salads and the most incredible variety of vegetables straight from the garden. Paola, the cook, had an extraordinary ability to present vegetables in so many different ways.
I think I saw Vanda several times like this at a distance and I was curious about the people who were coming and going with such nonchalance. Vanda once asked me about yoga and I told her I liked going to Donas classes at a centre in via Ricasoli, and at the beginning I had signed up for one lesson a week, then two, then three, and now I was going to every course I could. Dona had then asked me to join a morning class with a group of advanced pupils who intended to become teachers one day that I was very happy to join.
As Donas students we only visited Vanda occasionally, but Dona was having regular classes with Vanda, and I was struck by the fresh approach I glimpsed in her teaching.
When my daughter Chiara was born, and Michele three years later, I told Vanda about the birth at home, and how the yoga and breathing had not only been a great help, but a source of remarkable discoveries for me.
After their births, my body began to require a more subtle and attentive practice, and I felt that all the positions I had enjoyed before had lost their appeal, and I needed something different. My body refused to do complicated positions, but even in simple ones I found myself unnecessarily rigid. I felt more fragmented now than at the very beginning of my yoga practice, when my body was required to follow rules it refused to obey. I was waking up in the morning and finding that the moment I decided to move to my yoga mat my body was becoming painfully stiff. A high fever would follow this alarming state of stiffness, which indicated that something was very wrong.
I telephoned to say that I was at a crossroads. There had been frequent talk about going to India to study and acquire a diploma that would permit teaching in Europe.
Vanda suggested we meet in Florence and as soon as I sat on the sofa next to her I burst into tears. I didnt want to leave my three children and go to India to get a diploma. The only thing I knew for certain was that I needed a competent guide to help me out of all this confusion.
Tears kept flowing and Vanda kept handing me more tissues and then told me to go home and rest. I was puzzled and looked at her for a short time, and then she embraced me and literally shoved me out of the door. I was agitated and confused. I had three little children and a great love for yoga, but I didnt know how I could possibly choose between them.
Two days later Vanda telephoned to ask me to meet her at Fiesole. She said something very simple to me like Vieni which was neither a question nor an invitation. It was something completely unexpected which left me with the feeling of vast space as if I had been carried up to an improbable height. I believe I mumbled something like When? and Yes, Id be happy to. Probably no complete sentence was uttered that day.
