vande gurūnām caranāravinde….

I got the news of Sharath’s passing early morning on a Tuesday.  In this age of AI and fake news I thought it was fake news.  But as the truth settled in, so did an unexpected and profound sense of loss.  Even though I had only met Sharath in passing (during my brief brush with Ashtanga Yoga in Mysore), I feel strangely bereft, as though the loss was personal.

I’ve followed the Ashtanga lineage closely and have drawn inspiration from countless teachers within it.  I have many friends who are devoted to the Ashtanga yoga practice.  As practitioners we never think of teachers as human, bound by the same mortality that binds us all.  The passing of legends is a vivid reminder of life’s impermanence.  As history shifts and the ground beneath our feet starts to shake – I find myself asking how I want to step into the future.

Yoga is a practice where teachers and gurus play a central role.  Sharath’s passing has forced many to contemplate on the figure of the guru.  What is a guru?  What does it mean to have a guru? Does the head of a lineage I follow become my guru?  Can my guru be someone I’ve never met?  Many of us are blessed to have beacons of light in our lives, but only truly value them when their presence becomes a memory.  Others remain on an eternal quest, busy doubting the teacher, oblivious to the answers right before them.

Sharath Jois was a phenomenal teacher, one of the most powerful of the 21st century.  He was an example – finding joy in life and yoga amidst the ups and downs.  He touched countless lives, including those he had never met.  I never learned asana from him, but I learned so much yoga.

But that’s the thing about yoga legends.  Their purpose transcends asanas.  The exist to connect you, unite you and bring you peace.  And maybe that’s why with Sharath’s passing, I feel bereft of a teacher, even though I never studied with him….

Sharath Jois was more than a teacher; he was a beacon. His presence, his practice, and his joy in both yoga and life were transformative. He touched countless lives, including those he never met—mine among them. I never learned asana from him, but I learned so much yoga.

And that’s the thing about true yoga teachers. Their purpose transcends the postures. They exist to unite us, to help us find peace within ourselves and the world around us. That’s why, even though I never studied directly under Sharath, I feel the emptiness of his absence as if I had.

I revisited a conference recording from 2015.  Listening to it again transports me back to those 15 transformative days in Mysore.  It almost brings Sharath back to life again.  But I guess Sharath doesn’t need to be brought back to life.  He lives on in his students and in their yoga.