The First Yogi: A Story from the Beginning.

Come closer now.
Listen.
Still your mind.

I’ll tell a tale that might be true
The story of the first Yogi
The world ever knew.

Not learned from a book,
Or breathwork guide,
But from ice, 
From wind,
From wild. 

A story older than language.
A memory buried in bone.

Back when survival
was the only mantra.
Before technology.
Before tantra.

When breath
was our only given.

Breathe in. 
Let me take you back to the beginning:

Humans were wanderers then.
Nomads.
Hungry.
Hunting whatever could be found.
Bare feet on frozen ground.

One tribe moved north
- chasing something
Finding winter coming.

And it came hard.
Winds of ice 
Tore them apart

One human got separated 
from the rest.
Heart pumping in chest.
Afraid. Abandoned. Alone.

No fire.
No food.
No friend.
Sure that this was the end.

On the edge of death.
Crawling into a cave
with shallow breath,
Thinking
"If I die,
I'll die under stone”

Careful not to make too much sound,
Because empty caves
Are rarely found.

Then. Sensing presence.
Not imagined.
There was something else in there.

Eyes adjusted.
Then came fear.
The creature was a bear.
And not just a bear.
The bear. 

And then nothing happened for a while. 
The human stayed frozen.
The bear sound asleep
As if it had the power
To stop time.

Eventually, senses prickled
Curiosity tickled
The human moved closer, 
Close enough 
To feel the heat
Coming from the bear.

Survival overruled fear
The human nestled up right near

Now, slowly, something shifted
Peace took hold.
No longer feeling hungry. 
No longer cold.

Fight stopped. 
Heart slowed. 
Body softened.
Breath deepened.

In the stillness of that cave
Pressed against
The pulse of a predator, 
This human 
Surrendered every fear
And synced with something 
Timeless.

Mirroring the bears heart:
Still mind
Still breath
An ancient art.

A sacred pause, a willful state
Where life and death meet to meditate.

Through their union, human and beast
A yogi awoke, soul released.

Inside the darkness, Light within.
Two wild beings, Breathing as one. 

Not following any scriptures or handbook
No Guru telling where to look.
No clever plan. 

Just merging,
Beast and hueman.
Bare and real.

The veils of Maya 
Became so thin
A portal opened.
The human stepped in.

Experiencing source. 
Consciousness in full force.
Samadhi.

Eventually the snow stopped falling.
And something else had changed.

That human emerged 
Out of the cave -
Not just alive,
But self aware

Conscious of Consciousness

So, the next time
you bend or breathe
Remember:

The beginning

The roots of yoga
Are wild and wise
Born of union: 
Beast, hueman 
and northern skies

The choice is always:
Presence or Panic

You are part of a lineage
Not of postures
But of power. 

Of listening 
To the wild inside
Of letting go
Of fear

You don’t need a bear
All you need is fierce surrender. 

Authors note:
This was not written down by someone dead long ago.
This is a soul-song of remembrance of the wild inside.

Inspired by the pulse of yoga before it had a name,
before it was measured, named, or contained.
A voice rising from the roots, not to teach, but to awaken.

A call back to the primal, the union of nature and human, of breath and earths rhythm, of surrender and power until there is only one.

May it stir the ancient wisdom in you, and may all teachers - seen and unseen - be honored in this telling.