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It goes without saying that yoga is for everyone: practice purists, the meditation minded, athletes, those after a good stretch, and many, many more. But if you were to poll any yoga class, you’re likely to find that many of the students (as well as teachers) are also seekers.
Yoga draws a curious crowd. We yearn to understand the world and our place within it, whether from the slant of spirituality or self-improvement. So it should come as no surprise that the tenets of the practice draw on concepts that are foundational in most modern self-help books.
But it did surprise me. I recently explored The Heart of Yoga: Developing a Personal Practice by T.K.V. Desikachar as assigned reading as part of my yoga teacher training. And I was immediately struck by its familiarity and accessibility.
As I pored over each page of the book, I highlighted, annotated, and steeped myself in self-help déjà vu. Purposeful presence. Intentional action. Eschewing false perceptions in favor of clear understanding. Acknowledging change as a continual state. Self-acceptance. Paying attention. The holistic nature of the human experience.
Oh. So yoga is…everything. To live life with purpose is to practice yoga. Got it.
Written in 1995, The Heart of Yoga is based on the teachings of Desikachar’s father, Sri Tirumalai Krishnamacharya, a storied yogi to whom much of contemporary yoga can be traced. Krishnamacharya’s method centers on viniyoga, a style with a vantage that allows your yoga practice—meaning the nonphysical as much as the physical—to morph and shift in response to your ever-changing individual needs.
When I worked at an independent bookstore, the self-help section constantly drew my attention as well as that of customers. The books shelved there ranged from concise how-tos to poetic musings, each offering readers direction on the circuitous road that is life. During that era, I slowly came to understand that although self-inquiry is essential, it can be overdone.
Self-help books are seldom succinct. More often, they take a core idea and break it down into tiny, fractal parts, illustrating how insidious negative thoughts and patterns can be in the way we live (and, of course, how to change them).
What strikes me about The Heart of Yoga, and yoga in general, is its simplicity. Concepts such as avidya, which is Sanskrit for “delusion” or “misperception,” are presented as basic fact. We all experience avidya—it just is. We overcome it by recognizing it, practicing self reflection, breathing, moving your body, and paying attention to your actions. Over time, this will lead to increased vidya, or “correct understanding.” It’s literally that simple.
The work of being a human is never done. But it also doesn’t have to be that hard.
Yoga encompasses the physical, mental, and spiritual realms, and its ability to touch quite literally every aspect of life is part of its appeal. Still, I continue to be surprised to learn that nearly everything in my life, from what I do to how I do it, is yoga. Every issue I’ve ever experienced, from body to cerebral to ethereal, can be addressed through a yogic lens. And all (or most) of the insights that I have sought in other works are distilled in this single 240-page book.
For the moment, I’m trading the entire self-help section of my local bookstore for The Heart of Yoga. It feels like I’ve discovered the cheat codes for a life well lived.
