Lyrics

Om…
Before the sun had found the garden,
we were already learning how to listen.

Bare feet crossing morning stone,
half-awake beneath the palms,
water, silence, clearing sleep,
then voices rising into Om.

Strangers gathered in a circle,
different stories, different homes,
some came here to learn to teach —
some came here to meet their own.

And somewhere between breath and movement,
between the effort and release,
I started hearing something softer
under everything I thought I’d need.

Maybe transformation
doesn’t always make a sound.
Maybe it begins the moment
you stop running from the ground.

Renewal, transformation, belonging
not somewhere else, but where we are.

We came with names and expectations,
laid them quietly beside the mat.

Learning how to hold a space,
learning how to let it hold us too.

On and beyond the mat,
I am meeting life anew.

House of Om,
House of Om
somewhere in the practice
I came closer to my own.

Sthira in the way I rooted,
sukha in the way I breathed,
finding strength without the armour,
finding softness without leaving me.

Jnana asking better questions,
karma teaching hands to serve,
dhyana showing me that silence
isn’t something I must earn.

We learned anatomy and alignment,
but underneath the bones and breath,
something older kept reminding us:

you can know the shape
and miss the depth.

So teach with purpose.
Move with care.

Let another human know
that they are welcome there.

Not perfection.
Not performance.

Just enough presence
to make room for someone else.

Renewal, transformation, belonging
not somewhere else, but where we are.

We came with names and expectations,
laid them quietly beside the mat.

Learning how to hold a space,
learning how to let it hold us too.

On and beyond the mat,
I am meeting life anew.

House of Om,
House of Om —
somewhere in the practice
I came closer to my own.

Seen.
Supported.
Inspired.

Three words sound different
when you’ve lived them side by side.

A room full of voices,
one breath before we move.

A hundred ways of being human,
nothing here to prove.

Lokāḥ samastāḥ sukhino bhavantu

may what we learn here
become more than what we know.

May the practice leave the shala.
May the kindness travel home.

And when these mornings turn to memory,
when these mats are rolled away,
let me keep the way we listened,
not just everything they taught us here.

Let the teacher I become
remember first how to be taught.

Let the knowledge become wisdom.
Let the practice become heart.

Renewal, transformation, belonging
now I know they’re verbs, not destinations.

Every breath becoming practice,
every meeting an invitation.

To hold a space with open hands,
to see the person standing there.

On and beyond the mat,
take the practice everywhere.

House of Om,
House of Om

we arrived from different places,
now this place lives where we go.

House of Om…

Om śāntiḥ, śāntiḥ, śāntiḥ.

Not the ending.

Just the practice
leaving home.