An epiphany

I had an epiphany in my early thirties during an active meditation at the Osho commune in Poona, India, when a profound new love for my body opened up.

My body’s new limitations demanded attention. Constant companion was Teman, my new walking stick, which made all the difference in managing the rigours of travelling for ten months in Southeast Asia and living in India. At the time, I was being confronted by an increasing difficulty in walking, standing and dancing, especially long enough to last the thirty minutes of the shaking and dancing stages of Kundalini meditation. While in my early twenties, I was able to dance for several hours, but now, thirty minutes was too long. It was becoming painful in my hips, thighs and back, and more of my attention went to the discomfort than letting go into the music. Once I reached the next two stages of sitting and lying down, it was more about relief for my poor legs and hips, and observing the easing of the pain.

I didn’t want to miss out because I loved Kundalini meditation, so I stubbornly persisted. It was a gentle, active meditation, and it worked for me. The shaking was a release of tension and stress, and along with the dancing, it brought me out of my thoughts and into the awareness of my body.

After a few days of struggling with this new development, one afternoon during the shaking, I couldn’t stand the pain anymore, thinking it was ridiculous to be creating this suffering. I told myself, For God’s sake, sit down, woman! I stayed still on the plastic chair for a few minutes with my eyes closed, observing the pain settle, and drawing in deep breaths, as people around me continued their silent shaking. The evocative music was calling, and I had a strong desire to continue. I wondered if I could shake while sitting, so I experimented with shaking whatever parts I could: my arms, legs and feet and my head a little. It wasn’t the same; it was a bit clunky, but it was okay. I could feel it release tension and help me become grounded in my body.

The aching eased, so I stood up again and continued, and then, when it became uncomfortable, and I’d reached my new threshold of what was acceptable, I sat down again, shaking as before. When the dancing stage came, I continued standing and sitting, swaying, moving my arms, hands and upper body in the chair, then standing and then sitting again. It felt like compromising the technique, but what a relief to not have the discomfort. It felt important to be respectful and listen to my body. Though I missed shaking and dancing with all of my body, the quality of my meditation improved because I wasn’t as consumed by the aches, and I could relax. That became my new way of doing Kundalini meditation; the Queen of Adaptation strikes again.

New limitations didn’t mean I had to miss out. I became accustomed to the new version and explored ways of being as total sitting down as I had standing up. While I felt a keen sense of loss at not being able to dance as I had, especially surrounded by so many who were effortlessly moving, after a while, to my surprise, there was no sense of loss when meditating. In fact, I had an epiphany.

One afternoon during the dancing stage, after a month at the ashram, something miraculous happened.

I was sitting, eyes closed, moving my arms and hands and swaying to the music, with absolute awareness of each movement. I discovered that I could just move my hands in small, graceful motions, floating here and there, twisting this way and that, softly, lightly, and it felt like the most wondrous of things, the most beautiful of things. I felt the beauty of my body. My arms and hands became the dance. In something so simple, I experienced vastness. My body moved as an expression of Existence. It was the embodiment of Existence. I felt the exquisiteness of physically expressing my deepest self in a sacred space with many others. It was a revelation that I could feel so much from simply moving my hands and fingers to the music.

Then a great love for myself and my body flooded over me, I felt like a child of Existence. My body was perfect, just as it was. All of me felt beautiful; my skin, hands, my arms and fingers, and my movements expressed that beauty. On that level, there was no loss from not being able to dance; I felt whole and complete.

That experience changed me forever, and a sweet, exquisite love for my body emerged. It was so liberating to feel that beauty. I realised I didn’t have to be able to move like everyone else. That epiphany was a culmination of eight years, including meditation, therapy, bodywork, dance and being in the Osho ashram for a month, and it awoke this deep, tender love for my body and myself that has stayed with me since.

The irony was that in adapting to the loss of being unable to dance, I found a great treasure. I also realised it was important for me to cultivate grace, by dancing in a chair, swimming, doing hydrotherapy and hydro-dancing, which I continue to this day, because most of the time, I don’t feel like I am flowing physically. Those times supported me in loving my body and topping up my wellbeing tank. Whatever our physical capacity, almost all of us can move to music. Even if it is only a finger, we can dance.

That’s not to say I didn’t grieve not being able to dance anymore, especially when watching others have a wonderful time, moving freely for hours. Dancing had become important, especially when shared with friends, but discovering that I could still enjoy its delights while sitting helped with my journey of acceptance. I reached the point of feeling as happy while totally dancing in a chair as I had ever felt on my feet.

In a wonderful twist, for twenty years, I channelled my love of dancing into creating an ultimate experience for others. It wasn’t like I thought, Damn I can no longer dance, perhaps it’s finally time to say yes to my desire to try DJing, but as it turned out, I had the chance a few months after returning from my travels, and I loved it from the first time, with the happy, pumping dancefloor (that story is told in Creativity, Passion and Work). After a few years of creating the space for thousands of others to feel the joy of moving to music at Zorbas Dance Club, my grief melted away.

Reviews

• On Osho News (by Sudhir): Little Body, Huge Life
• On ABC (by Julia Baird): Little body, huge life: How Suchita Smith has learnt to dance her way through disability

Little Body, Huge Life
Finding Freedom in Any Body
by Suchita Vanessa Smith
littlebodyhugelife.wordpress.com – facebook.com/LittleBodyHugeLife
Kindle and paperback
Castle Mount Media GmbH, February 2026, 274 pages
ISBN-13: 978-3948615444
ASIN: ‎B0GPQB52HH
Booktopia.com.au
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