My grandmother passed at the age of 102. She was a hard-working, resilient woman with one of the most pragmatic minds I’ve known. The youngest of nine siblings, she helped her mother care for the house, her father and her brothers in patriarchal, rural Spain in the early 1900’s.

My grandmother was the glue of the family and a great help to her daughters, my aunt and my mother, until well into her eighties. She had a sharp mind focused on productivity and problem-solving. 

In contrast, my parents and I were more idealistic; moved by the beauty of things, we were usually engaged in some creative pursuit.

My dad set up and ran interior design studios for most of his working life, and my mom was the head designer at a leading bridal firm for over forty years. 

I started painting and drawing from a very early age. I loved drawing so much, my childhood dream was to draw for Walt Disney one day! I must have showed some talent that stood out among my peers at school; my school tutor suggested to my parents to enrol me in painting classes and learn the craft properly. 

I spent the next seven years learning the nuts and bolts of plastic arts, working with different techniques, mainly charcoal and pastel drawing, oil painting and watercolors. 

Some techniques and themes appealed to me more than others. I loved strong, bold strokes and unfinished drawings of the human form, and disliked still lifes and extremely polished paintings.

Once a piece of work was finished, I brought it home to hang on the ever-growing walls of the house. 

My grandmother asked me once why I spent so much time in painting.

“I like it, granny,” was the best reason I could find.

My grandma nodded, baffled. She didn’t try to discourage me from the arts, but, by her look, I saw she didn’t see the point of doing something that had no real purpose.

In his book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert M. Pirsig divides human understanding into two types: classical understanding and romantic understanding. 

Pirsig writes, 

“A classical understanding sees the world primarily as underlying form itself. A romantic understanding sees it primarily in terms of immediate appearance.”

Romantic thinkers are fueled by inspiration, intuition, creativity and imagination. They value the outer beauty and art. Classical thinkers value systems, laws and logic. To them, the inner workings of a thing are much more important than its surface appearance.

These two paradigms reflect the artist and the engineer’s way of approaching things, right brain and left brain. Even though apparently opposite, they both involve bringing something new into the world, and , if we look carefully, we’ll realise both play a role in our Ashtanga Yoga practice.

Engineers’ driving force is solving problems, meeting tangible needs. Functionality is at the core of their work, and they use solid structures and frameworks from which to create.

Artists are inspired by appearance and have the urge to express themselves through their craft. Their motivation is subjective, and use different techniques to shape the intangible into something that can be experienced and appreciated by others.  

Both engineers and artists are creators; in the process of birthing something new, they become completely absorbed in the task at hand. Whether it is a bridge or a painting, this quality of presence and total communion with what they are doing is paramount to their work.

Likewise, our Ashtanga Yoga endeavours involve a set of rules, regulations and techniques that we must embrace; it is hard to unroll a yoga mat , bust out some shapes and have an experience similar to when we follow a more methodical way of practicing.

Like an engineer, the Ashtangi learns the structure of the Vinyasa, the technique for safe practice, the timing of inhalation and exhalation, and where to direct their gaze.

These rules and regulations are means to focus our creative efforts and limit the field of experience into bits and pieces that we can digest. Eventually, they are at the service of self-expression and the seamless flow of practice.

Hence, our primary focus should shift from the minutiae to the immediate experience as it arises. Complete absorption in the present moment provides a richer taste of Yoga than fixating on details like the hips, heels, or shoulders.

Sometimes, also, the regulations of the system may not be appropriate due to injury, exhaustion, stagnation, or changing life circumstances, and practicing by the book may not be the best option. Times like these require that we tweak small things on our mats.

For instance, in my previous post Yoga needs you! The Intuitive Ashtangi Part II, I mentioned that, to me, Primary and Advanced A series have more in common mechanically and energetically than Intermediate and Advanced series. There are days when I need some practice prior to Third series to access the body; on those days, instead of Intermediate, I start with some Primary.

Likewise, when I have time and stamina for a more intense practice, I do some Surya Namaskar, perhaps a shortened standing sequence based on how my hips are, and jump straight into Visvamitrasana, the first asana in the Advanced A sequence.

The challenge, to me, is about balancing the methodical approach of the Ashtanga Yoga system and keeping things fresh on the yoga mat – harmonizing our inner engineer and inner artist is a crucial element in a seasoned practice, more so than whether we are catching our heels or standing on our hands.

In summary, the practice of Yoga, union, involves a set of rules and regulations that support an experience of presence and deep communion with whatever we are doing. By fixating on the minutiae on how things “are” we get lost in self- righteousness. The structure becomes the priority at the detriment of the experience, and the juice of practice slips through our fingers.

Advanced Yoga is not so much about mastering techniques like catching our heels or standing on our hands, claiming to follow a particular lineage or studying with a specific teacher. Lineages, systems and techniques support daily practice and make it available to some extent. Past a point, they get in the way of the yogic experience and must be, to some extent, released. 

Learning the Ashtanga Yoga structure to support the practice of being present provides a fuller experience of mind and body in the moment. This, is at the core of an advanced practice – whether it happens in Trikonasana or Galavasana, is irrelevant.

Carmen Yague