Practice Library · Flows
Flows
Ready-made sequences from the Pose Anatomy library — every pose flows into the next. Swipe through, then practice.
Sun Salutation A
The classic vinyasa sequence, in standard order.
Feet root through all four corners.
Grow up through the crown, like a plant finding light.
Arms rise like branches reaching for morning light.
Shoulders melt down, away from the ears.
Hinge from the hips; pour the torso down like water off a leaf.
Bend the knees as much as the hamstrings ask.
Lengthen the spine flat as still water.
Shoulder blades draw together; gaze just past the fingertips.
One long line, heels to crown, a plank laid over a stream.
Belly draws in; heels press back toward the earth behind you.
Lower halfway, elbows hugging the ribs like roots hugging stone.
Stay one long line — hover, don't sink.
Thighs hover off the ground, arms straight.
Roll the chest forward through the arms, open as a flower to morning.
Palms spread like mycelium drinking into the mat.
Hips rise high; heels reach down toward the center of the earth.
Lengthen the spine flat as still water.
Shoulder blades draw together; gaze just past the fingertips.
Hinge from the hips; pour the torso down like water off a leaf.
Bend the knees as much as the hamstrings ask.
Arms rise like branches reaching for morning light.
Shoulders melt down, away from the ears.
Feet root through all four corners.
Grow up through the crown, like a plant finding light.
Morning Flow
About 20 minutes, energizing: warm-up, standing flow, one peak, then down to the floor.
Cross the shins; root down through the seat.
Grow tall through the crown, a plant rising from its own ground.
Hips sink toward the heels; the forehead comes home to the earth.
This is the ground you return to — stay as long as the breath asks.
Press the tops of the feet into the earth.
Roll the shoulders back; let the back lift the chest, a shoot breaking soil.
One long line, heels to crown, a plank laid over a stream.
Belly draws in; heels press back toward the earth behind you.
Palms spread like mycelium drinking into the mat.
Hips rise high; heels reach down toward the center of the earth.
Sink through the front leg; send the back leg long behind.
Arms rise, and the back hip opens like a gate to the sun.
Front knee bends over a rooted foot.
Square the hips forward; the back leg runs long behind you, a root trailing.
Front knee tracks over the second toe.
Gaze travels over the front hand, down a long shoreline.
The front knee stays bent and rooted.
Arc the top arm back — the ribs open like a wave curling.
Front knee over the ankle, foot gripping the earth.
One long line runs heel to fingertips, a river running downhill.
Both legs straight, feet gripping the earth.
The top hand lifts like a branch off a long, open trunk.
Feet parallel, legs strong as young trunks.
Fold from the hips; the crown pours down toward the earth.
Hinge from the hips; pour the torso down like water off a leaf.
Bend the knees as much as the hamstrings ask.
Lengthen the spine flat as still water.
Shoulder blades draw together; gaze just past the fingertips.
Arms rise like branches reaching for morning light.
Shoulders melt down, away from the ears.
Sit the hips back, weight sinking into the heels.
Arms climb overhead; the thighs warm like sun on stone.
Knees together, hips low as Chair.
Wring from the center; the chest turns open, a flower following the sun.
Wrap and squeeze everything toward the center, vines winding.
Sit low; the back opens wide between the shoulder blades.
Press foot and thigh into each other over one rooted leg.
Breathe tall — a young tree testing the light.
Kick the foot into the hand; let the chest bloom open.
The standing leg roots deep, hips square to the horizon.
Hinge from the hips; pour the torso down like water off a leaf.
Bend the knees as much as the hamstrings ask.
Lead with the chest; hinge from the hips, never the waist.
Pour long over the legs, like low light over a field.
Both shoulders stay rooted to the floor.
Let the knees pour to one side; breathe into the long, open side.
Press through the heels; the hips rise like ground lifting.
Knees reach forward; the shoulders roll under and root.
Hold the outer edges of the feet, knees toward the armpits.
Press the whole low back into the earth; rock soft as a leaf on water.
Legs and arms rest open; every muscle stops trying.
Let the earth hold all of it — breathe without asking anything of the breath.
Evening Wind-Down
Floor-based and calming: open, twist, fold, rest.
Soles together, knees falling open like a book.
Breathe slow; the inner thighs soften like ice in spring sun.
Hold the outer edges of the feet, knees toward the armpits.
Press the whole low back into the earth; rock soft as a leaf on water.
Press through the heels; the hips rise like ground lifting.
Knees reach forward; the shoulders roll under and root.
Both shoulders stay rooted to the floor.
Let the knees pour to one side; breathe into the long, open side.
Soles together, knees falling open like a book.
Breathe slow; the inner thighs soften like ice in spring sun.
Legs and arms rest open; every muscle stops trying.
Let the earth hold all of it — breathe without asking anything of the breath.
Cross the shins; root down through the seat.
Grow tall through the crown, a plant rising from its own ground.
Hips sink toward the heels; the forehead comes home to the earth.
This is the ground you return to — stay as long as the breath asks.
Press the tops of the feet into the earth.
Roll the shoulders back; let the back lift the chest, a shoot breaking soil.
Hips sink toward the heels; the forehead comes home to the earth.
This is the ground you return to — stay as long as the breath asks.
Cross the shins; root down through the seat.
Grow tall through the crown, a plant rising from its own ground.
Lead with the chest; hinge from the hips, never the waist.
Pour long over the legs, like low light over a field.
Front shin angled across the mat, back leg reaching long.
Hips level — breathe into the deep hip, water into dry soil.
Soles together, knees falling open like a book.
Breathe slow; the inner thighs soften like ice in spring sun.
Legs and arms rest open; every muscle stops trying.
Let the earth hold all of it — breathe without asking anything of the breath.