Abhyasa: The Practice of Returning Again and Again

Happy hearts month, Treehouse! It's our 10th Valentine's Day with you all, and one that I sadly missed out on celebrating with the community-- but maybe we can come up with something end of the month, suggestions are welcome! Buti na lang nandiyan ang ating Valentinas -- Teachers Kim, Jinky, and Noki -- who were present with you all last Saturday!

One Valentine's Day with T. Jinky

2026 Valentine's Day, still with T. Jinky! The consistent Valentina of Treehouse!

In the meantime, let me share a little something about our theme for the month, Abhyasa.

You see, February sits in an interesting psychological space. This is the month when the momentum of January starts to die down and the "new year, new me" declarations have started to fade out. There are probably things we have started in January: a new hobby, a new fitness commitment, a new routine...

And the gentle nudge this month is tied to Abhyasa: Kumusta na ba? Will you continue?

Abhyasa, as defined in the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali (1.13–1.14), is sustained effort over a long time, done consistently and with devotion. February is where intention becomes embodied... or challenged.

What Abhyasa means to us on the mat (or on our meditation cushion)

There will be days when practice feels flat -- you know this, I know this, and the studio knows this, too. We know that sometimes, there's no "post-yoga glow" or no insight or feelings of bliss. It's just another practice day.

This is precisely where abhyasa matures. Yoga and meditation are both proven not in ecstasy or in these fleeting feelings we experience post-practice, but in the ordinariness of it. When we continue despite having no immediate effect, we begin to detach practice from emotional reward. This means we are no longer practicing for a feeling, but we are practicing because we know and we value the effects of yoga and meditation on a longer term. We understand that the showing up for ourselves and the keeping of that promise might one day pay off. (I mean, there's no guarantee, and that's where the twin of abhyasa -- vairagya [non-attachment] -- comes in. A discussion for another month.)

What Abhyasa means off the mat, aka in real life

At least to me (and you can always question me), abhyasa is the art of loving something — your body, your breath, your becoming — enough to meet it again tomorrow.

In everyday life, this is far less poetic than it sounds. In fact, I think it is so mundane, so ordinary. It is not incense and sunrise meditations, or peace, love, and kumbaya.

I think abhyasa is brushing your teeth when you’re tired. It is washing the dishes even though they will be dirty again. It is answering emails you would rather avoid. It is folding laundry that will unfold by next week (or tomorrow). It is making your bed first thing in the morning. Or washing your car, even when it's perpetually the rainy, muddy season in Manila.

And if I want to be in theme for the month of love: it is loving someone relentlessly. But not relentlessly in the dramatic, cinematic, or toxic way. Relentlessly, as in "it's just another Tuesday" kind of way.

You know, It is cooking yet another meal, or asking, “Did you get to the office safe?” It is sitting beside someone in silence when there are no right words or when a dialogue is not needed. It is smiling even when you're tired, choosing gentleness over impatience, or choosing conversations of clarity over assumptions.

Abhyasa in love means you do not quit at the first discomfort. It is choosing to repair, recalibrate, and to return. Again and again.

The magic we are looking for

In a world that glorifies intensity and instant gratification, Abhyasa reminds us that there is magic in something that is constant, in something done with devotion and repitition.

And that magic is subtle.

There are no fireworks, or an overnight transformation. There's hardly a dramatic "before and after."

For your yoga practice, maybe it's that strength you didn't notice you were gradually building (should've done a bone density test!). Or maybe the level of patience (or the lesser number of f*cks) you now have compared to, say, 3 years ago. Or maybe how you now recover faster from disappointment, anger, or overwhelm.

That is the magic.

In the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, practice becomes firmly grounded when done for a long time, without interruption, and with devotion. Not for a week. Not for a month. But for a long time. "Practice, and all is coming," as echoed, too, by Sri K. Pattabhi Jois.

And I thought, maybe that is what ten Valentine’s Days together really mean.

Ten years of showing up. Ten years of adjusting schedules. Ten years of opening the doors. Ten years of breathing together in one small studio that somehow became a community...

Those ten years did not happen because of just one powerful class or one teacher or one student.

It happened because we returned.

Again. And again. And again.

Happy Hearts Month, Treehouse!

Let’s keep returning.

With so much gratitude,

Rachel

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