Last weekend, while attending a yoga festival, I spent much of my time with a camera in my hand.

Between classes, I chatted with teachers and practitioners, listened to conversations as people rolled up their mats and watched hundreds of people leave their practice looking just a little different from when they had arrived.

Some were delighted to have finally achieved a posture they had been working towards. Others spoke about shoulders that felt looser, backs that no longer ached, or simply how much calmer they felt after an hour on the mat.

Listening to those conversations reminded me why so many people are drawn to yoga. Few practices have such an immediate and tangible effect on both body and mind. It also left me reflecting on a question that is rarely asked.

Many of us can describe what asana, the physical postures of yoga, has done for us. We feel stronger, more mobile, more balanced and more at ease. Yet how often do we stop to ask what asana was originally intended for?

It is an understandable question to overlook. If a practice consistently improves our strength, flexibility and wellbeing, it is only natural to assume that those outcomes are its purpose. Modern yoga is often presented in exactly those terms, with the emphasis placed on physical achievement, mobility or fitness.

However, the classical traditions of yoga invite us to consider a broader perspective. Within the eight limbs of yoga described by Patanjali, asana is only one part of a much broader path. While it has become the aspect of yoga most familiar in the modern world, it was never intended to stand alone.

Imagine a tree. Most of us notice its height, its branches and its leaves because they are visible. They tell us whether the tree appears healthy, and they are the part we instinctively admire. Yet everything we can see depends upon something we cannot.

Hidden beneath the surface, the roots quietly support the entire tree, drawing in water and nutrients that allow it to flourish. Without them, the branches and leaves simply could not exist.

Asana is perhaps a little like that.

The physical benefits of practice are genuine, valuable and worth celebrating. They tell us that something positive is taking place. However, they were not traditionally regarded as the destination. Instead, they were traditionally understood as preparation for the practices that followed.

Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras describe asana simply as a posture that is steady and comfortable. It is a remarkably modest description when compared with the complexity of modern postural practice, yet it offers an important clue to asana’s original purpose. The aim was not to master increasingly complex shapes, but to cultivate a body that could remain comfortable and free from distraction. In doing so, asana prepared the practitioner for the deeper practices of yoga, beginning with breath regulation and eventually meditation.

After all, it is difficult to cultivate stillness if aching knees, a painful back or physical restlessness constantly demand our attention. A body that is stronger, more stable and more comfortable creates the conditions in which the mind is freer to settle.

Seen in this light, the physical benefits of asana are not separate from yoga’s deeper purpose. They are an essential part of the journey, creating the foundation upon which the inward practices of yoga can gradually unfold.

Reflecting on those conversations from last weekend, I found myself hearing them rather differently. The excitement of finally reaching a posture, the relief of moving without pain and the calm that follows a good class are all wonderful expressions of what yoga can offer. They deserve to be celebrated.

At the same time, they may also be an invitation to continue exploring. If asana leaves us stronger, calmer and more comfortable in our bodies, perhaps its greatest value lies not only in what it gives us today, but in what it makes possible tomorrow.

The next time you step onto your mat, it may be worth asking a slightly different question.

Not simply, “What will this practice do for me today?”

But also, “What was this practice originally intended for, and what might it be preparing me for?”