06/18/2026
It's time to talk about something a little uncomfortable.
The reinterpretation and commodification of yoga in the US has reduced it to a workout. Most of what passes for yoga in the US is asana, one limb of eight, with some pseudo-spirituality sprinkled on top. Most of us, teachers included, inherited that version and never question it.
That's avidyā.
Patanjali names it first in Yoga Sutra 2.4: avidyā kṣetram uttareṣāṁ. The first of the five kleshas, avidyā, is the field in which the other causes of suffering sprout.
Patanjali goes on to describe it in Sutra 2.5 as mistaking the impermanent for the permanent, the impure for the pure, pain for pleasure, and the non-self for the true Self.
What does Patanjali hardly mention? Asana. There is only one sentence in the sutras that addresses the physical practice. Sthira sukham āsanam — find a steady, comfortable seat. That's essentially it. In our avidyā, we have mistaken the map for the destination.
Now, avidyā isn't necessarily ill intent; it's a misperception so deep that it bleeds into everything else.
On two separate occasions this week, teachers have mentioned to me their discomfort with chanting in their classes. Both felt their students would resist, seeing it as "too weird" or "religious." In these cases, those attending your practice aren't students; they're customers. And if we aren't teaching full yoga, we are not yoga teachers; we are service providers. This may be why we find it acceptable to have pop music playlists that don't align with the yamas and niyamas in themes, and yoga practices that feature alcohol: having attendees has taken precedence over transmitting knowledge.
Here in the US, we've kept the commercialized aesthetic and dropped the substance of yoga. We've made it comfortable in all the wrong ways.
We sequence, and we cue. We curate playlists, we build brands, we make pretty posts, and we work to fill classes — leaving out anything "too out there" — and then wonder why the practice isn't actually changing our lives.
Avidyā is the soil in which everything else grows. When you don't see clearly, you start thinking you're a separate, solid, permanent "me." Once you believe in that "me," you want things that make it feel good. You push away things that threaten it. And underneath all of it, you're terrified it will end.
The tradition we're supposed to be teaching is the antidote for the suffering of yoga teachers, but we have yet to become students ourselves — and therefore end up suffering, and worse, transmitting avidyā to everyone in the room.
This is the truth, and it is also the greatest invitation.
This is why lineage matters. This is why we study.
Hari Om 🙏
