This past summer, I found myself in a social situation with another yoga teacher. Someone at our table was asking her about her classes, and she was testifying to their toughness: “Come to my classes and I’ll kick your ass,” she said.

She seems like a nice person, and so I chalked her response up to youth, enthusiasm, and misguided marketing. (I even wondered if I should write this, because if she sees it, I don’t want her to feel chastised. We simply have different viewpoints.)

Then last night, I took a yoga class in San Francisco. In opening the class, the teacher asked us to consider what we wanted to have happen.

“Kick my ass,” said the young woman on the mat next to me.

“Please don’t kick mine,” I replied, almost reflexively.

The teacher, who knows me, looked amused. She explained to the room that everyone comes to the mat wanting and needing a different experience. It’s important to take your own needs into consideration.

I would definitely agree, but to me there’s even more.

There’s no doubt that yoga can be an effective workout, one that will challenge your strength, flexibility, and cardiovascular capacity. But yoga is much more than a simple form of exercise, like aerobics, weightlifting, or Pilates. After all, asana, or the physical practice of yoga postures is only one type of yoga practice. (You can read about the others here.)

In the second century, Patanjali wrote the Yoga Sutra, the relatively brief document that is the seminal work that defines yoga. (Note: the Yoga Sutra has been translated many times and versions can be found online and in bookstores.)

Interestingly enough, nowhere in the Yoga Sutra does Pantanjali describe asana. It is not a book of exercises and practices in that sense, but rather a guide to life on the yogic path. He defines this path, as Ashtanga, or the Eight-Limbed Path of yoga. (Ashtanga is also the name of a school of physical yoga headed by Sri K. Pattabhi Jois.)

And, interestingly enough, most of it dovetails with basic Christian and Buddhist beliefs. It asks that practitioners use good ethical standards, get to know themselves, learn to concentrate and focus, keep a healthy body, be satisfied with a simple life, and devote themselves to God.

The first two limbs of the Eight-Limbed Path are the Yamas and the Niyamas, sometimes jokingly called the “yoga don’ts and dos”. These include ethical precepts, and the very first of the Yamas is Ahimsa, or non-violence.

So let me make my position perfectly clear: Ahimsa means no ass-kicking, not yours or that of anybody else.

Recently, my son’s science class undertook that classic environmental field project, where each child marks off a one-foot square of land and then observes it and records all of the living plants, insects, and animals in that space. They were encouraged to get to know their square, to get down close to it, to metaphorically live in it.

Your yoga mat is like that square, and on it, you get to be both the observer and the subject being observed. You get to live an entire life, metaphorically, on your mat.
And all of the principals of yoga, including Ahimsa, start right there, in your own space.

Practicing non-violence on the mat means not pushing yourself beyond your limits, not stretching yourself to the point of injury, not berating yourself for your weaknesses, and not being impatient with yourself in the learning and opening process.

In order to do this, you need to listen to your body, know yourself, bring concentration and mindfulness to your practice, stop comparing yourself to the others around you, and – yes – be willing to question a teacher who’s pushing you beyond yourself.

This doesn’t mean you can’t challenge yourself; it just means you should honor your limits.

As a student, I visit my favorite teachers to have my form corrected, to be led through an invigorating sequence, to learn new points of view, and to hear messages of inspiration that support my practice. (One of my teachers, in particular, has the uncanny ability to say exactly what I need to hear. Or maybe I’m just more receptive on the mat.) But I don’t visit to have my ass kicked. Nor do I visit to be intimidated – by the environment, by competitive energy from other students, or by the teacher.

And, as a teacher, I have a responsibility to recognize my students’ limits and limitations, respect their emotions, and make physical adjustments judiciously and kindly. I can lead my students to stretch their boundaries without pushing them into a place of physical or emotional risk.

My students know that one of my favorite sayings is “You are in the world who you are on your mat.” By this, I mean that if we’re impatient, violent or self-injurious, lazy, sad, competitive, or vain in the world, it will manifest on the mat. Likewise, if we cultivate concentration, effort, patience, contentment, and lovingkindness on our mat, we’ll take that out into the world.

So, during this holiday season, I’m suggesting that as we send out messages saying Peace on Earth, we should remember it really does begin with ourselves. Give yourself a holiday gift, and make a commitment to starting the practice of Ahmisa right there on your own mat.

Namasté & Blessed Be.