Ashtanga Yoga Shala

From Four Notes to Infinity

Beethoven, Deep Purple, and the hidden depth of yoga practice
What can Smoke on the Water teach us about sadhana?
Recently I heard Ritchie Blackmore of Deep Purple speaking about how the famous Smoke on the Water riff was inspired, in part, by Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. It wasn't copied, but inverted, reinterpreted, and reimagined.

Beethoven's Fifth begins with one of the most recognisable motifs in musical history:

da da da DAA

From that tiny musical idea, Beethoven unfolds an entire emotional universe.

One of the great lessons of art is that depth does not always arise from complexity.

Smoke on the Water: with a classic opening riff: slow, spacious, elemental …… a looming presence – reveals how structured discipline, motif, repetition, and development find their way from something simple into something timeless. These motifs endure - not because they are complicated, but because they are archetypal.

This is remarkably close to the logic of yoga practice. A conscious breath, a repeated vinyasa, one drishti, one mantra, even one posture repeated daily. At first, these may seem basic. But with time, attention, and sincerity, they begin to reveal layers.
Many modern systems train the mind toward novelty: more stimulation, more techniques, more experiences, more complexity. Traditional practice often moves in the opposite direction. Simplification. Repetition. Refinement.

Not because the practice is limited, but because repetition reveals what a distracted mind cannot see.

Born from difficulty: Beethoven was confronting increasing deafness while composing the Fifth. Smoke on the Water emerged from chaos - the fire at the Montreux Casino during a Frank Zappa concert in 1971. Both works, in different ways, arose through difficulty and limitation. And this too speaks to yoga.

Beethoven and Blackmore demonstrate something that yoga practitioners sometimes resist: that mastery is not accumulation but refinement. Practice is teaching us how to meet reality, not escape it. Beethoven could not control aging, bodily limitation, loss, or uncertainty. But he transformed his relationship with them.

The yogic path does not promise perpetual pleasure, endless comfort, or perfect circumstances. Rather it develops steadiness amidst change, clarity amidst confusion, refinement amidst limitation, and presence amidst suffering. And perhaps most importantly:
the ability to continue.

Musicologists often describe Beethoven's Fifth as a journey "through darkness into light." And this is why cinema has used that motif endlessly.

Those four notes instantly communicate: impending destiny, crisis, challenge, arrival of something unavoidable, and psychological intensity. The 5th Symphony for the yogis, might embody – tapas, perseverance, confrontation with duhkha, and transformation through disciplined expression.

The great traditions understand something that modern culture often forgets:
Profound things tend to begin as small things.
A seed contains a forest. A single vinyasa contains an entire practice. A simple motif can unfold into a symphony.

The question is not whether depth is present, but whether we stay with something long enough to discover it.

From four notes, an entire universe unfolds.

There’s a difference between doing poses…
and being guided through a method.

Coming from Bharatanatyam into Ashtanga Yoga,
the traditions may differ -
but the need for precision, rhythm, and internal awareness is the same.

It’s meaningful to hear reflections like this -
especially from someone with real discipline and experience -
who can feel the difference between simply taking a yoga class
and actually entering a method.

Because when a practice has structure,
it becomes something you can build on…
not just something you pass through and leave behind.

And thanks too, to all of the yoga teachers who try to teach this way and respect the various systems of Yoga.

- Richard

Through the doorway of yoga practise

It’s a bit strange, really. There seems to be an endless stream of yoga teachers explaining how to do this and how to do that on social media.

How to get into this posture.
How to improve that technique.
Follow this method. Try this hack.

But one can’t help wondering… Where is the actual practice of yoga in all of this?

There is nothing quite like coming to class and having some structure to work with. Having a purpose. Gradually gaining confidence in what you are doing through an established method.

And then, at the right time, something new may be introduced - and maybe it isn’t a hack or another posture. Sometimes it’s simply a different way of approaching the same posture. A correction to the way of breathing. A shift in attitude or understanding.

In other words, the practice deepens.

Anyway, that’s the focus here at Ashtanga Yoga Shala. Simply yoga practice.

And if you do have a yoga practice, it’s worth expressing some gratitude for that by tending to it with care, humility, and consistency. Don’t let the endless stream of asana “hacks” undermine your confidence in what you’re quietly building.

In truth, most of those tricks don’t serve very much at all.
They tend to reinforce the ego and the very human desire to be noticed - that lingering childhood impulse of “look at me.”

What matters is what you do with your practice - and how it gradually begins to shape the way you live.

In the end, that tends to be far more sustaining, and far more rewarding, than ticking a posture off the bucket list and moving on to the next challenge or the next opportunity for validation.

I heard it rain just before a class last week. While waiting for everyone to arrive, for some reason Mitti Attar came to mind.

Mitti Attar, the traditional Indian perfume distilled from baked earth, captures the fragrance that rises when the first rain touches dry soil. Its creation itself is slow and patient: clay must be shaped, fired, and carefully distilled over time before its subtle scent can emerge. Vapours from baked clay are captured in a receiver vessel containing sandalwood oil. I was thinking that this offers a beautiful parallel to yoga practice.

In the beginning, the body-mind is like dry ground - compacted by habit, tension, and restlessness. Through steady asana, applied with appropriate alignment, breath, and context, the “rain” of practice gradually softens this hardness. As prana begins to permeate the posture, a quiet presence is released - not as display, but depth. You can feel something of this in any practice.

Similarly, when the yamas and niyamas mature, they do not produce outward showiness; rather, they give rise to a gentle atmosphere around the practitioner. Like Mitti Attar, these qualities cannot be rushed or forced - they ripen slowly, revealing a subtle fragrance that quietly influences all who come near.

Just like Mitti Attar: made from simple earth, but astonishing in refinement, the fragrance appears only when: heat (Tapas), moisture (Prana), time (Abhyasa), proper containment (Samyama) are present together.

At this stage, the asanas may or may not appear complicated, but they feel quietly alive, deeply grounded, and subtly radiant. And like authentic Mitti Attar - whose fragrance represents Prithvi – Earth, and the body, resting upon the sublime sandalwood base symbolising Sattvic awareness - the ripening of Asana and Yama likewise depends on a steady foundation: patience, stability of mind, and careful containment.

It is pleasant to speak of ripening and fragrance.
But without discipline, there is no distillation.
Without steadiness, there is no refinement.
And without respect for the practice, nothing subtle will endure.

Once, Parvati said to Shiva:

"I have heard all the teachings
the scriptures, the philosophies, the divisions of knowledge.
Yet my deepest doubt is not gone.

So, tell me plainly:
What is the true nature of Reality?"

She is asking, “What is true, directly - beyond words?”
And Shiva’s answer is stunningly simple.

“Wherever the mind goes,
let it rest there without grasping.
In that very place -
the state of Shiva is revealed.”

But taken literally, “just let the mind rest wherever it goes” can easily be misunderstood, and in fact is dangerous without context. Well, delusional if not dangerous, because a misunderstanding can occur allowing -

• tamasic dullness
• passive drifting
• spiritual bypassing
• or the false belief that ordinary reactivity = equanimity

What is being described presumes a highly refined mind. It is describing a stage, not a beginner practice. In classical yoga , shanti – peace, arises from “nirodha” - not from mindset.

Background conditions that must already exist
sattva predominance
• diet and habits supporting clarity
• regulated lifestyle
• reduced sensory overload
• ethical steadiness (yama/niyama)
Without elevated sattva, “resting” becomes tamasic inertia.

Then of course there would be a certain capacity in pratyahara having been established, a degree of mental stabilisation present, thinning state of active samskaras, ongoing daily practice etc., etc.

Otherwise, “resting” simply becomes inertia.

Peace is not created.
It is revealed —
when grasping and resistance finally quiet.

Which is why it is best not to leave it too late to begin the work of yoga.