You don’t need to know Ashtanga before you come.
You learn it here.
Slowly.
The practice is learned one piece at a time.
You begin with the breath and a small part of the sequence. You learn where to look, how to move in and out of a posture, and gradually how to remember what comes next.
At the beginning, that may be very little.
A few sun salutations.
Some standing postures.
A closing sequence.
Enough to remember and to begin.
Then you come back.
We repeat.
I watch and will help when help is needed. We change something when it doesn’t work for your body. And when what you already have becomes steady, something new may be added.
There is no class to keep up with.
Someone beside you may have practised for twenty years. Someone else may have started last Tuesday.
It doesn’t matter.
Your practice begins with you.
Over time, something quite beautiful happens.
You need me less.
You remember what comes next. You begin to know your own breath, your own body, your own rhythms.
You notice when you are pushing too hard.
And when you are giving up too quickly.
You learn when to continue.
When to stop and when to try again.
And when something needs another way.
Of course, we work with postures.
With strength, mobility, technique and alignment where they are useful.
But learning Ashtanga is not the same as collecting increasingly difficult shapes.
A new posture is not a promotion.
And being asked to wait is not a punishment.
Sometimes I will teach you something new.
Sometimes I will ask you to stay exactly where you are.
And sometimes I will ask you to do less.
That can be harder than doing more.
Bodies change.
Life changes.
Injury, age, pregnancy, menstruation, exhaustion, stress … all of these may change the practice.
They are not interruptions to learning how to practise.
They are part of it.
There are no phones in the practice room.
No filming.
You don’t need to perform your practice for anybody.
You need your attention.
And little by little, the sequence you once had to think your way through becomes familiar.
The room becomes familiar.
The practice becomes familiar.
Until one day you realise that you are no longer waiting for someone to tell you what to do.
You know how to begin.
You know how to continue.
And, perhaps most importantly, you are learning how to listen.
Because that is what I hope you learn here.
Not simply a sequence of yoga postures.
How to practise Ashtanga Yoga.