To know is to discover, and in this world the discovery of one’s own self, beneath the noise of our own expectations and the voices of others, is often the most challenging search we undertake. For me, Ashtanga emerged as a quiet, but unwavering, beacon of hope in finding equanimity in action (“active equanimity?”). Not a grand spiritual revelation, nor a sudden transformation, but a steady experience that guided me back to myself. Interestingly, I did not arrive at this practice seeking enlightenment. I simply showed up, every day I physically could, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes eagerly, sometimes with nothing left to give except a desire not to be absent. Over time, that simple act of returning to the mat became a mechanism to better understand myself, so I can optimally recalibrate myself to succeed in life, whatever that might mean. Even though the moon, our moon – i.e. if you’re reading from earth, has gone around our planet about thirty times since I first arrived in the Shala, I can’t say that I have become an expert in any aspect of the practice. But I have noticed a shift in my questions – I was expecting to ask myself why I practice, as if I needed a philosophical justification for the time and effort, yet that question never truly surfaced. Instead, I found myself asking a more practical one: why did I not make it to the Shala today? That small, almost mundane question revealed – that I was no longer caught up in the abstract and was focused on minimising executional failures, minimising temporary perturbations of my mind from getting in the way of doing what needs to be done. On days I skipped practice, the discomfort came not from guilt, but from knowing I had stepped away from an opportunity to steady, clarify, and recalibrate myself.

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I am still quite a beginner, still working, sometimes awkwardly and with visible frustration, to find space in Marichyasana D to get the bind without assistance. There is no illusion of mastery of anything in my mind, not even Suryanamaskar A, and that’s ok. Because I understand Ashtanga to emphasise consistency in practice, come what may. The value I have drawn from the practice comes the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual experience of repeating the sequence of asanas on the mat, which almost always mirrors my internal life. There are moments of resistance, moments of flow, and long stretches of persistence where nothing appears to be changing, though something quietly is. I’m particularly struck with the realisation of how often we wrestle with the tension between doing too much and doing too little. In life as in practice, there is a constant pull: between patience and laziness, and expedience and impatience. Ashtanga, the authentic Mysore style, offers me a benchmark that does not shift with mood, ambition, or insecurity. The sequence is simply there. It is known. It is tested. It does not demand perfection in output, only consistency in effort. It only asks for presence. In following this fixed structure, I found relief from the endless internal calculation of my effort. I no longer spend energy deciding what is enough. I simply commit to showing up whenever I physically can and participating in the journey exactly as I am that day.

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I remember when I first entered the Shala in Cape Town, the room was quiet, yet alive. I was struck by the settled focus of the experienced practitioners I was fortunate to share space with, their calm energy hinted at the equanimity I sought. They seemed like superhumans, I wanted to be like them. Then came the realisation that the teacher wasn’t instructing in the conventional sense, they were guiding, observing, adjusting – perhaps mentoring, but the responsibility to progress remained with me. The practice was something I had to uncover through experience, not by being told what to do. This realisation felt empowering, as it reminded me that self-knowledge cannot be handed over, it must be lived into, i.e. discovered. I feel this approach also aligns with the principles of Karma Yoga, where the value lies in the action itself, not the outcome. Here, the action was to attempt recalibration of my mind, body and soul, in the direction of my life’s purpose. I also cannot help but draw parallels with Vipassana meditation – where awareness is cultivated through stillness of the body, whilst observing tendencies of the mind. Ashtanga, however, channels awareness through movement of the body, whilst seeking stillness in the mind, where the breath becomes the teacher, the body the text, and the mat the mirror. I learnt to witness myself as I am, rather than who I imagine myself to be. In time, I have found the practice to shift something deeper. The question “Am I doing enough?” no longer dominates my internal dialogue. The sequence defines what is enough. My role is to meet it, fully or imperfectly, without avoidance. That simplicity feels profoundly liberating, as it allows me to walk out of practice feeling more aligned with my intentions for life beyond the Shala. I would not claim that Ashtanga transforms one overnight, the transformation is subtle, almost invisible, and yet quite real. The mat asks for honesty, and honesty, when met, reshapes the self. I am grateful for that. I am grateful to have found a path doesn’t just give me answers, but a way to return to myself and discover those answers myself.

 

I hope this humble beginner’s honest reflection empowers those considering to start learning Ashtanga, to give it a go, without any hesitation. And I am sure my Shala’s more experienced and accomplished practitioners would be eager to share their reflections too.