I did not set out to develop a method. What I teach comes from twenty six years of practice and five years of philosophy at the Sorbonne. Along the way, three threads emerged. They are not steps. They are not a system. They are the things I return to every time I step into a class.
Precision
Precision is not about doing the posture correctly. It is about paying attention to what is actually happening. Where is the weight? Where is the breath? What is the body avoiding?
Over decades of teaching, I learned to look at a student and see what was out of alignment. Not just physically. I saw where the attention had wandered, where the breath had stopped, where the student was hiding. And when I offered a correction, it was not about telling someone they were wrong. It was about helping them see themselves more clearly.
That is the kind of precision I teach. A correction is not a judgment. It is an invitation to pay closer attention. The goal is never the perfect posture. The goal is a student who knows how to look at their own body and understand what it is telling them.
Philosophy
Most yoga philosophy is taught as vocabulary. We memorize the Sanskrit. We learn the categories. We never actually examine what we believe.
I spent five years at the Sorbonne learning to do the opposite. That training taught me to follow an argument to its end, to question assumptions, to sit with what does not resolve neatly. When I teach philosophy, I bring that same approach. We read the texts. We ask what they mean. We ask whether they are true. And we do not rush to an answer.
The Yoga Sutras are not a museum piece. Patanjali was not writing for academics. He was writing for practitioners who wanted to understand their own minds. If the text does not change how you practice, you have not understood it yet.
Presence
There is a moment in every class where the student is about to move on, and the body is not ready. The breath is not there yet. The attention has drifted. And something in the student wants to push through anyway.
I stay in that moment. I do not rush past it. Because that pause, that space between one thing and the next, is where the real learning happens. The posture can wait. The breath cannot.
Presence, in my teaching, means moving at the speed of attention. Not the speed of the sequence.
What to expect
A class with me is slow. Not in pace, but in attention. We stay with things longer than feels comfortable. We ask questions that do not have quick answers. I will adjust you. I will ask you what you noticed. I will sometimes stop the flow to point at something everyone missed.
You will not be told what to think. You will be asked to notice what is actually happening in your body, in your breath, in the space between the two. That is the practice.
If you have been practicing for years and feel something has gone flat, you are welcome here. If you are new and curious and a little unsure, you are welcome here. If you want to understand what you are doing instead of just performing it, you are in the right place.
What is the part of your practice you have stopped paying attention to?