Somehow my resistance melts away and I fall into the arms of the practice, of the lineage ... all of it. I embrace the complexity of the Tibetan system. I imagine how practising it will lead me into dusty and far-flung rooms where I will lever open windows to discover a view of rolling lawns.

The thing about the times when it’s like this – when I’m in love with the path and undoubting – is that there’s really nothing to say. The ‘just is-ness’ of it becomes transparent: the condition that is always present and therefore requires no comment, no explication. Perhaps it really is always present underneath the doubt and resistance. I’m not sure. In this kind of space, I feel no conflict between the teachings of hatha yoga and vajrayana, between atman and no-self. At the ultimate destination all things are equal and insubmissible to conceptualisation in words. It doesn't matter to me what other people (even highly realised ones) say about sticking to just one path. I surrender to whatever teachings arrive, from whichever source. And in surrendering I feel (paradoxically, but it always works this way) a fundamental trust in my own judgement, a certainty that the path I'm walking and the way I'm walking is – and will be – just the way it needs to be.