How I Met Nancy Gilgoff

Does the universe sometimes have something in store for us that we aren’t even

aware of?

It was 2007.

I had been practising Ashtanga for more than a decade when I decided it was time

to go to Mysore. My plan was to spend a month practising with the Jois family.

Mysore was the place I had imagined, the place I had only heard about, and the

place where so much of the tradition I had come to love had its roots. I thought

this would be the culmination of my first decade of practice—the natural next

step.

While I was there, I met Nancy Gilgoff in a café.

Noticing her, I walked over and introduced myself.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to study with you.”

Was that actually true?

Looking back, I’m not entirely sure. But something in me clearly knew that I

needed to speak to her.

“Well,” she said, “I’m teaching in Goa after my time here. Would you like to

come?”

She then asked if I would like to rent a car with her and travel there together.I still had a week of practice scheduled with the Jois family. I wondered how I

could possibly go when I had made that commitment.

And then I learned that classes were being cancelled because the family was going

to Bangalore for a baptism.

Was that an omen?

I said yes.

What seemed like such a simple decision was about to change the direction of my

life.

Goa changed something in me.

Nancy was teaching in an outdoor space hosted by Purple Valley, and there was

something about entering that tent and beginning to practise with her that shifted

something in me.

For the first time, I understood the importance of being connected to a teacher—

not simply attending a class or learning a sequence, but having someone who

could see you, guide you, and help you find your way forward.

Perhaps I had found what I didn’t even know I had been looking for.

After those five days, I asked Nancy, “Where can I see you again?”

“Come to Maui,” she said.

When I returned home, I said to my partner, “I’m going to Maui.”

“You’re going where?” he said. “You just got back from India!”

“Yes, I know,” I replied. “But I’m going.”

And I did.

I had no idea where I was going or where any of this would lead. At the time, I

didn’t understand Maui’s significance in the development of Ashtanga Yoga in the

West. The stories of David Williams and the early Western practitioners would

come later.

At that moment, I only knew one thing:I was going to Maui.

What I had thought was the culmination of everything had, in fact, opened another

door.

I had no idea that I was stepping onto a path that would carry me through the

next twenty years and beyond.

A path that would lead to annual visits to Nancy’s shala on Maui. A path that

would take me to places I never imagined, bring remarkable people into my life,

and eventually lead me to develop my own students and community, much as

Nancy had created a community for me.

Looking back now, I can see that the path was always unfolding before me. I just

had to keep following the thread.

Perhaps the universe does have something in store for us.

Perhaps there are moments when life quietly opens a door, and we have no idea

what lies on the other side.

We only know that something is calling us.

And sometimes, if we’re lucky, we say yes.

I had planned to begin my first blog post after a wonderful summer by writing

about the practice perhaps methodology, or breathing.

But Nancy has been on my mind.

Over the summer, I found myself thinking about how I met Nancy and, more

importantly, about the impact she has had on my life.

So, I’m taking a little seque and will begin my fall series with the story of how I

met her, and the unexpected ways that meeting has shaped my life.

How I Met Nancy Gilgoff

Does the universe sometimes have something in store for you that you aren’t even aware

of?This was 2007. I had been practising Ashtanga for more than a decade when I

decided it was time to go to Mysore. My plan was to spend one month practising

with the Jois family.

Mysore was the place I had imagined, the place I had only heard about, and the

place where so much of the tradition I had come to love had its roots. I thought

this would be the culmination of my first decade of practice—the natural next

step.

While I was there, I met Nancy Gilgoff in a café. Noticing her, I walked over and

introduced myself.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to study with you.”

Was that actually true?

Looking back, I’m not entirely sure. But something in me clearly knew that I

needed to speak to her.

“Well,” she said, “I’m teaching in Goa after my time here. Would you like to

come?”

She then asked if I would like to rent a car with her and travel there together.

I still had a week of practice scheduled with the Jois family. I wondered how I

could go when I had made that commitment, but then I learned that classes were

cancelled because the family was going to Bangalore for a baptism.

Was that an omen?

I said yes!

What seemed like such a simple decision, was about to change the direction of my

life.

Goa changed something in me.

Nancy was teaching in an outdoor space hosted by Purple Valley, and there was

something about entering that tent and beginning to practise with her that shifted

something in me.

For the first time, I understood the importance of being connected to a teacher,

not simply attending a class or learning a sequence, but having someone who

could see you, guide you, and help you find your way forward.Perhaps I had found what I didn’t even know I had been looking for.

After those five days, I asked Nancy, “Where can I see you again?”

“Come to Maui,” she said.

When I returned home, I said to my partner, “I’m going to Maui.”

“You’re going where?” he said. “You just got back from India!”

“Yes, I know,” I replied. “But I’m going.”

And I did.

I had no idea where I was going or where any of this would lead. At the time, I

didn’t understand Maui’s significance in the development of Ashtanga Yoga in the

West. The stories of David Williams and the early Western practitioners would

come later.

At that moment, I only knew one thing:

I was going to Maui.

What I had thought was the culmination of everything had, in fact, opened another

door.

I had no idea that I was stepping onto a path that would carry me through the

next twenty years and beyond.

A path leading to annual visits to Nancy’s Shala on Maui. It would take me to

places I never imagined, bring remarkable people into my life, and eventually lead

me to develop my own students and community much as Nancy had created a

community for me.

Looking back now, I can see that the path was always unfolding before me. I just

had to keep following the thread.

Perhaps the universe does have something in store for us.

Perhaps there are moments when life quietly opens a door, and we have no idea

what lies on the other side.

We only know that something is calling us. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, we say

yes.Maybe that is how it is with all of us.

We don’t always know where the path will take us.

Sometimes, we simply know that we have to follow it.

refections on the old method - part 2

In the first reflection, we explored the question: What are we really practising?

Are we simply moving through a sequence of asanas, or are we engaging in a methodology designed to gradually cultivate a state of yoga?

If we begin from this understanding that Ashtanga is fundamentally a method rather than merely a collection of postures, then naturally the entire approach to practice begins to change.

And with that shift, something important happens: possibility begins to replace impossibility.

When many people look at the full Ashtanga system of asana, what they often see feels inaccessible — something reserved for the naturally gifted, the extremely disciplined, or only those physically capable.

But the old method approached things differently.

The early teachers encouraged students to explore the asanas, to continue through the series without waiting for mastery, to group similar postures together, and to work with a specific breath-movement relationship: one breath, one movement. 

From this perspective, the system is no longer experienced as a rigid ladder of achievement, but as an energetic pathway and progressive methodology.

The emphasis shifts away from performance and toward process — away from perfection and toward participation — away from the idea that this was something to be achieved, and toward something that gradually shapes and transforms us through practice itself.  The practice becomes a meditation cultivated by the pathway and process itself. 

When the system is viewed as a hierarchy of difficult postures, many people experience exclusion before they even begin. But when the method is understood through breath, continuity, attention, and gradual energetic integration, then almost anyone can participate meaningfully.  

Seen this way, Ashtanga becomes adaptable. It becomes sustainable. And most importantly, it becomes possible.

To me, this is one of the most significant philosophical differences within the old method approach.

The practice is no longer asking:

“What can I do?”

It begins asking:

“What is this process doing to me?”

Modern Emphasis/Old Method Emphasis

Mastery/Exposure

Performance/Process

Fixed sequence/Energetic progression

Achievement/Relationship

Control/Adaptability

External form/Internal effect

Perfecting postures/Cultivating awareness

Linear advancement/Gradual integration

Waiting for readiness/Learning through participation

End result/Ongoing process

Conquering the practice/Being shaped by it

Complexity/Simplicity

Practising asanas/Practising a method

What can I do?/What is the  process doing for me?

the original primary series: structure, sequencing & intention

The Original Primary Series: Structure, Sequencing, and Intention

We explored the philosophy behind the original method in previous emails. Now let’s look at the practical details of how the Primary Series was first taught and practiced.

The chart below outlines the original order, sequencing, and posture groupings.

1. Opening

Surya Namaskara A

Surya Namaskara B

2. Standing

Padangusthasana

Padahastasana

Trikonasana

Parsvakonasana

Prasarita Padottanasana

Parsvottanasana

3. Seated Foundation

Dandasana

Paschimottanasana A, B, C

Purvottanasana

4. Hip Opening

Ardha Baddha Padma

Triang Mukha Eka Pada

Janu Sirsasana A, B, C

5. Asymmetry and Twisting

Marichyasana A, B, C, D

6. Core

Navasana

7. Deep Hip Opening

Bhujapidasana

Kurmasana

Supta Kurmasana

8. Arm Balance/Integration

Garbha Pindasana

Kukkutasana

9. Integration/Deep Opening

Baddha Konasana

Upavistha Konasana

Supta Konasana

10. Extension

Supta Padangustasana

11. Re-Integration/Stabilty/Backbend

Ubhaya Padangustasana

Urdhva Mukha Paschimottanasana

Setu Bandhasana

12. Standing Balance

Uttitha Hasta Padangustasana

Ardha Baddha Padangustasana

13. Finishing

Paschimottanasana C

Shoulderstand Sequence up to and including Baddha Hasta Sirasana

Final Meditative Postures

Padmasana

Baddha Padmasana

Utplutih

A Few Things to Notice

Changes in the Sequence

A shorter standing sequence ending with Parsvottanasana.

The two standing twists found in the modern sequence were absent.

Uttitha Hasta Padangustasana and Ardha Baddha Padangustasana were moved from the standing sequence and practiced later in the series, following Setu Bandhasana.

Urdhva Dhanurasana was not included.

Setu Bandhasana served as the sole backbend.

Differences in Method

Each asana was held for eight breaths.

Postures were organized into therapeutic groupings, with transitions occurring only after an entire group had been completed rather than between individual postures or sides.

The exception was Group 4, where transitions occurred after the completion of each asana within the grouping.

Longer holds were used in both Sarvangasana (25 breaths) and Sirsasana (50 breaths).

The overall rhythm of the practice was more dynamic.

Breathing slowed significantly during the final three finishing postures, creating a gradual transition into meditation and pranayama.

Taken together, these elements reveal a method that differed substantially from the contemporary Primary Series. In my view, the result was a practice that was both structurally and methodologically distinct from the form most practitioners know today.

The therapeutic grouping of postures, sequence variations, absence of certain asanas, extended inversion holds, and gradual shift from dynamic movement toward meditation suggest a practice designed not only for therapeutic physical effects, but also for energetic regulation and preparation for pranayama and meditation.

This raises an important question:

Have we moved too far from the original intention in the modern method? More importantly, does the older method more accurately reflect the true purpose of yoga?

A Final Reflection

The original method reflected an integrated approach in which sequencing, breath, and grouping worked together to support the therapeutic effects of the series while steadily guiding the practitioner toward meditation. Viewed in this way, Primary Series appears less as a preparatory sequence for more advanced practices and more as a complete system of yoga therapy in its own right.

For me, the old method seems to offer a more effective pathway inward.

reflections on the 'old method' - part 1

Lately I’ve been reflecting on what many of us refer to as the “old method” of Ashtanga — perhaps influenced in part by Nancy’s passing, and a growing feeling in me that there is something important here that deserves to be remembered and examined more carefully.

When I speak of the “old method,” I’m referring specifically to the way David Williams and Nancy Gilgoff were taught when they first travelled to India to learn from their teacher, and how they transmitted the practice in the early days.

During the recent workshop in Kingsburg, an unexpected and lively discussion emerged around this very topic: how the old method — both in approach and philosophy — differs from much of what has become modern Ashtanga.

What became clear to me is that this conversation deserves more thought and discussion — particularly around aspects of the practice that may, over time, have been reinterpreted, altered, or perhaps even lost altogether.

The old method, as I understand it, was never simply about mastering postures. It was about the process through which the practitioner was gradually transformed by the method itself.

It was about how the postures were approached, the specific patterns of breath and movement, the cultivation of energy, and the effects created through repetition and consistency. The method was at the forefront — the asana providing the framework through which the method could unfold.

This is not an attempt to argue that the old method is superior. But I do feel it is different — and that those differences are worth examining carefully, especially in relation to the sustainability, intention, and long-term effects of practice.

Does this resonate with your experience of practice?

Over the next few weeks, I’d like to share a series of reflections exploring what I experience as some of the key differences — differences that are not necessarily better or worse, but significant in terms of the energetic, therapeutic, and perhaps even spiritual effects of the practice.

For now, here is something to sit with:

Are we simply practising a sequence of asanas?

Or are we practising a methodology through which a state of yoga is gradually cultivated?

More to come…