Whisper #9: The Sacred Behind the Scenes

My dear reader, The Whispered Letters have been quiet for a while. Not out of forgetfulness, but because I was living inside a breathtaking story I didn't want to interrupt with explanation.

And when life is lifing, you just want to savor every moment.

For the past three weeks, I assisted a 200-hour yoga teacher training at my yoga home: Vikasa.

And yes—on the outside, it looked like paradise. Cliffside shalas. Coconut skies. Bodies stretching toward the sun. A page from someone else's dream.

But behind every photo was a human.

Some came to learn. Some to remember. Some just to breathe.

Most weren't sure why they came, only that they couldn't not.

And me? I wasn't a lead teacher, I was a teacher assistant.

But I came to hold. To listen. To give what I had:

Presence. Touch. Words. Silence.

My hands on trembling backs. My breath steady when theirs wasn't. My witnessing—offered without needing to fix.

Every morning at 6AM, I laid out the mats. A quiet ritual. A sacred repetition.

Turning an empty room into a living heart pulsing with every breath.

I missed three flights trying to get there. Burned through more than I had planned. Felt frustration rise like smoke in my chest.

But something in me had to be there. To sit where I once cried. To hold the space I once needed. To become the version of me I once prayed would walk into the room.

And now that it's over… There's a void.

No group chats. No late-night tears in the hallway. No Asana labs or morning pranayama.

Just silence and the soft hum of 36 stories still echoing in me.

During one of the taught modules Making Magic ,I wrote ten poems. One for each session. Each one pulled from the room, from what wasn't said but needed to be felt.

Their titles told the story better than I ever could:

ARRIVE.

GROUND.

TRUST.

FEEL.

TOUCH.

HOLD.

SPEAK.

CELEBRATE.

LOVE.

FLY.

They'll live on in future YTT curriculums. And maybe, so will I.

And that's something I'm proud of. Not because I wrote them, but because I wrote them on a balcony each night, asking myself, "What do they need to feel after today's unraveling?"

It is humbling when I realize that my own words can be a balm to the hearts and a bridge between souls.

I came to serve—but somewhere along the way, I was served too.

To the students, if you're reading this: You broke beautifully. And you rose more honestly. You didn't run from the ache. You let paradise hold your pain. You let each other in. You formed bonds that now share a single memory. And you let me see you—not just as students, but as beautiful souls.

That's not something I'll forget. And I'm infinitely grateful to have served you.

To the teachers, if you’re reading this: Thank you for the trust. For the long dinner conversations. For the crisis that turned into breakthroughs. For sure there's no lion and there's no shoe (that's a story for another time)

And to the quiet readers, this whisper is for you too. Because even in paradise, people ache. People doubt. People cry.

You're not broken for feeling lost in a place that looks perfect. or in a job that pays well but doesn't feed your soul.

You're not behind for falling apart before you come home to yourself.

That's the real yoga. The real sacred. The real life.

One breath, One breakdown, One honest moment at a time.

With love and stillness, Saf

P.S. I'll be sharing these ten poems in the upcoming weeks. Each one carries a piece of memory well lived.