How we teach something must depend on why we teach it, which depends in turn on why we do it. The definitive text on yoga tells us that “yoga is the cessation of the movement of the mind.” That is, the goal of yoga is not physical but mental; the goal is a kind of clarity of mind. The practice of the postures helps achieve this by demanding complete focus on the present moment. If the mind drifts to past or future, memory or fantasy, the mental practice—the yoga—is lost. Kevin Collins reminds us: “Do not confuse the yoga pose with the yoga. The yoga pose is what; the yoga is how.” In yoga there is a notion of quality, but it is invisible. It has to do not with how closely one's poses match an ideal but with the fullness of attention one brings to the practice.
The watchword of yoga is “practice” rather than “performance.” In yoga there is no idea of perfection. Marianne Linn reminds us: the goal is the path, and the path is the practice. The practice itself is the goal. This may sound absurd, circular, or pointless but can be understood directly and without the impediment of language at the end of every practice, in the pose called savasana. “Asana” means “seat” or “pose” in Sanskrit, and the names of most yoga poses include this term. “Sava” means “corpse,” so the translation of “savasana” is “corpse pose.” In this pose the practitioner lies on her back and relaxes completely, with eyes closed and palms facing up. The attention is brought to “rest” on the breath, while conscious control of the breath, the foundation of the physical practice, is released. Aphorisms about savasana abound in yoga culture: “savasana is the first pose of your next yoga practice”; “savasana is the most difficult pose in yoga, because when it is done correctly, the mind does not move”; “savasana is the purpose of the practice.” One interpretation of this last aphorism is that the feeling one experiences in savasana is the gateway—literally, the psychosomatic mechanism—by which clarity of mind is achieved. Yoga in general, and savasana in particular, is a practice by which, to appropriate the words of Natalie Goldberg, we can penetrate our own lives and become sane. Put simply, yoga is therapy. This may sound unlikely, but it is self-evident to the regular practitioner.
Thus the apparent physical benefits of yoga—strength, flexibility, overall fitness—are secondary to another invisible effect of the practice, which is that the regular practitioner comes to feel at home in her own body. That is, yoga is simultaneously psychologically and physically therapeutic. Or, to put it more radically, the division between body and mind is arbitrary and nonsensical and yoga is a practice involving the whole person, with effects on the whole person.
The task, then, of the yoga instructor is to create an environment in which the student can cultivate and access her own practice. The way to do this is to provide as much guidance and support as necessary, but no more, and as much challenge as appropriate, but no more. More strenuous and intricate variations are to be offered incrementally, with patience, support, and detailed instruction for the adventurous, and the reminder that “the yoga pose is not the yoga” for the competitive.
I believe that any person can do yoga. I also know that doing yoga—rather than just yoga poses—is challenging for everyone, even yoga teachers. The task of the instructor is to invite the student, through the poses, into the yoga.