Category Archives: Live Your Yoga

Brahma-vihāras: Qualities for Clarity of Mind

Yoga Sūtra 1.33 first lists four qualities to cultivate on the path of yoga: maitrī (friendliness or love), karuṇā (compassion), muditā (joy), and upekṣā (equanimity). These virtues are also heralded in Buddhism as the brahma-vihāras. The next part of this sūtra lists four types of people: sukha (happy), duḥkha (suffering), puṇya (virtuous) and apuṇya (nonvirtuous).

This sūtra suggests that cultivating (bhāvanātaś) the four qualities toward those four types of situations one might encounter, yields greater clarity of mind (citta prasādanam). Specifically, it suggests one should cultivate friendliness or love toward those who are happy, compassion toward those suffering, joy toward those with virtue, and equanimity toward nonvirtuous or evil people. So this sūtra gives a technique for creating clarity in consciousness by giving some tools to work with in relationships. As well, YS 1.33 can be thought of as describing qualities that naturally emerge given a more refined awareness.

YS 1.33 maitrī-karuṇā-muditā-upekṣāṇāṃ sukha-duḥkha-puṇyaapuṇya-viṣayāṇāṃ bhāvanātaś-citta-prasādanam
maitrī: friendliness
karuṇā: compassion
muditā: joy, gladness
upekṣā: equanimity
sukha: happiness
duḥkha: sorrow, suffering, pain
puṇya: virtue, meritorious
apuṇya: vice, demeritorious
viṣayāṇām: concerning or regarding object
bhāvanātaś: cultivating attitude citta: mind, awareness
prasādanam: purification, clarification
The mind becomes clarified by cultivating [or alternately: A clarified mind yields] an attitude of friendliness, compassion, joy, and equanimity toward happiness, pain, virtue, or vice.

As I have contemplated this sūtra, it seems that its list of qualities starts with what is easiest for us to do and moves to what is most difficult. The first two, maitrī/friendliness and karuṇā/compassion, are relatively easy because they often arise spontaneously. Most well-adjusted people find it easy to be friendly and loving when they encounter happy people. Likewise, compassion/karuṇā often naturally arises toward those who are suffering/duḥkha.

The third quality, muditā/joy, may naturally arise in the face of someone who is puṇya/virtuous. For example, when someone performs a beautiful dance or makes a piece of art, we are joyful about that. If someone excels at a sport or a child performs a difficult piano piece, we naturally applaud their accomplishment, joyfully celebrating their virtuosity. However, at times when faced with someone else’s success, instead of feeling joy, we might experience jealousy. So at times, that third pairing of extending muditā/joy toward someone else’s accomplishment can be a challenge.

The last listed quality is the one many people find quite difficult: upekṣā/equanimity toward the apuṇya/nonvirtuous person. Upekṣā is often translated as “equanimity,” which usually leads to the question: What does equanimity mean? Equi means what you might think: “equal or same.” And animus indicates “mind,” so equanimity can mean “even-mindedness.”

A good place to start cultivating these qualities is toward ourselves, as everyone has times when they’re happy, sad, virtuous, or nonvirtuous. When suffering/duḥkha, can we give ourselves some karuṇā/ compassion? When we’ve behaved badly/apuṇya, can we foster a bit of upekṣā/equanimity? Can such behavior be put in perspective? For example, it’s helpful to understand that making a mistake doesn’t make us a bad person.

To practice cultivating these virtues, we can begin by consciously noticing our reactions when meeting these different situations. For example, in the case of someone else’s success, what saṃskāric pattern habitually arises? We have the choice to continue to reinforce it or not, to the degree the ledge of freedom has been established. Though it is hard to stop a thought once it has arisen, we can choose to change the channel. It isn’t a matter of stuffing or ignoring that thought; it’s a matter of laying down a new pattern. When we make the choice and act, that pattern/saṃskāra is established. When repeated, that action becomes a habit. So it is important to ask: What do we want our habit patterns to be like?

Many of the teachings we’ve considered through our svādhyāya/study can be useful in these situations. For example, understanding how the malas and other mechanisms of concealment work to occlude the heart allows for more karuṇā/compassion for ourselves and others and puts things in perspective/upekṣā. And all the practices work to remove the obscurations and clarify awareness/sattva buddhi. The contemplative practice, bhāvanā, can be particularly useful. When something like jealousy arises, bhāvanā could help uncover and eventually dissolve the source of this pattern. So it can be worked with through practice while acknowledging that at times we might need some additional help from a valued friend or a therapist.

The major point here is to act consciously and skillfully, from the highest place possible in the moment. In YS 1.33, Patañjali is suggesting to cultivate these virtues as a means to calm the surface agitation so one can move to a deeper level of awareness. When choosing to respond with positive qualities, we create more positive saṃskāras/habit patterns while at the same time a more sattvic buddhi/clarified awareness arises. So over time, this leads to a positive citta-vṛtti-karma-saṃskāra cycle, which will aid in surface life while at the same time refining the depths of awareness. We have to start connecting the dots of how the thoughts, feelings, and actions play out in our lives.

And remember, word order is important in these pithy sūtras, and the first word in YS 1.33 is maitrī/love. The practice of meditation aligns us with our very own Heart essence (hṛdaya). Exercise freedom/svātantrya to pause and connect, then choose to respond from that Sourceplace of love. When we can do this, it will shift our world.

Reflect and explore

  • Consider each of the virtues listed in YS 1.33, as well as the types of people listed.

~ Give a real-life example of each, preferably from your own life.

~ How do they manifest in your life?

~ What encourages or discourages their occurrence?

  • Practice and note your experience(s): Pick one of these qualities to consciously cultivate for some period of time (it could be a day, a week, a month) and note your experience(s). Repeat this with other qualities.
  • Practice and note your experience(s): For some period of time, cultivate these qualities toward yourself.
  • Do you always experience joy for another’s virtuosity, or does jealousy sometimes arise? How can you work with this?
  • How do you think about upekṣā/equanimity? What helps you find a greater perspective?

Creation, Sustenance, and Dissolution (Part 1 of the Pañca-Kṛtyas)

One of the most popular images in yoga culture is the figure of four-armed Naṭarāja standing in a ring of fire on one leg, with the other foot upturned. From a Tantric perspective, Śiva is the ground of being from which all of the manifest world arises. In the image of Naṭarāja, Śiva the Absolute is dancing the manifest world into existence.

Encoded into the image of Naṭarāja are the pañca-kṛtyas, the five acts of Śiva. Pañca means “five.” Kṛtya comes from the verbal root kṛ meaning “to make or do.” So these are the five acts of the Highest. The pañca-kṛtyas can be thought of as different attributes of Śiva’s dance. The pañca-kṛtyas/five acts are sṛṣṭi/creation, sthiti/maintenance, saṃhāra/dissolution, tirodhāna, vilaya, or nigraha/concealment, and anugraha/revelation or grace.

Remember that Śiva is the Highest unmanifest ultimate reality, the ground of being, existing beyond time and space. Because of that, the description of Naṭarāja will at times be paradoxical, and one paradox is that Śiva performs all these actions simultaneously and continuously. As he dances, he is simultaneously creating, sustaining, dissolving, concealing, and revealing.

There are layers of meaning here and one way to look at these five acts is to consider the triad of creation, maintenance, and dissolution, along with the dyad of concealment and revelation. Here we’ll first examine the triad of creation, maintenance, and dissolution in more detail.

The image of Naṭarāja encodes various attributes of Śiva-Śakti as both the ground of being and that from which all the manifest world emerges. There are different interpretations of this mapping of the pañca-kṛtyas onto the Śiva Naṭarāja, which I will point out as we go. See what resonates most for you. It is important to note that I will be indicating right and left, and that refers to Naṭarāja’s right or left, which will be opposite to you as you look at it.

Starting with Śiva Naṭarāja’s top right hand, which is on our left as we look at it, Naṭarāja holds a drum called the damaru. The drum is cinched in its middle by a string with something like a pebble at the end that strikes the drumhead. As the drum is flicked back and forth, the pebble creates a “tick-tock” rhythm, like the pulse of creation giving rise to all of manifestation. This is the first act of Śiva: sṛṣṭi/creation. The drum represents the action of creating, of manifesting, it is the pulse, the beat of life. The dance of life begins; the heart starts beating. The drum is a rhythm, the creative pulse from which everything flows into existence. The unmanifest ground of reality starts vibrating everything into manifestation.

The second of the pañca-kṛtyas is sthiti: sustenance, persistence, or maintenance. In one mapping it is represented by the upturned right hand in abhaya–mudrā, that gesture of fearlessness. Another mapping teaches that sthiti/persistence is represented by the supporting leg. That steady leg supports the entire dance and therefore relates to that steadfast and persevering energy of sthiti. The sturdy leg seems to be holding everything together. It is the balancing act of life. Whatever is manifested must then be maintained. There is some persistence for a while, until of course there isn’t, since all manifest things eventually dissolve.

Naṭarāja’s topmost left hand (on our right) holds fire, representing saṃhāra, the third of the pañca-kṛtyas. Fire burns and is destructive, so this is symbolic of dissolution, destruction, reabsorption, or transformation. In the larger context of the Hindu gods, Śiva is a very fierce god, known as the destroyer. A related meaning is dissolution or reabsorption, where everything emitted is eventually reabsorbed back into the Divine.

Sṛṣṭi/creation comes from the verbal root sṛj, which means “to emit, to pour forth, to let go.” Śiva as the unmanifest pure Consciousness holds everything in potential form (as in the liṅga). Sṛṣṭi is the agency within the Absolute that unfolds what has been held in potential form. It can be thought of as the unfolding of that which is already present in potential form. Sṛṣṭi can be a sense of just letting go and emitting, which infers that creation is not necessarily hard work and is, perhaps, even a sense of play. The Divine allows the manifest to flow out.

And then sthiti/sustenance, the second part of this triad, is what maintains that which has been created. If there wasn’t some maintaining quality, whatever was created would be instantaneously gone. So sthiti is the energy that maintains things for some period of time.

Then everything manifest eventually dissolves. This is saṃhāra/dissolution. Destruction is one way to think of saṃhāra, but it is also withdrawal, dissolution, or even transformation. What has been manifested and sustained for some time is now reabsorbed or retracted back into the Absolute. Saṃhāra as transformation means something old has to dissolve and be turned into something else. It is represented by the fire that Naṭarāja holds, and where I live in the western United States, fire can be extremely destructive. However, when the forests burn, space is created for new growth to unfold.

These acts/kṛtyas take place on all scales, from the macrocosmic scale of the whole universe to the microcosm of individual awareness—and everything in between. So these three unfold on all levels of reality. Everything pulses into existence, persists for some time, then dissolves. It occurs in the cycle of day and night, the seasons of the year, and in our own breath. Hindu philosophy talks of even greater cycles or ages, called yugas. These acts are embodied in our human life: we’re born, we live, we die. I’m fond of the idea that at birth, the Divine exhales us out, and we take in our first breath. The divine act of emitting or unfolding us is sṛṣṭi, manifestation. Then at death, we exhale our last breath, and the Divine breathes us back in. This is saṃhāra, dissolution, the sense that our individual self dissolves and is reabsorbed into the Divine.

In our individual lives, this triad operates in every action we take. Sṛṣṭi is the creative impulse flowing forth, our self-expression through action. Sthiti is maintaining that action, and saṃhāra is allowing it to end. These three can also be considered at the level of thoughts, how they arise, catch our attention for some time, then fall away. It can be illuminative to explore how and what we create, maintain, and dissolve in our lives, and how that helps us to live our yoga.

Reflect and Explore

List and define these first three of the pañca-kṛtyas/five acts. Contemplate their meanings, and give examples from your life.

How do the different mappings of Naṭarāja inform your understanding?

Observe the cycle of creation, maintenance, and dissolution in some different aspects of your experience and life.

Consider What You Bring Into Your Awareness

PH 5 citir eva cetana-padād avarūḍhā cetya-saṃkocinī cittam
citi: absolute Consciousness
eva: itself
cetana: uncontracted or expanded Consciousness
padād: state, stage
avarūḍhā: descend
cetya: object of perception
saṃkocinī: contracted, limited
citta: mind, individual awareness
Consciousness contracts from its expanded state and becomes our individual awareness, conforming to objects of perception.

The last phrase of Pratyabhijñā-hṛdayam 5: “conforming to the objects of perception” is so important to consider as we apply yogic teachings to our lives. Our citta, our individual consciousness, contracts to perceive whatever we are currently paying attention to, the object of perception/cetya. Think about that, because it has huge implications for our work with our own consciousness. The mind is saturated with whatever we turn our attention to.

When one looks at something, the mind moves to that and becomes contracted in the sense that when focusing on one thing, other things are lost, and they aren’t seen. Note I’m using sight here as just one example of the senses, but this is true of all the senses and the thoughts themselves. For example, right now you’re focusing on these words to the exclusion of anything else. Your mind is becoming saturated with this teaching.

From the perspective of living our life and refining awareness, where one puts attention has profound significance. For example, the object of perception, what one focuses on, can be some pattern of thought. It could be something that arises from within us like a habitual way of thinking—some reactionary, obsessive, or addictive pattern. On the other hand, it could be a remembrance of the highest perspective.

This may seem like a small point, but it has huge implications for how to live your yoga. Since consciousness is contracted according to where the focus is directed, it is important to consider where you consistently placing awareness because consciousness contracts around that. The mind is colored by what it perceives. This is why what one surrounds oneself with is so central to the journey of yoga.

A related teaching says something like: “You become the company you keep, so keep good company.” Anything you surround yourself with and take into your body and awareness—people, things, images, food—affects the different levels of being. Therefore, you should consider carefully what company you keep, and what is repeatedly brought into awareness through the body, senses, and thoughts, as this has a profound effect on what you become.

To summarize, this sūtra (PH 5) teaches us that one manifestation of the Highest is our very own mind, citta. The tradition provides many explanations of this contracting process and its results are given. Yet, if we consistently place our awareness internally toward our hearts, for example through the practice of meditation, then the mind becomes saturated with the qualities of the Highest.

Reflect and Explore

Are you aware of the movements of your mind/citta-vṛttis? Do you see those movements as good, bad, indifferent? How do they influence your life?

How do you work with what arises in your awareness?

Take time to watch the workings of your mind and notice what you bring into your awareness through the senses and thoughts. (This might include movies, music, news, art, spiritual teachings, physical surroundings, relationships.) How does each feel? How does that affect you? Does each thing brought into awareness make you feel more or less connected to your Heart center? Does it affect your subsequent thoughts and actions—for instance how you act toward others or how you feel about yourself and others?

How does the practice of yoga/meditation relate to the teaching that your mind contracts around the object of perception?

The Role of Judgment

Something one hears quite often in the contemporary yoga scene is “Don’t be so judgmental.” This has some level of truth, but quite often it’s used inappropriately. In fact, the ability to make judgments is a not only a human tendency but a gift. We’re always making judgments, probably due to an evolutionary impulse to evaluate whether something in the environment is going to eat us or if it’s something we’d like to eat. We are always scanning our surroundings and making flash judgments about safety and threat. This expands to judgment of good and bad and the value of things; ultimately it aids us in making wise decisions.

From this perspective, judgment is useful for us. One needs it to effectively function in the world, and increased ability to do so enhances householder life. We need to judge whether the skillet is too hot to handle, the food is spoiled, or whether some particular course of action will be of benefit. And the broader concept of viveka, or discernment, is highly valued in the yoga tradition. The increased ability to be discerning and use good judgment is a hallmark of progress on the path of yoga.

Judgments are used to discern what is problematic, bad, or unacceptable in the world. At a societal or political level, for example, we use judgment to evaluate a person or policy and decide whether the associated words, actions, or likely results are uplifting, true, useful, and good—or whether they’re false or detrimental, and therefore problematic. In general, we need to use our judgement and then set boundaries around words and actions that are harmful, untruthful, and damaging.

This is by no means easy! It is a human tendency to quickly judge something as good and then attach to it. Likewise, when judging things as bad, there is a tendency to push them away. These are two of the kleśas/hindrances outlined by Patañjali in the Yoga Sūtra (YS 2.3). We must be aware of how judgment is operating in our lives, since thoughts are the result of innate human tendencies and saṃskāric patterning.

Judgment isn’t necessarily bad, just like the citta-vṛttis/fluctuations of the mind aren’t all bad. Judgments are simply thoughts that are more or less accurate and refined. One must learn to discern when thoughts are aligned with the Highest and when they are detrimental saṃskāric patterning. Meditation clears out the obstructions to the wisest Self so spontaneous judgments eventually become more accurate.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

Notice how often you use your capacity of judgment. Does it feel like a gift or a hindrance?

When is judgment a good thing, and when is it problematic?

Fear and Abhaya Mudra

I generally go with my intuition on what needs to be said at a particular time, and this week it is also what is up for me right now: FEAR. I’ve been facing a number of challenges from the physical (nothing life-threatening, no worries!), to the mental and emotional, in addition to the existential crises we are facing politically and environmentally, and several other situations where I’m seeing it in myself and others. It is a lot to hold, and I’m sure some of you are similarly challenged.

Unlike many of the teachings we consider, I don’t have a specific text to point to this time, but fearlessness is alluded to in the tradition through many of the images of the Gods and Goddesses, as well as the Buddha. They raise a hand with the palm facing out, in a gesture known as abhaya mudra. It literally means “no fear,” fearlessness, or have no fear.

When I experience fear, it is important first of all to see and acknowledge it. So many times we’re driven by fear unconsciously, and it gets projected inappropriately on to someone or something else. Next it is a matter of assessing whether it is appropriate, because sometimes it is and we need to protect ourselves.

Often the fear boils down to a fear of uncertainty, of not knowing what is next, or wanting to control the situation and not being able to, fear of not being capable, failure, imperfection, having to let go of something or someone, or simply having to deal with something unpleasant. Often we are filled with fear when we’re on the cusp of something, starting a new enterprise, dealing with a health challenge, or a breakthrough in our personal or spiritual development. As I assess my fear, I often turn toward analyzing and processing, with myself or another, and that can be important as well.

But ultimately I’ve found my practices have helped me the most. My yoga asana practice can be incredibly useful. I faced fear many times approaching particular poses and I know I can breathe through it. A greater awareness of my breath allows me to more readily notice fear arising and breathe deeply since I’ve established that pattern over many years of practice, which physically relaxes me. Often when I get on my mat, breathe and move the energy through me, the fear dissipates.

I’ve learned philosophically how so much of fear is due fundamentally to the human condition of manifesting into a limited individuality with the associated occlusions which can lead to a feeling of lack, of feeling less than, inadequate, incapable, and so on. Through my practices, I am slowly removing the occlusions to my heart so that sourceplace of courage is more accessible. I also find myself able to keep a larger perspective on things, to keep in mind my svadharma, my life’s purpose, and to not let the fear take over from pursuing what I must.

One of the teachings I recently shared was about silence, and it actually takes a lot of courage to be quiet. Many people fill their awareness with stimuli of various sorts precisely so they do not have to look inside. It takes courage to close your eyes and look deep inside to see what is hidden there. It can be scary to see how much of our experience is of our own creation, how repetitive our thoughts and actions can be, and it requires courage to confront these realities of our inner workings. But as well, having mustered the courage to go inside, we discover the luminosity of our innermost self, the light of our heart which can give us courage and guide us through fearful situations.

Courage is something we can consciously muster, but with continued meditation, it also arises more spontaneously as our awareness becomes more clarified, and as we’ve gone through the process of moving through these uncomfortable shifts that often occur over the course of years of sadhana. In fact, we may even invite in those issues we need to deal with in order to move further along the path.

As we sit in meditation we see the arising of habitual thought patterns of different types, including fear, and we work with them so we are no longer held captive by them. This eventually allows us to mindfully observe and do the same on a moment-by-moment basis as we move through our everyday life.

So my sense is that abhaya mudra acknowledges that fear is part of the process of transformation on all levels of our life, but particularly in the deepest layers of our being. The gesture reminds us that ultimately we are bigger than our fear, since we are in fact divine ourselves, and we can harness the greater energy of the heart to face whatever is manifesting in both or inner and outer worlds.

Mauna: The Practice of Silence

A much venerated practice (abhyasa) in many traditions is that of silence (mauna). In the Tantric tradition, refinement of all aspects of practice, knowledge, and our lives is encouraged, and speech is no exception. Restraint of speech is a most valuable practice, for many reasons.

At the deepest level, being quiet and going inside during meditation garners access to the silence of the highest consciousness, the silence of the innermost self, the quiet steady ground of being that underlies everything. And that silence is not dead, but alive, it is vibrating. My teacher Paul Muller-Ortega calls it the “vibrating silence,” the pulsating radiance of our deepest self, which is the ground of our own being and access to which allows us to bring that luminosity and love out to the surface of our everyday life.

As a practice, there are many other benefits of silence (more than I can go into here), an important one is that as we go about our activities outside of mediation we can rest the activation of our social persona – all those parts of us that most of us think are actually who we are as people. This includes all our roles in life, our past experiences, and so on. As householder practitioners, we each have many roles and responsibilities to fulfill as we unfold our own beautiful and unique offerings into the world. This requires a great deal of effort, and one of the greatest gifts of silence is to simply take rest.

This rest of our surface social persona first of all is, well, REST. Because is it not exhausting sometimes to just keep showing up in the world? It takes a lot of energy to animate our persona in all the different domains of our life. But as well, silence allows us to better experience who we are underneath all of that, and rest in the quiet space of awareness itself. And this give us the experience and practice of resourcing this deeper place inside so that as we emerge into activity and non-silence we can remember, return to, and access that place that is always there.

When we regularly connect with a deeper part of ourself, the vibrating silence is pulsating with an energy that can give us so much if we listen. You cannot talk and listen at the same time. Our ability to listen is heightened when we are quiet, so silence is a unique opportunity to listen and observe. Part of that is watching as thoughts and impulses arise, and disconnecting that from the immediate impulse to act, by resisting the impulse to speak.

For myself, from this practice of silence I’ve garnered an ability to watch the impulse to speak or act, and pause to evaluate if it is necessary or perhaps choosing to be silent is better. I have an increased capacity to just shut up. I pause and ask myself: is my speech necessary and useful, and if so, how can it be most useful in the highest way?

Particularly on retreat, when I’m doing a lot of meditation, I can be agitated (which is part of the process of burning off samskaras) and I may want to say to do things from that place of agitation, but because I am also practicing silence, I don’t speak. I watch the impulse and I don’t immediately follow it. And many times later I realize how unimportant what I wanted to say was, how it was unnecessary, or how it might have stirred up things or create unnecessary drama.

And I’m getting better with doing this on a moment by moment basis. So many times in recent history I’ve written some comment/response on social media, and then paused, and decided to erase it before posting. Unfortunately there are still times I haven’t done this, and I’ve regretted it. And of course there are times I do speak up as I feel it is necessary and useful, but I take some time first so it is a reflection of the quiet place of my heart rather than surface agitation.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

PRACTICE mauna/silence for a day, it could even be a weekly or monthly practice. As you do so:

– Take note of the moment the impulse to speak arises, and make a conscious choice on whether to enact that impulse.

– What does this teach you about any habitual patterns in your life?

– Do you notice an increased ability to listen to the deeper parts of yourself?

– How does this translate to your everyday householder life?

Naṭarāja and the Two Paths of Yoga

The image of Naṭarāja, Śiva as the Lord of Dance, encapsulates many beautiful teachings. To begin, take a moment to pause and consider your impression of Naṭarāja (there is an image below).

– For a few moments take in the feel of Naṭarāja —not so much the specific details, but the overall presence of the image and how it resonates with you.

– Write about your general sense of this image.

Whatever you see is what you see, but one of the main things the image elicits is, of course, a dance. Naṭarāja is dancing, but there is also a sense of serenity. His face is serene; he is very steady and aligned along a central axis. Yet this is a wild dance, and Naṭarāja’s hair is flying about. So here there is a representation of both the wild dance and a serene center.

One way to think of these qualities relates to the meaning of Śiva as the ground of being, the unmanifest, quiet and centered, stillness itself. But also in the image of Naṭarāja, Śiva is dancing the world into manifestation. From the center of his dance, everything begins to pulsate, and all of manifestation occurs. He’s starting the whole wheel turning, from which all that is manifest is created. So there is an aspect of Śiva as the cosmic dancer dancing life itself into existence.

These two aspects of Naṭarāja are related to a thread that runs throughout yoga philosophy and is mirrored in the modern yoga scene: the contrast and choice between what are termed nivṛtti and pravṛtti paths of yoga. The term vṛtti relates to turning or revolving. Nivṛtti is turning away from the world. This path requires renouncing the world and all associated desires. Pravṛtti is turning toward the world. This path involves engaging in the world. So there is a general contrast between two paths of yoga: the nivṛtti, or renunciate path, and pravṛtti, the householder path.

When I first began my yoga journey, the perceived push toward asceticism in the yoga world was very confusing to me. I began my practice in a very rigorous yoga school that emphasized breath, a steady gaze, and a prescribed sequence of postures. It required immense discipline, focus, and dedication. Through that practice, I got a glimpse of the quiet mind, a still point, that part of me that was watching, the draṣṭṛ/seer, that serene center reflected in Naṭarāja’s face and centeredness.

I began to have larger questions about the path of yoga and started exploring the philosophy underlying the practice. At that time, there weren’t many texts or books on yoga, but one that was available was the Yoga Sūtra, which delineates an ascetic or renunciate path, turning awareness inward and away from the world. I began to understand how such a philosophy could lead to a strict and controlled approach toward the body and mind, which was what I was experiencing in my āsana practice. I was so perplexed by this perspective, which didn’t resonate with me. Again and again, I found myself asking, If the goal of yoga is to subjugate the body and withdraw the mind from the world, why are we born into these bodies, into this world, with the gift of such active minds?

When I encountered a different yoga āsana school that honored the body, mind, and all of manifestation as part of a divine pulsation, it drew me in. It resonated with what I sensed intuitively. I found out that this approach was based on Tantric yoga philosophy, a development that came later than the Classical Yoga of Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtra. And Tantra acknowledges a householder path for those who choose to function in society and all that entails.

I felt lucky to have experienced both of these schools, and it felt that each had a piece of the truth, yet I struggled to reconcile them. This is the paradox represented in Naṭarāja, the serenely quiet yogi and the wild dancer. Eventually I realized what was missing from these schools of yoga āsana was the practice of meditation. In both, there was a sense that one should be meditating, but no method was explicitly integrated. So when I saw the opportunity to begin practicing and studying a Tantric-based meditation method, I dove right in.

Along with receiving a meditation practice for householders, I learned how the practice worked, which allowed me to assimilate my previous experiences. I came full circle back to the teachings of Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtra with its emphasis on meditation and practice. And as I began studying Tantra, I confirmed that there was more than the ascetic path, as I’d always intuited. The meditative state is not the end but the beginning. Through meditation, we connect to the ground of being, which supports us as we then move through everyday householder activities.

Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtra tells us the ultimate limb of yoga is samādhi, that state of enstatic, or internal, awareness. But Tantra represents a path that leads to more stages of yoga beyond samādhi. These further stages allow one to live a fully embodied life from a place of expanded awareness. One can experience the Divine while embodying the householder life. In this way, Yoga and meditation can be a support in the many dances in life.

Reflect and Explore

How do you see the relationship between practices that move you inwardly and living your life fully as a householder?

Have you experienced any conflict regarding these two paths of nivṛtti/inward turning/renunciate and pravṛtti/outward turning/householder?

How have you experienced yoga practice supporting householder life?

Svātantyra

A fundamental teaching of Tantra occurs in the beginning of the Pratyabhijñā-hṛdayam: “Consciousness (Citi) in her freedom brings about everything in the universe” (PH 1). The highest Absolute reality as the ground of being manifests relative reality out of its own freedom. The power of freedom, the svātantrya-śakti, is considered the highest form of the power of Consciousness.

Svatantra is an extraordinary and important concept. Usually translated as “free,” it also means “independent,” in that there is no reliance on anything else. The absolute Citi manifests everything as a result of its freedom, or svātantrya. At the level of the highest reality, the absolute Citi is completely free. The freedom implied in svātantrya is a much larger concept than simply liberty and the pursuit of happiness. At the level of the Absolute, it means freedom from any limiting factors, including time, space, and form. It is the ability to be anywhere as anything at any time. It seems inconceivable.

The prefix sva means “self,” and tantra can mean “loom,” (as in “weaving”), so another interpretation of this word is “self-weaving.” She takes the strands of existence and weaves them into the manifest world as we know it. I love this definition, as it invokes the image of our lives as a piece of cloth or a quilt that we create over a lifetime. So the question becomes: What do you want the quilt to be like? All your thoughts and behavior weave what becomes the fabric of your current life and, the tradition says, future lives. This concept of freedom, svātantrya, or self-weaving, is important to consider in all levels of reality. On the level of the relative manifest world, including the path of yoga, it is important to consider how freedom of choice is exercised in all of our actions.

As a fundamental quality of the Absolute, svatantra means that the Highest is completely unlimited, independent, and absolutely free. And out of that freedom, It dances everything into existence. Human beings are the result of that dance. As a wave on the ocean of Consciousness, we also have a fair amount of freedom, though not the unlimited freedom of the Absolute itself. As relative beings, by virtue of being embodied, we are more or less limited depending on our embodied form, social circumstances, progression on the path of yoga, and so on.

In everyday life, choices are often made unconsciously. We might not understand that we are even making a choice or that there are different options. We just mindlessly carry on, often out of personal habit or prescribed social convention. For example, we always brush our teeth or commute to work in a certain way, without even thinking about it. With a pause, we can see how habitual ways of thinking and general mindsets are being activated.

Many times when facing challenging situations, we yearn to go back to “normal,” which essentially means enacting old behavioral patterns. That may not necessarily be bad, but each moment is an opportunity to pause and evaluate whether “normal” is the highest way of being for everyone involved. There is an opportunity to consciously examine these patterns. Then, out of freedom, we can choose how to be. Or, we can unconsciously allow the old patterns to dominate and reiterate, which affects not only our personal lives but society at large.

We think of freedom as a birthright, but it isn’t about the ability to do or enact anything without recourse. Ultimately this can lead to bondage on so many levels. As embodied beings, svātantrya/freedom is being free of the bonds of unconscious, habitual, saṃskāric patterns so that one acts consciously from the highest accessible place, bringing the greatest possible alignment to any given situation.

I once had a teacher who suggested I consider whether or not every one of my actions would lead me farther along the path of yoga. In some ways, this is a really heavy teaching, because it puts responsibility for our lives squarely on us and requires constant mindfulness. It means that we each are responsible for how we weave the fabric of our lives. In each moment, there is a choice to create a more aligned, integrated, and joyful life out of freedom—or one can choose misalignment, disintegration, and suffering.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

Contemplate the concept of svātantrya. How do you see it playing out in your life?

To what degree do you feel free? Consider your thoughts, feelings, and actions.

What inhibits you from feeling free? What encourages a feeling of freedom?

Are there circumstances in which you unconsciously limit your freedom of choice and/or expression?

Under which circumstances do you feel most free?

Hanuman and Jambavan

Hanuman is a character who is revered for his devotion and service to the divine. However, in his childhood and youth, he was quite precocious and sometimes acted in ways that were mischievous and even dangerous. On one such occasion he was knocked unconscious by Indra, which upset his father Vayu, the wind, who withdrew the prāṇa from the world. To appease Vayu and avoid suffocation, the Gods bestowed upon Hanuman a number of yogic powers.

Hanuman is often associated with bhakti yoga, or love of the divine, and he figures prominently in the great Indian epic, the Ramayana, in which he is devoted to his Beloved Rama and Sita. When Sita was captured by the demon Ravana and held in Sri Lanka, the rescue parties who gathered on the shores of India were consternated as to how or who had the ability to traverse the ocean to save Sita.

In this moment, Jambavan, a great friend of Hanuman’s, stepped forward to remind Hanuman of his yogic powers and ability to conquer the task. Jambuvan tells Hanuman his life story and of his great powers. Hanuman then gathers up his power to make the leap, thereby reuniting Ram and Sita. Hence the yoga posture bearing his name is Hanumanasana (also known as the splits).

This story teaches us the beauty of companionship and of a spiritual community, called the kula or saṅgha. Fellow practitioners are each a kalyāṇa–mitra. Kalyāṇa means “beautiful, virtuous, or good,” and mitra is a “friend,” so kalyāṇa–mitra refers to a spiritual friend, companion on a spiritual path, a friend of virtue, or a good counselor. And the kula, the collection of spiritual friends, is greater than each of our individual selves. Each brings the gift of their own experience, their spiritual knowledge. This is a wonderful teaching about how as friends in community we can all encourage each other and ourselves to bring our gifts forward. For this to be successful, of course, the community members have to be actively practicing and studying, not just being passive recipients of the teachings.

It is interesting to consider relationships we’ve been in, and how they led to further growth in life. Sometimes we need someone else to remind us of our greatness, and sometimes our friends simply show up to support us in our work, like Hanuman does repeatedly in the Ramayana. Other times our friends have the difficult task of reminding us when we’re out of alignment and behaving badly, as the Gods did in Hanuman’s youth. This latter has been among the best help I have received from my friends, even though usually it was the hardest help to receive.

Each of us is blessed with particular assets, be they physical, artistic, scientific, or simply being a good parent or friend, among many other possibilities. Our community and the larger world benefits from our remembrance of our gifts and bringing forth our unique contribution. Our friends, family, teachers, and the process of yoga itself serve to remind us of our own greatness. Douglas Brooks teaches that you are every character in the story. So we are each Hanuman, who here forgets his own greatness and many abilities. And we are each Jambavan, reminding each other of all we have to offer. Like Jambavan, may we each encourage the greatness of others, reminding them of their beauty and talents, especially when they’ve forgotten. And, like Hanuman, may we remember our own greatness, and harness our gifts in service of the divine. In this way, we can all be kalyāṇa–mitra for each other.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

How have you experienced the power of the kula and those who are walking the path with you, your kalyāṇa–mitra?

How can you be a better spiritual friend?

Yogic Qualities as Emergent Qualities

Anyone exploring yoga and spirituality learns about its many edicts, all the ways yogis are supposed to be as spiritual practitioners. For example, in the Yoga Sūtra, the yamas and the niyamas are the first two limbs of the famous aṣṭāṅga/eight-limbed system (YS 2.29). They include qualities like nonharming, truthfulness, nonstealing, cleanliness, and more. Elsewhere in the Yoga Sūtra are listed several attributes to cultivate on the path of yoga, such as joy, equanimity, faith, and strength (YS 1.20 and 1.33). These are treasured attributes of the path of yoga.

As I began studying the texts in my early days as a yoga practitioner, I earnestly tried to cultivate in my daily life the qualities I read about. I imagined myself embodying various attributes, much like the New Age notion of visualizing some outcome one wishes to manifest. However, if one works only on the level of the relative surface existence, success may be relatively limited.

Consider that these treasured attributes are innate capacities of the heart that may be blocked or veiled to some degree, so success in cultivating these qualities is directly correlated with the clarity of awareness and the ability to access the highest within. A more potent and effective means of manifesting them is to align with the deepest self—that which rules over everything else. As one becomes more aligned with the Highest and refines awareness, innate capacities of the heart begin to naturally emerge and flow.

Since these qualities are actually already within us, it is simply a matter of unleashing them. The process of yoga eliminates and shifts our habitual patterns/saṃskāras and they no longer guide behavior. As awareness becomes more clear and lucid, the responses these yogic virtues represent will naturally arise. These positive characteristics can be thought of as emergent qualities. They naturally emerge as the practices move us farther along the path to greater awareness and clarity.

Like many things in yoga, cultivating these virtues is a bit paradoxical as they are both the result of practice, and they are practices in and of themselves. The world desperately needs each of us to embody these qualities, so it is good to cultivate them to whatever degree possible. The more we consciously bring these attributes into awareness, the more our being will be colored by them. And as well, the more we practice and generally clarify our awareness, the more these qualities will naturally and spontaneously emerge.

These qualities are dharmic—they help hold things together on the surface of life. As we cultivate these virtues, they create more positive saṃskāras and fewer negative saṃskāras as we proceed along the path, as they begin to arise spontaneously more frequently. Most importantly, they have a positive effect on our own lives and on the world at large.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

How have you found positive qualities of the heart arising along the path of yoga?

How do you find them easier to cultivate over time?

How do you observe them spontaneously arising?