In April 2013 I was fortunate to spend a week in Philly to attend a second series intensive with David Garrigues. I was without my amazing husband, my precious child, or either of my two crazy dogs, and immersed wholly in daily mysore practice and study in the most humid, intense, charged environment — in other words, I was in ashtanga heaven.

As we sweated each day closer towards Friday, I learned I had a choice whether to attend an early morning led primary or a slightly later led second series. After much internal wrestling I opted for the latter– even though I’d barely done more than get my feet wet with second (this is another story entirely)–but I grabbed the opportunity to come early and observe the led primary (when someone great lets you watch what they do, you take it).

Boy am I glad I did.

I sat down on the side of the room and set up my phone to record. Notebook in hand, I sat ready to write down everything David did-every adjustment, every barked “No,” every placement of each hand.

Except he didn’t do anything.

“he’s just watching from the front for the 1st 3 surya A.”

“Surya B- still just watching.”

Ok, well, he didn’t do nothing. He stood there and counted in Sanskrit.

Ekam inhale.

dwe exhale.

trini head up.

And of course, he did move, eventually: he grabbed a foot in utthita hasta padangusthasana– “Finally” I scribbled furiously into my notebook; he grabbed blocks to help someone in pashimattanasana; he shared a few very quiet teachings to some of his students; these were barely-there conversations, including one encouraging a newer student who was a bit off his rhythm to stay with him: “it will improve it you will see.”

The students in class also surprised me. They were mostly his regular students, many of whom did not complete all the postures of primary; I gleaned from their movements that each stopped at his or her personal final posture as one would in mysore practice, though they all completed the closing. Even with this variation in the movement of the class they “still keep the rhthym and move fluidly” I scrawled in my notebook, like a choreographed dance.

DG stood like a conductor — one hand raised — calling out Sanskrit commands to do nothing more than breathe, providing minimal alignment and the scantest of English cues; he whittled down his movements almost as much as his students were trying to whittle down theirs to meet the bare beauty prescribed by primary. This was in stark contrast to the man I’d seen in the mysore room earlier that week– the one who loped the surface of the wood floor, calling to each of us from across the room: “No!” or “Again” And occasionally, if you were lucky, “Super!” or “Correct”; the teacher who physically altered my chatturanga with his hands and helped me grab my own ankles and peppered his teaching with other-worldly sound effects; the person who made me circle back and re-do my last group of postures even though I’d already moved on to final backbends. This teacher — the peripatetic energy in front, behind, in between and all over our practices days earlier– now stood in the full glory of his characteristic perfect posture and scarcely moved.

If practicing ashtanga reminds me of creativity by subtraction, this was teaching by subtraction– it was as if his leading of primary matched the distilled clarity of the practice of the led primary series itself; or, rather, embodied more closely the ideal tunnel to what the practice of primary could be.

Since that day I’ve practiced to this primary more times than I can count. Many days when I practice or think about teaching yoga, or about all the social media of yoga, I get lost in all the whirling noise. There are trainings and workshops and photos and classes galore — and I am part of that on some small level. I often wonder if I am doing this right and whether I am doing enough just by showing up here on my mat by myself.

“He’s holding the energy of the entire room”

“He’s giving them so much by doing so little”

This primary series reminds me what that day with DG taught me about ashtanga and about truly great teaching and great student-ing (is there any difference?). As a student of ashtanga, and as a teacher of yoga, both–sometimes, less is more.