23/05/2025
To all dedicated Ashtanga Yoga Shala class practitioners,
I’m revisiting a message I first shared some years ago, now updated with a few reflections.
If you've been attending class for a while, I hope you're beginning to understand where I’m coming from. At times, I may come across as strict—that’s not from ego, but from a deep respect for yoga and a sincere wish to make a difference. We can’t just call anything and everything that involves bending and twisting, and some deep breathing, yoga. So, if I make a comment in class about the ‘practice’ as I have this week, please accept it in the way that it’s intended. To make a difference. To clarify our purpose in yoga. It is never intended to hurt anyone’s feelings nor belittle their efforts.
Over the years, I’ve heard all kinds of opinions—praise and criticism alike—especially of the asana aspect of yoga practice. It’s important to listen to varied viewpoints. But once there is a ‘firmly grounded’ yoga practice in place, many doubts will be resolved, no scientific corroboration is necessary, and baseless criticism will appear for what it is.
I have heard much criticism of asana from people who don’t even practice, have never had a practice, and yet sit on high, talking as if they are above what hatha yoga has to offer. The mind-body connection and insight that arise through sustained asana practice can be profound—but only if that practice is grounded.
This week in class we reflected on sutras that explore grounded practice. I encourage you to keep contemplating them.
How to get there:
Take a moment to consider how we spend the time given to us. Some groups suggest that over a ‘typical’ life span (just under 80 years), studies suggest we spend:
• 26 years sleeping,
• 13 years working,
• 9 years watching television,
• 11 years with screen time,
• 235 days standing in queues, and
• 115 days laughing—if we're lucky
• Some will spend a considerable amount of time arguing
Where does yoga fit into this picture? Is it something we simply try to squeeze in between tasks—or can it become something we actively pursue and honour with reverence, awe, and mystery? This week in class I mentioned words like awe, mystery, and reverence. For a reason.
The composer A. R. Rahman once said that we all need some magic, inspiration, and higher ideals in life. He shared a story about a young boy who didn't even know what a PlayStation was—because his focus was entirely elsewhere. That boy, Lydian, was devoted to his music with rare dedication and undivided attention. According to Rahman, his story is really about love, and hope. There’s something we can all learn from that kind of focus.
Lydian Nadhaswaram has now grown into a young man, but his example remains powerful—a reminder of what’s possible with single-pointed attention. You don’t need to be a musical prodigy to understand his message: your focus matters. What you pursue matters. I’ve shared some links here and here, if you’re curious to know more about him.
Remember the musical metaphors we've explored in class—how the breath sets the pulse for the practice, how each posture may be tuned like an instrument (especially in the Ashtanga Vinyasa method as taught at AYS), and how deeper sentiments—like devotion and inquiry—are cultivated to guide our inner rhythm. Ashtanga Vinyasa practice offers a framework where breath, movement, devotion, and inquiry can merge into something deeper.
Don’t be fooled by memes about ‘Yoga off the mat’, either. There is yoga on and off any mat. No separation. Thinking of the implicit meaning in the word yoga. Asana and pranayama are practices, just as 'yamaniyama' in daily life, seva or service, and study (yoga practice requires study) for life.
Might we, through yoga practices, come to realise the great ocean of consciousness that we are a part of.
Until then, may we—as Rainer Maria Rilke said—
“be patient toward all that is unresolved in our hearts, and learn to love the questions themselves.” And may your yoga practice be a journey toward both presence and possibility.
Warmly,
Richard
