We do not view the physical self as something to be overcome or transcended. Instead, the body is the precise location where practice becomes real. It is the intersection of sensation, effort, breath, and attention. Consciousness does not move around the body; it expresses itself through it.
This is why strength matters.
Before I was a yoga teacher, I manufactured trumpets and trombones.
When you work with metal, force is not a substitute for intelligence. If you hammer a piece of metal relentlessly, it becomes “work-hardened,” brittle, and prone to snapping or cracking. All that effort is eventually wasted on a fracture.
But when you add heat, the metal’s structure reorganizes. It softens without losing its integrity. It becomes workable, adaptable, and ultimately more resilient.
The human system operates on much the same principle. Physical rigor without awareness creates brittleness. Awareness without load creates fragility. Strength is the result of effort and sensitivity trained in tandem. It is the byproduct of pressure applied intelligently, allowing the system to adapt rather than break.
When the body is unconditioned, our spiritual and emotional expression is limited. This isn’t about dominance or athletic performance; it is about access.
A body with limited strength reaches the “overwhelm threshold” quickly. When the system is flooded by sensation, attention narrows, and choice disappears. We become reactive. Strength creates the internal space necessary to remain distributed. It allows the breath to stay available and decisions to remain possible, even when the “load” of life becomes heavy.
Burning Wheel recently underwent a sudden and destabilizing change. The pressure increased quickly, and decisions had to be made without certainty. What carried me through was not willpower, but training. I kept my breath full, let my attention stay wide, slowed my decision-making, and allowed the experience to shape me rather than fracture me.
The original function of asana (posture) was conditioning. It was designed to prepare the body so that pain, instability, and restlessness would no longer dominate the practitioner’s attention. By removing these physical obstacles, awareness is freed to move toward deeper states of meditation.
Working at your physical edge develops a specific kind of discernment. You begin to feel the visceral difference between:
These aren’t theoretical concepts; they are lessons etched into the nervous system through repetition and presence.
Reactive patterns that once overtook me no longer determine my response. Not because they disappeared, but because this method trained my capacity to stay present when intensity arises. Navigating this most recent storm with dignity and integrity was not accidental. It was trained.
Burning Wheel bridges the gap between fitness and spirituality because both disciplines train presence under load. For athletes, professionals, and those accustomed to the weight of responsibility, this connection is not immediately obvious. It is earned through pressure, practice, and time.
Strength supports clarity. Endurance supports patience. Training supports the ability to choose your response rather than reacting to your environment.
Ultimately, strength is not about becoming “more.” It is about the capacity to stay.
Staying with the sensation.
Staying with the breath.
Staying with what is actually happening.
When you develop the capacity to stay, yoga stops being an idea. You live out the results in real time when tragedy strikes, loss happens, or difficulties arise. When you can meet life with presence and grow through your experiences, you are living what we practice.
Ready to build your capacity?
Step onto the mat for Power Lift & Flow, where physical rigor meets intentional practice. Learn what this class is designed to cultivate.