Peoples' Perspectives: COVID-19 In Whatcom County

I’m nestled into a yoga retreat in India when the world begins shutting down. Coronavirus had just barely begun making it’s advance when the thirty of us arrived, but now it creeps further into the world each day. As tales of toilet paper stockpiling filter through from family, we laughingly applaud the “bum gun”, ubiquitous on Indian toilets. No toilet paper? No problem. The outside world feels very far away, and our main concern is how long the tea-time macaroons will last. 

So we go about our days, rising to sip sleepy chais and move our bodies together. We feast on beautiful food, pet the ginger cats that slink around the retreat, and spend entire afternoons in the sea. We grow more buoyant each day. Lighter. Closer. 

——

But by the end of the second week, there’s lockdowns in London, lockdowns in the U.S. The situation begins changing so quickly, our heads spin. Hours of peace are bookended with scrolling news stories and fielding calls from family. We hunker down, more grim faced than anyone at a yoga retreat should be. 

Then, it reaches us. The Goa airport cuts flights, and we are told one morning that India has announced a lockdown, beginning in 48 hours. There’s rumors of police patrolling the beach, and our little bubble suddenly becomes a cage very far from home. 

Chaos ensues, and we scurry to call airlines and change flights. Chais are replaced with gin and tonics, and we suck them down as the WiFi drops, calls are put on hold, and prices skyrocket. By the end, we are all exhausted, wrung out and scared, the journey home not even begun. 

But this? This is where yoga shines. This is what yoga is for, if you can merely get yourself on your mat. And the next morning, we all do. We move together one last time, tears running down our faces and hearts breaking open in the sweetest practice of our lives. 

That night, I stand alone on the beach as the waves curl blue with luminescence, a bittersweet goodbye. 

——- 

A week later in my hometown, I unfurl my mat with the dawn and surrender into child’s pose. Strangers pass, keeping their prescribed six feet of distance.  I’m alone, so very far from India and my yoga family. 

But as I rise to kneeling, snapping my eyes open to the sea, I smile.

Home.