The Yoga the West Forgot
There was an evening in Rishikesh when Guru Devendra asked me a question that completely changed my practice.
We were sitting by the Ganges after class. Most students had gone for chai, but I stayed, watching the river catch the last light.
He settled beside me on the stone steps.
"Tell me about yoga in Spain," he said.
I described the studios in Barcelona. The flow classes. The handstands. The beautiful spaces with their Buddha statues and Sanskrit quotes on the walls.
He listened carefully. Then, so gently: "That is one limb. What of the other seven?"
I stared at him.
Other seven?
I'd been practicing yoga for five years, I'd been practicing one-eighth of yoga for five years.
The Eight Limbs Most Studios Never Teach
Guru Devendra introduced me to Patanjali's Yoga Sutras - an ancient text that maps the complete path of yoga.
Not yoga as exercise. Yoga as a system for living.
The text describes eight limbs. Asana (the physical postures) is just the third.
Here's what I'd been missing:
1. Yama - Ethical restraints
(Ahimsa - non-harming, Satya - truthfulness, Asteya - non-stealing, Brahmacharya - wise energy use, Aparigraha - non-possessiveness)
2. Niyama - Personal observances
(Saucha - purity, Santosha - contentment, Tapas - disciplined effort, Svadhyaya - self-study, Ishvara pranidhana - surrender)
3. Asana - Physical postures
This is what most Western classes focus on
4. Pranayama - Breath control
5. Pratyahara - Withdrawal of senses
6. Dharana - Concentration
7. Dhyana - Meditation
8. Samadhi - Absorption/union
Sitting on those stone steps, I realized I'd been building a house starting with the roof.
How the West Changed Yoga
Yoga came to the West in the early 20th century. But something happened in translation.
Western culture was obsessed with fitness. Yoga's physical aspects were concrete, teachable, marketable.
The ethical foundations? Harder to sell.
In Barcelona, my studios offered "Power Yoga" and "Flow." Sixty-minute classes, mostly asana. Brief meditation. Philosophy mentioned in passing, if at all.
Nobody talked about ahimsa - about how practicing non-harm toward your body means actually listening to it.
Nobody discussed satya - being truthful about what your body can do versus what you're forcing it to do.
I'm not saying Western yoga is wrong. It brought yoga to millions. The physical practice opened the door for me too.
But something got lost.
"We kept the Instagram. We lost the inquiry."
Four Weeks in Rishikesh
The ashram schedule began before dawn.
But asana practice didn't start until we'd spent an hour discussing philosophy.
Week 1: The Yamas
Ahimsa - non-harming - came first.
Not just toward others. Toward ourselves.
Every forceful adjustment I'd received in Western classes violated this. Every time I pushed past pain thinking "no pain, no gain," I practiced harm, not yoga.
Guru Devendra said: "Ahimsa means asking - am I honoring my body, or trying to conquer it?"
I thought about every class where I'd competed with the person on the next mat.
Satya - truthfulness - meant being honest about my actual capacity. Not the pose I wished I could do. The one my body could sustain.
Week 2: The Niyamas
Santosha - contentment - was harder than any arm balance.
Could I be content with my practice exactly as it was?
Could I find discipline as something sacred (more on this - read about my morning practice)?
Svadhyaya - self-study - wasn't just reading philosophy. It was honest examination of my patterns.
Why did I practice? What was I trying to prove?
Week 3: Everything Shifted
When we finally emphasized asana, the poses were the same.
But I moved differently.
Each movement became a question: Am I honoring ahimsa? Am I practicing satya? Can I find santosha in this breath?
"The poses were the same. Everything was different."
My friend Ananya explained: "For us, asana prepares the body for meditation. For the West, meditation is the cool-down after workout."
She wasn't being critical. Just observant.
Both paths can lead somewhere. But they start from different places.
Back in Gothenburg
I worried the learning would fade when I got back to Sweden.
Some days, it does.
But most mornings now, before I step on my mat, I pause.
I check in:
Ahimsa - Am I being kind to my body today?
Satya - What is truthfully accessible right now?
Santosha - Can I be content with where I am?
My running along the GΓΆta River became pranayama practice. My journal is svadhyaya.
When I catch myself comparing my practice to others on Instagram, I recognize it - aparigraha, the grasping.
The eight limbs weave through everything.
Sara, my Swedish teacher, asked what I learned in India.
"That I'd been missing seven-eighths."
"And now?"
"Now I'm practicing all eight. Badly, but wholly."
I'm not suddenly enlightened. I still get competitive. I still judge my worth by my flexibility some days.
But now I notice. I recognize when ego enters, and I can choose differently.
The Invitation
Your asana practice is valid.
The physical gateway is real. For many of us, it's the only way we would have found yoga.
But there's more available.
The ethical foundations don't make practice harder. They make it deeper.
Ahimsa transforms how you approach every pose.
Satya changes what "progress" means.
Santosha lets you stop chasing and start inhabiting.
The eight limbs aren't ancient rules to follow rigidly.
They're an invitation to fuller practice.
Yoga can be exercise. That's powerful.
Or yoga can be transformation.
"The body is the doorway, not the destination."
I still practice the same sequences from Barcelona. Downward dog. Warrior. Triangle.
But now each pose asks questions:
Am I practicing harm or healing?
Achievement or awareness?
Grasping or contentment?
Same poses. Different yoga.
What's your experience with yoga beyond the physical practice? Have you explored the yamas and niyamas?
I'd love to hear your thoughts.
