Is Being a Yoga Teacher the Same as Being a Spiritual Teacher?

This thought just popped into my head as I was scooting along the streets of Bali, and I felt like writing it down.

We have heard countless stories about spiritual leaders gathering followers and disciples, claiming to show the path to enlightenment, to God, to something beyond ourselves—only for some of them to become so revered that their ego grows alongside their following, and abuse eventually takes form.

And it makes me wonder: what actually makes someone a spiritual teacher?

Personally, I do not see myself as a spiritual teacher.

Yes, I teach Yoga. And yes, Yoga can be deeply spiritual. But I also feel that spirituality is very personal. For some, it is a religious practice. For others, it may simply be a way of connecting with something beyond themselves, something unseen.

And I think Yoga can also be not spiritual at all. Or perhaps it depends on how we practice.

When I talk about Yoga here, I am mainly referring to asana practice—the different movements and postures we do on a yoga mat.

It can be approached as a very physical practice: focusing on strength, flexibility, physical achievement, and perhaps having an end goal of mastering increasingly advanced poses.

But while we are doing all of this, how aware are we?

Are we aware of our breath, of the sensations inside the body, of the subtle messages the body is giving us? Are we listening?

Or are we miles away, lost in our thoughts, our eyes flicking around, distracted and completely absent from the present moment?

And then there is another way.

Can we find stillness within the practice? Can we find strength in softness? Can we feel the subtlety of the breath that keeps us almost in a trance as we move with its rhythm?

To me, Yoga is the latter.

It is when I become so present and aware of every movement and everything it brings.

And yes, I have thoughts. Lots of them.

Sometimes they carry me far away from my yoga mat and my body. I suddenly realise I have disappeared into another world, dreaming about the future or pondering the past.

None of that is the present.

And then I notice.

I catch myself and bring my awareness back to the mat.

That, to me, is Yoga.

It is being able to watch myself almost like a spectator and laugh at my monkey mind. To smile as I feel the subtle sensations moving through my body. To notice what is happening without immediately needing to change it.

So then, what is spiritual about that?

Is there some miracle waiting to happen? A voice suddenly appearing in our heads to guide us? A vision of the Divine?

Or what?

Again, I would not claim to have an answer.

The practice is personal. The intention behind the practice is personal.

It is a little like having a relationship. We show up, and some days we dance together. Other days we get upset, irritated or annoyed with one another.

The relationship has many colours and many moods. It brings different insights as we dive deeper and deeper into the mystery of the soul.

There is no voice for me.

There is no vision.

But there is a sense of peace and stillness by the end of my practice that keeps me grounded and steady.

Is that spirituality?

I am not sure.

But what I do know is that it feels good.

And I notice the impact it has on my surroundings. I believe there are ripple effects to the way we practice, the way we show up, the way we carry ourselves into the world. Perhaps we magnetise different energies simply by becoming more present within ourselves.

I can also see how my intuition becomes sharper.

Sometimes I hear myself speaking and I know it is my voice, but it feels as though something has entered my spirit and is using my body to channel something beyond what I consciously know.

I surprise myself as I hear the words coming out of my own mouth.

Where did that wisdom come from?

I don't know.

All I know is that sometimes I feel like a vessel for something beyond me.

I never had a goal with Yoga.

And by goal, I don't mean that I came to the mat expecting to reach enlightenment, become one with Source, or even complete a particular series or master some complicated pose.

I actually started Yoga because I wanted to find some stillness—and to get fit.

I truly had no idea what I had shown up for.

But now, 23 years later, I can feel the difference.

I notice how I feel on a day when I practice, and how I feel when, for whatever reason, several days pass without it.

The difference is noticeable.

My mood is different too.

And yet, the asanas are not necessarily where my most magical moments happen.

For me, those moments often happen in meditation or chanting, when I can become so absorbed that I enter a kind of trance—where the body, time and everything around me seem to dissolve.

Nothing matters.

There is simply joy.

So what am I teaching, if I am not teaching a spiritual practice?

I teach people to connect with their bodies.

To learn how to listen.

To fine-tune their awareness and perhaps begin to hear the whispers of the soul as they communicate through the body, through sensation and through intuition.

That is one of the reasons Yoga, to me, is different from sport.

But I am not there to tell my students how to be spiritual.

I don't think anyone can really do that.

The practice itself will teach them, in its own way.

Ultimately, perhaps each one of us is our own Guru.

The teacher is there to reflect back what is already there, waiting to be seen.

I learn from my mistakes. I learn from my experiences. And that is what I share with my students.

But by no means do I believe that my journey should be their journey.

Truthfully, I am not even sure how I ended up here.

All I know is that I keep showing up.

I keep working on self-observation and, hopefully, learning not to judge myself too harshly.

Because as I do that, my self-compassion grows.

My sense of self-worth becomes stronger.

And ultimately, I believe that is where I can see God.

If God is within me, and within each of us, and I am part of that creation, then who am I to judge myself?

Who am I to say that I am not good enough?

Perhaps Yoga is simply a path of self-exploration.

Of learning something new every day.

And perhaps the lessons we don't learn are simply repeated until we are ready to see them, accept them and understand what they have come to teach us.

Yoga gives us tools.

I am there to show my students how to use them—to become more efficient, more at ease, more connected.

Like any master of a craft, the more we practice, the more confident we become.

But perhaps what I really teach is how to pay attention.

How to listen.

How to become more present.

How to hold space.

That sacred space where souls meet, where we practice together, where we learn to become better listeners, better friends, more loving partners—to ourselves, to one another, and to Yoga itself.

And perhaps that is enough.

I don't need to call myself a spiritual teacher.

I am a Yoga teacher.

I hold the space.

I offer the tools.

I share what I have learned.

And then I step back and let each person discover where their own practice takes them.

The spiritual journey, if there is one, belongs to each of us.

Dare I say, I don't really want anyone telling me how to be more spiritual, or claiming that they know better than I do what spirituality should look like for me.

For me, actions speak louder than words.

If I watch you and see a way of being that inspires me, challenges me, makes me pause and perhaps makes me want to become a little more compassionate, present or loving myself—that is enough.

I don't need you to tell me that you are spiritual.

I can feel it in the way you live.

And perhaps that is the kind of teacher I trust.

Andrea & The Ubuntu Family