During summer

In May, a good friend of mine persuaded me to join Ashtanga classes at a yoga studio in my neighborhood. I’m always open to trying new things, and since I was starting to feel a bit tired of my usual Pilates and fitness courses, I decided to give it a try. I can’t recall every detail from that first day — only two moments have stayed vividly in my memory.

When I entered the studio, I was immediately struck by a sense of calm. It reminded me of my old music lessons, where I could completely escape from reality and feel deeply at peace. There was a soft, continuous sound — like ocean waves or wind — something familiar but unrecognizable. I imagined it must have come from some kind of advanced air system or ionizers keeping the atmosphere clean. My imagination was running wild.

Then I realized: it was the sound of breathing. The collective breath of the practitioners created this soothing rhythm that filled the room. I couldn’t believe it at first — how could simple breathing produce such a powerful, meditative sound?

The second moment I remember was when the teacher approached me. She sat down beside me and gently began to show me how to breathe. Then, one by one, she guided me through the first asanas. I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but I allowed myself to simply experience it — without expectations, without control.

During my next visits to the shala, I focused on memorizing the sequence of asanas. That was not easy. After each class, I watched old videos of Pattabhi Jois, trying to predict what came next in the sequence. It was like traveling in the past...

But something had already changed. From the very first moment, I realized that something unique was happening in that room. In the early sessions, I often felt light-headed — probably because my breathing was still unsteady — but afterward, I would always leave with a profound sense of calm, as if I had been completely reset. It felt cleansing, soothing, almost addictive.

When summer arrived, I had to pause my classes and leave for the island. I already missed it. I tried to practice on my own, repeating the few asanas I had learned, trying to keep the rhythm and not lose what I have learned. One of my teachers kindly prepared a document for me with the sequence — it became my constant companion during the holidays. Almost every day, I practiced for 45 minutes, breathing deeply, moving through the poses, and feeling the same quiet joy.

I loved it. But I kept wondering — why? It’s so repetitive, and yet there’s something profoundly unique about it…