The Long Thread of Practice
I want to talk about longevity in the Ashtanga practice and progressing through the sequences. When we start, it can seem like Ashtanga is about accumulating more: more poses, more sequences, more arcane transitions, more more more. There’s so much to learn at the beginning. This is how learning the sequence works. It's very exciting!
But when we hit limitation in strength, or flexibility, or balance (or patience, or discipline, or focus) the practice asks us to pause and work more slowly and carefully.
In the Ashtanga system, the logic of the sequence means hitting a road block physically can make progressing contraindicated. There's greater risk of injury by jumping into later poses until there's deeper understanding of what comes earlier.
I was looking through Kino MacGregor's book on the ashtanga second series and came across this:
“Do not skip the posture and move ahead. When you meet an obstacle in the Ashtanga yoga method, the practice asks you to respect that obstacle by giving it your full attention and being humble enough to listen to your body.”
Many of my teachers have talked about this: the steep progress and accumulation of poses in the beginning, and then: the plateau.
So if you stick with the practice for a bit, there’s a point for all of us where it becomes plateau (or even sometimes also decline, due to injury or overuse or lack of attention).
And, honestly, the plateau is where the real work starts.
Because it’s less exciting, less novel, less superficially rewarding. Can you maintain the work when the treat of new poses you were used to in the beginning become less frequent? Can you just show up every practice, every day, and do the same work?
I see many smart, talented, driven students lose interest at this point.
I think especially for folks who are maybe a little type A and goal-oriented, and used to their ability to easily master a thing, having to pause and stop accumulating more poses is emotionally, psychologically, even spiritually challenging. It means slowing down, doing less, getting quiet. It’s different work.
(And to be honest here, there’s still plenty of work for everyone even without ever going further in the series. We can all work more on refining the familiar transitions, deepening our connection to the breath as we move, focusing our attention more fully in the poses we struggle with.)
For me, the discipline of a familiar practice feels safe. And I’ve seen in my own practice just working toward a pose or transition that seems completely absurdly difficult and outside my ability, without the expectation of ever progressing in it, has a kind of freedom.
It’s more playful and less driven. It means I’m less identified with what poses I can do today, and happier with the practice as a whole. Less can be more.