I still remember my very first opera.
I was young, newly living in New York City, and the woman I lived with had standing seats in the dress circle at Lincoln Center. She invited me to come along, and I had no idea what to expect.

The lights dimmed. The curtain rose. And then — the first notes.
I wept.

The beauty of it all — the swelling sound of human voices, the ornate set, the sheer magnitude of something I hadn’t even known existed — struck me like a tidal wave. To this day, I can feel the tightening in my throat when I recall that moment. My entire being remembers.

This is one of my most treasured embodied memories: the way awe and love moved through me so powerfully that decades later, my body can replay it as if it were yesterday.

The Body Holds More Than We Realize

In the yoga and somatic worlds, we often talk about how the body “stores” trauma. Our tissues, breath patterns, and nervous systems can carry the imprint of difficult experiences for years. A sudden noise, a posture, or a certain kind of touch can bring those memories back not just mentally, but physically.

But what we sometimes overlook is this: our bodies also hold joy, awe, love, and elation. They hold the memory of beauty, of connection, of the moments that opened us.

Trauma Fixes Energy

Trauma often lands in the body like a stone in a river.
In yogic terms, it can block or fix prāṇa (life force) in a particular place — a chakra, a vāyu pathway, or even within the fascia and musculature. The flow of energy stops moving freely, and the system adapts around that frozen point.

It might look like chronic tightness in the diaphragm, a guarded pelvis, or a protective rounding of the shoulders. It might feel like numbness, a sense of being “stuck,” or a looping thought that never seems to resolve.

This static quality of trauma isn’t weakness; it’s the body’s intelligent way of protecting itself. Healing is not about “getting over” it but gently reintroducing movement where things have frozen — through breath, awareness, safe touch, storytelling, and time.

Joy Moves Energy

Positive experiences, on the other hand, tend to circulate energy through the system. They lift, expand, spiral, and radiate.

Think of the fluttering in your belly when seeing someone you love after a long time, the way your chest lifts with pride after a meaningful accomplishment, or the way tears spring up during a moment of breathtaking beauty.

Yogically, these moments often awaken udāna vāyu (the upward-moving current) and vyāna vāyu (the expansive, circulating current). Somatically, they correspond with open breath, vagal tone, and spontaneous, fluid movement.

Unlike trauma, joy doesn’t usually “fix” in place; it moves through — and in doing so, it often leaves a living imprint that can be reawakened. Just like my opera memory, these embodied experiences can be recalled not just in the mind, but in the tissues.

The Work: Letting What’s Stuck Begin to Flow

When we step onto our mats, breathe deeply, or enter a healing space, we’re often doing two things at once:

• Gently inviting static, protective patterns to loosen and move, allowing the energy of old pain to flow again.

• Nourishing and amplifying the moving energies of joy, love, and awe, letting them circulate through our entire being.

This is why a simple heart opener can bring someone to tears, or why chanting can suddenly lift a heavy fog. Movement begets movement. Flow invites more flow.

As teachers, practitioners, and humans, our role isn’t to force this process — it’s to create the conditions where what has been frozen can thaw, and where joy has space to ripple through the body like sunlight through water.

Your Body Is a Living Archive

Your body is not just a container for experiences — it’s an active, intelligent archive of your life. Some memories have settled like stones. Others move like wind or water.

Both are part of you.
Both can be met with tenderness.
And both can be shaped, softened, and celebrated through mindful practice.