Aletia Artemis offers a dedication to yoga.

For many years, yoga has been in my life. Sometimes, it has been a journey of discovery. Sometimes, it has been a mission. And sometimes, it has been something I yearned for but wasn't able to incorporate into my everyday life. Now, suddenly, it has re-become a daily practice.

The ritual of Astanga mornings has begun again and I've tried to figure out why. What is it about the magic of yoga that captures our hearts, our imagination and our corporeal frame? When I think back over my personal journey and the beauty of being in yoga, I remember more than the asanas. It is not just breath and postures and meditation, but also the teachers, the rooms and the other students who have filled those rooms.

If I had to find a name for the experience I would call it an "ambient groove". It's a giddy combination that fills the senses and leaves one feeling whole. If we're lucky, we find ourselves in the right rooms at the right time with the right teacher and kindred spirits alongside...

It's 5:30 in the morning when I duck back into the bedroom to sneak a kiss onto my slumbering partner's forehead. His breathing is deep and steady and the doona is wrapped around him like a giant cocoon. I feel a tugging desire to slip back into that nest of warmth and snuggle into a blissful sleep. Yet, I turn and step outside into the chill and damp of pre-dawn darkness. As I head west, I crest a rise and see the moon hanging, enormous, golden and still. It is such an awesome sight that I almost cry out with astonishment and delight...I always wonder who else is watching at this time, where else are they going and I feel thankful that yoga can spur me from my dream-filled bed.

Arriving at the inner city yoga studio, I open the door to be greeted by the spiced scent of burning incense and the gentle warmth of a "hot" yoga room. I know I'm not the first today. The quiet rhythmic movements, though barely audible, are perceptible, are felt. My Ugg boots get added to the collection of shoes in the foyer. Stepping through the curtains reveals a cavernous space. Once a chapel, the lofty wood lined ceilings and arches provide the perfect complement to the sense of serenity and richness yoga can bring. Scattered in the belly of the room are yoga mats rafting yoga students. Initially, the pattern of student dispersion seems haphazard, because we instinctively head towards "our" spot on the floor. It's funny that "ownership of space" that comes with regular practice.

It's not something that is discussed. It's not something that is organised. It's not even something that has been allocated by any kind of sequential hierarchy. A rare thing today -- the privilege of allowing the universe to call, to sort and to arrange. It's a bit like Harry Potter's sorting hat really. You know yourself where you belong and, even if you resist at first, you soon find that you're drawn there, perhaps by habit and familiarity. So, the neat lines of students eventually emerge from the chaos. A person's absence stands out like a tooth missing in a row of pearly whites. If the most regular student is away , their space feels somehow larger, more portentous in its vacuum. More evidence that our energetic footprint is a very real and living thing. Occasionally, someone new will arrive on the floor or, for reasons known only to themselves, someone will effect a change. Again, no discussion, no organisation, no sequence -- they just move. And while this disturbance to the order may be confronting to some who have reached a comfort zone in their space, the reshuffle occurs and integrates and assimilates. If only the world beyond could be so mercurial. As I look around, the practice itself offers a mimesis of the spatial relations. All are intently focused on their own ritual and yet all are united by their ritual. Some students are sitting quietly gently opening the mind, some are stretching and easing the remnants of sleep from their limbs and the "newies" are sitting in the middle of their mats gazing around themselves, trying to appear inconspicuous while staying alert for any sign of what they should be doing.

Our teacher is busy ringing bells in the corners of the room. Eventually, he moves to the front of the room and announces that we will come together to chant. Now, chanting is a funny thing. I think that we Aussies are willing to scream, "Oi! Oi! Oi!" at any given sporting event, but to chant with solemnity and earnestness is simply uncomfortable. That being said, I think that chanting is essential to the creation of ambience. It calls up our soul's best intentions and focuses us towards the unifying aspects of the practice. Yet, as we follow the teacher's sure voice with our echoing chorus, the reply seems hesitant, as if the merest doubt could make it fizzle out with a gurgling warble. I remember times at retreats where the replies were sung out true and strong by a cosmopolitan gathering of nations. It is this kind of courageous surrender to the song that affords us the expansion and immersion into the fullness of yoga. With time, I know our class will grow robust with the chant and our spirits will souse the song.

Then, we practise. Every morning is different. Some days are energised and powerful, others are meditative and intrinsically bound to the breath. And there are those days where everything feels like a struggle and simply being there is an achievement in itself. On those days of struggle, I try to remember to give praise for the efforts and appreciate lovingly that I have brought the body to the practice. Punishing the mind does not lift me up. Allowing the body to assume the memories of days when I am energised does.

On the powerful days, I embrace my teacher's adjustments zealously and push the limitations of the body. But the days that are most fulfilling are the ones where the meditation of the sequence flows. I feel myself expanding and the room becomes a universe. The boundaries of self are disintegrated by the rhythm of breath bringing us closer to a collective consciousness. On these days, my teacher seems like a benevolent conductor, one whose tuning presence creates harmony and symbiosis.

When finally, Savasana (lying in rest) arrives, it is hard not to imagine that we are overcome by some Moksa or liberation. Simply arriving here gives rise to an undefinable joy! I know that many of us joke that Savasana is the reason we do yoga, and in part I know that it's true. But Savasana can only be what it is because of the journey it takes us to get there. And it is here that I believe we can truly create our own truth. It is here that the practice is absorbed into the mind and the teachings of the journey make themselves manifest. We understand our purpose in the glow of our conscious relaxation, the soul illuminated.

As I rise to leave, the teacher is in animated conversation with some students, laughing and gesticulating. We all get it. And I'm reminded of so many of these gatherings of students sitting with their guru....in Perth, in Rishikesh, in Mysore...and they are all one. One guru, with many faces and a single heart. We may seek a guru and yet it strikes me that gurus are like the limbs on the tree of yoga.

The yoga trunk is the binding of all yogas and the search for truth. The limbs represent the schools of yoga and the many incarnations of disciplines. The leaves springing from the limbs are the students supported and nourished in their growth by the limbs. And the blossoms are the knowledge and understanding that are born in brilliance and taken by the wind into the ether.

Each day, I feel the fragility of my existence on the tree strengthened.

Strengthened by the memories of teachers, spaces and peers of the past.

Strengthened by the presence of my guru, this wonderful room and the smiles of the students. And while there are still days when I don't make it, I know there is a void where my mat should be and I know that when I am next there the experience will fill my soul and blossoms will sprout from my toes.