Category Archives: How Yoga Works

Refinement of Your Individuality

At the beginning of chapter 2 of the Yoga Sūtra, Patañjali outlines kriyā-yoga, a yoga of action (YS 2.1). In the following sutra he describes how this yoga works to refine one’s being in two ways. First, it helps attenuate the kleśas/impediments; second, it serves to cultivate samādhi, the deep state of meditative absorption. YS 2.2 says that yoga helps address the root obstructions to the heart, the kleśas, and yoga/meditation also creates samādhi. Remember that samādhi is a series of progressively deeper and immersive states of awareness resulting from the practice of meditation.

YS 2.2 samādhi-bhāvana-arthaḥ kleśa-tanū-karaṇa-arthaś ca
samādhi: state of meditative immersion
bhāvana: cultivating, causing, bringing about
artha: meaning, purpose
kleśa: affliction, impediment
tanū-karaṇa: attenuating, making weak
artha: purpose
ca: and
The purpose [of kriyā-yoga/the yoga of action] is samādhi/meditative immersion and attenuating the kleśas/afflictions.

This is exactly why meditation is an effective way to create changes at the surface of life by directly addressing these underlying mechanisms of the kleśas and saṃskāras, which prompt us toward feeling and acting in particular ways based on past actions/karma. It is very hard to get to the root of the saṃskāras by working only with the surface mind and behaviors. Through meditation, you go deeper than the surface to the saṃskāric seeds and burn them up, so they will no longer sprout. This is the teaching of the dagdha-bīja, the burnt seed, which is alluded to in several places in the text (See, for example, YS 2.4). These seeds can be latent, just waiting for the right conditions to sprout. When the mind finally comes to rest in meditation, the seeds of saṃskāras are burnt up and can no longer sprout.

In the Yoga Sūtra, meditation is emphasized as the method for knowing our true selves. The process of meditation acts on the deepest layers of individuality to remove (burn up) the saṃskāras and attenuate the kleśas, clearing a pathway to the true Self. YS 1.47 says that in the deepest states of samādhi, awareness is clarified, revealing the inner Self.

YS 1.47 nirvicāra-vaiśāradye-adhyātma-prasādaḥ
nirvicāra: a state of samādhi without any thought
vaiśāradye: lucidity, clarity, pure flow
adhyātma: inner Self
prasādaḥ: clarity, purity, luminosity
In the lucidity of nirvicāra-samādhi, there is clarity of the inner Self.

When you meditate, several things happen simultaneously that serve to shift and refine awareness, thus supporting the recognition/pratyabhijñā of the deepest Self. When turning the mind inward during meditation practice, awareness starts to traverse from the surface layers to the subtler layers. With repeated practice the habit pattern of moving into deeper places inside is cultivated. You are creating inward-moving saṃskāras. Meditating establishes the saṃskāra/habit pattern of moving awareness from the surface to deeper layers, to the deepest part of oneself.

The experience of steeping awareness in the deep spaces of consciousness creates a different type of saṃskāra. YS 1.50 teaches about two types of saṃskāras. First are those more conventional saṃskāras, the imprints of our past actions. Second, a different type of saṃskāra arises in deep meditative states of awareness, which acts to obstruct other saṃskāras. So the practice of meditation creates obstructor saṃskāras that don’t activate awareness with citta-vṛttis like other saṃskāras. Instead, they put a damper on the outward-moving saṃskāras, even destroying them. With continued practice, this has the effect of eliminating the influence of those old saṃskāras/subliminal activators we’re carrying around from previous life experiences. And this is a continuing and reiterative process.

YS 1.50 taj-jaḥ saṃskāro ‘nya-saṃskāra-pratibandhī
tat: that [truth-bearing wisdom]
jaḥ: born
saṃskāra: subliminal impressions/activators
anya: other
saṃskāra: subliminal impressions/activators
pratibandhī: obstructing, preventing
Saṃskāras born from that [truth-bearing wisdom] obstruct other saṃskāras.

At the same time we’re burning up problematic saṃskāras, our meditation practice produces the obstructing or inhibiting saṃskāras (YS 1.50). A commentary on the Yoga Sūtra says that these blocking saṃskāras enhance the experience of samādhi, creating more of the wisdom saṃskāras, which block the others, and so on. As well, remember that meditation helps establish the habit of moving awareness internally. All of this eventually leads us to have fewer citta-vṛttis and experiencing more calm during meditation. The obstructer saṃskāras are a way that our awareness is reorganized. In this way, awareness is slowly clarified.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

Contemplate any of the teachings you find drawn to or find challenging and consider how you’ve experienced them.

How have you noticed the release of old patterns and/or a greater clarity?

How do these teachings relate to how you approach the practice of yoga?

The Churning of the Ocean

One of the most famous and important core myths from India is that of the Churning of the Ocean. Its teachings are relevant not only to the practice of yoga, but also to life in general, and how to live your yoga. As with many myths in the tradition, there are different versions from different sources, so we will be dropping into the middle and extracting an abbreviated version of this story known as the Samudra Manthana or Sāgara Manthana. Samudra and sāgara are both words for the ocean, and manthana means “churning.”

Once upon a time, the devas and asuras—the gods and anti-gods (demons)—who usually were at odds with each other—realized they needed to work together to obtain the nectar of immortality, which resided in the ocean. To obtain the nectar, they had to churn the ocean to bring it forth. To do so, they upended a mountain to use as the churning stick. They stuck its top into the ocean with a great tortoise as a base. Around that, they wrapped the snake named Vāsuki to use as a rope.

They churned and churned, yet the nectar was not emerging, and they became a little discouraged. Viṣṇu was summoned to help, and he gave them a pep talk that re-energized them to continue churning. Finally, a great variety of treasures began to emerge from the ocean, including the crescent moon, the goddess Śrī (or Lakṣmī), a great gem, and an albino elephant with four tusks. As these things emerged from the ocean, they were claimed and distributed in various ways to both the devas and the asuras.

As the gods and demons continued to churn, what began to emerge was a viscous, deep-blue, radioactive-like substance that could paralyze the world with its vapors. This was a poison called kālakūṭa or halāhala. As in many of these stories, when things got difficult, Śiva was called upon to deal with the problem. Some accounts say he drank the poison; others say he put his finger in it and absorbed it that way. In either case, so that the world would not be obliterated by the poisonous substance, Śiva held it in his throat, where it was transmuted. The poison turned his throat blue, and this is how Śiva got his name Nīlakaṇṭha. Nīla means “blue,” and kaṇṭha means “throat.” Once the poison was dispensed with, the churning resumed, and several other things emerged from the ocean, including a wish-fulfilling cow. Finally, the physician of the gods emerged, holding a pot in which the nectar was held.

One way to interpret the overall story is as a metaphor for the practice of meditation. The ocean is consciousness, which is churned as we practice. Often we practice and practice and nothing seems to be happening, and we might even want to stop. Hopefully we continue, perhaps with some encouragement from a teacher or someone else who is our Viṣṇu. There may also be challenges and “poison” that arise. We, as Śiva, must be able to hold and transmute that poison. It is part of the process. In the story, it is only after the poison has been emitted that the nectar emerges.

When we do yoga, whether the physical āsana practice or meditation, there’s a naturally occurring cleaning-out of all that obstructs us: the saṃskāras, all the old crud from previous actions. On the physical level, āsana can take us to the sticky places, physically or psychologically— or both. When moving in āsana practice, we come up against physical limitations. These can be patterns in the body established from lack of movement, from holding ourselves in particular ways, from old injuries, or for any number of reasons. Working through these limitations can be challenging and even painful at times, yet hopefully we eventually receive the joy of more ease in the body. In āsana practice, we may also have to deal with old, reactive psychological patterns.

Likewise, when the mind is moved inwardly in meditation practice, we encounter whatever blocks us. The muck is invariably stirred up. When meditating, we might begin to feel agitated physically, emotionally, or mentally. Or, we might simply start having thoughts. The thoughts or agitation that arise during meditation are a byproduct of this natural cleansing of awareness when moving from the surface to the depths to contact the deepest layers of our self, toward a greater awareness.

As we move along the path of yoga, doing our practices, at times there will be delight/ānanda, health, and healing. But remember, the nectar/amṛta emerges only after the poison has been dealt with. And truthfully, sometimes what we think is poison is actually nectar, once it is held and transmuted. Finally, I love that one of the things that emerges from the act of churning the ocean is the wish-fulfilling cow. As my practice has progressed, it is my experience that my wishes—my desires and intentions/saṃkalpa- become more auspicious and aligned with the Highest.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

– Contemplate any aspect of the Churning of the Ocean story that speaks to you.

– How are you every character in this story? For example, consider the role of Viṣṇu on the path of yoga and life. Who has been your Viṣṇu? How have you been Viṣṇu to others?

– What treasures have emerged from your practice(s)? Consider the practices of āsana, meditation, and any other practices you do.

– How have you experienced poison arising in your practice, and how have you handled it?

– How have you eventually noticed more healing or joy after a “poisonous” experience?

The Cycle of Karma, Saṃskāras, and Citta-vṛttis

Recall the definition of yoga from Yoga Sūtra 1.2: yoga is calming the “turnings”/citta-vṛttis of the mind. The citta-vṛttis are the fluctuations of consciousness, everything that happens in the field of awareness, including thoughts, perception, concepts, emotions, and memory.

So the next questions become: What is the nature of these citta-vṛttis? Where do they come from, and how can we work with them? There is a whole process by which these citta-vṛttis are generated through a cycle involving the citta-vṛttis, saṃskāras, and karma. Without going into all the technicalities of the philosophy here, we will consider the general process. Understanding this process is integral to exploring how awareness works, how meditation works, and how the teachings can be applied to everyday life.

The citta-vṛttis/fluctuations of the mind—essentially whatever is in your awareness—are said to be activated by the saṃskāras. In the context of Classical Yoga, saṃskāra is usually translated as “subliminal impression,” or “subliminal activator.” Saṃskāras are all the impressions or imprints left by past actions, which then condition future actions. And the theory is that they are based on actions not only from this life, but from previous lives as well.

There’s a cycle that involves actions (karmas), the traces they leave (saṃskāras), and the thoughts and feelings (citta-vṛttis), which works as follows. You do something or something happens to you: that is karma. Remember there are different definitions of karma, but in this context, just think of karma as an action. That action lays down an imprint, a saṃskāra, in your psyche. So the saṃskāra becomes part of you. It might be inactive, or when circumstances are right, it starts activating certain thoughts or feelings, which are the citta-vṛttis. There can be a repetitive cycle when the citta-vṛttis prompt action, thereby creating karma, which lays down the saṃskāra, which causes more citta-vṛttis, and so on.

For example, I like to have some chocolate after dinner. I love good dark chocolate, and when I have some, the experience creates an impression in my psyche of how good that chocolate is. So next time as I finish dinner, I have the thought: “Wow, some chocolate would be so good right now.” So I eat some chocolate and am again reminded of how good it is.

In this example, the action of eating the chocolate is the karma. My experience of eating the chocolate yields the saṃskāra, the impression left in my psyche. When the conditions are right (I’ve finished dinner) the saṃskāra is activated. This leads to the citta-vṛtti, the thought and impulse in my manas, my thinking mind, that I want more chocolate. And so I have some chocolate, further reinforcing that saṃskāric impression.

Saṃskāras are often likened to seeds. They are planted in awareness and will sprout when the conditions are right. They may lie dormant for a long time—even lifetimes. Then circumstances arise that activate them. And remember, every action creates these seeds, so they are quite numerous.

Another way to think of saṃskāras is as habit patterns. Some of the patterns aren’t a big deal—like a little bit of really great dark chocolate after dinner isn’t a particularly detrimental habit. But in other circumstances, these patterns can be quite debilitating. One example is post-traumatic stress, in which there are environmental triggers that elicit extreme cognitive or emotional citta-vṛttis. Drug or alcohol addictions are also debilitating habit patterns. However, some habit patterns can be positive. For example, when I get up in the morning, the impulse to meditate arises pretty quickly for me as a result of my repeated action of meditating each morning and the resulting saṃskāras embedded in my buddhi. Also, the saṃskāras differ in how ingrained they are. More traumatic or repetitive experiences will be deeply embedded. So there’s a whole range of how these patterns work in our lives.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

Give examples from your life of saṃskāric “habit patterns.” Consider those that are both positive and negative.

How can you break the pattern of problematic habit patterns?

Saṃsāra

PH 9 cidvat–tac–chakti-saṃkocāt malāvṛtaḥ saṃsārī
cid-vat: full of Consciousness
tat: that
śakti: power
saṃkocāt: due to contraction, limitation
mala: impurities
āvṛtaḥ: covered, impure, limited
saṃsārī: a person who experiences saṃsāra, worldly existence, transmigrating soul
Consciousness is covered by impurities due to the contraction of its powers and becomes a transmigrating soul.

The last part of PH 9 refers to the saṃsārī, which is one who experiences saṃsāra. Saṃsāra in general can refer to a “worldly existence” based on ignorance of the essential self. Sāra means “flow” and sam means “same,” so it is being stuck in the same flow, the eddies of human existence, repeating the same cycles of suffering. It also means “transmigration,” which is likened to a wheel—a wheel that turns through repeated cycles of birth, life, and death. So a saṃsārī is one who experiences saṃsāra, including suffering, and transmigrates from one lifetime to another due to karma.

Karma can simply mean “action,” and the kārma-mala is a sense of doership. The word karma also refers to the chain of actions and their effects, which leads us to transmigration, of being born and reborn. This cycle of transmigration is saṃsāra. And, the situation of being stuck in repetitive cycles can apply to getting stuck in patterns in our life in general.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

– How do you think about the concept of saṃsāra?
– How do you think about karma?

You Are the Enactor of the Divine Acts

PH 13 tat-parijñāne cittam-eva antarmukhī-bhāvena cetana-padādhyārohāt citiḥ
tat: that [the pañca-kṛtyas/five acts]
parijñāne: full knowledge
cittam-eva: mind itself
antarmukhī-bhāvena: through inward-facing
cetana: uncontracted or expanded Consciousness
padādhyārohāt: ascending to the state
citi: absolute Consciousness
When one fully realizes that [one is the enactor of the pañca-kṛtyas/five acts of Śiva], through inward movement the individual mind ascends to expanded consciousness and becomes Consciousness.

Sūtra 13 from the Pratyabhijñā-hṛdayam (PH) gives an understanding of how we come to recognize our Self. You may notice that this sūtra is the inverse of PH 5, which was considered in previous blog posts, including this one. Recall that this earlier sūtra describes manifestation, how the expansive state of the heart (cetana) contracts to become individual awareness, the mind/citta.

PH 13 starts with “When one fully realizes that. . . .” “That” in this sūtra refers to the five acts/pañca-kṛtyas and specifically an awareness that you, as Śiva, are the enactor of the pañca- kṛtyas. This sūtra indicates that an inward turn of awareness allows for a return to that expanded state (cetana), an awareness of the Heart, a full knowledge (parijñāne) of who we are. This knowledge is sometimes described as a sense of expansion into the fullness of ourselves, pūrṇa-ahaṃ, or “I am full.” PH 13 says that the inward-turning practices of yoga illuminate an awareness that you, at essence, are creating, sustaining, and dissolving experience. Also, you take part in concealing and revealing the heart. Recognizing this, you become the Heart (Citi). You know your true Self. The specific methods/upāya to facilitate the inward-facing turn (antarmukhī-bhāvena) through progressively deeper states of consciousness must be received from a qualified teacher.

It is challenging to explain this profound experience of recognizing the Heart and any description lands in the student’s awareness to the degree that they have the ability/adhikāra to understand, which is dependent on where they are on their individual journey. However, the Tantric tradition reveres both knowledge and language, so even though difficult, it seeks to articulate an understanding of the aim of yoga, called by many names.

It is the practice of yoga, particularly meditation, that pivots awareness into the depth to uncover the heart of who we are. We just need to recognize the heart that is always there. Naṭarāja’s arm that occludes the heart points to his graceful upturned foot of revelation/anugraha. When we come to this recognition of the true Self, ignorance about who we are is diminished. Previously we thought the individual life wave was enacting our lives. In this sūtra we recognize that we are the ocean that is generating the waves. We understand that Śiva is performing the five acts as us. The individuality (ego, personality) is not in control. We experience a shift in self-identity. And indeed, our whole perception of the world is shifted.

This discussion highlights the arc of the yogic journey. We start with the highest first, a vision of the unlimited Absolute reality, which is none other than our very Self. Then that Highest reality contracts, becomes covered over, and manifests individuality into this material world. The journey of yoga helps us uncover our hearts and move from a place of concealment to a place of revelation.

The traditions of yoga use many words to describe this indescribable goal and state of yoga. Different lineage streams speak of this state of awareness with different words: pratyabhijñā, nirvāṇa, mokṣa, enlightenment, liberation. These lofty terms make it seem distant and unattainable. Yet it is close—it is as close as our hearts. The Divine is within us, is us. It is the light by which we see. It is inside and around us. We are It. We are the ocean of Consciousness. Realizing this, we understand that we are Śiva and that there is nothing that is not Śiva. We experience the heart of who we are.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

Notice how you are the performer of the pañca-kṛtyas/five acts at the different levels of being:
• Watch your breath and consider where the breath comes from. Consider the breath as a divine pulsation moving through you.
• Observe your thought process. Watch how thoughts arise (creation), persist for some time (maintenance), then dissolve (dissolution). Notice the moment before a thought: the space from which a thought arises.
• Similarly observe your actions. Notice the moment when the impulse to act arises into awareness before you act.
• Notice how you participate in concealment and revelation.

The Seed and the Tree

A beautiful teaching in this tradition and many others is that of the seed and how it holds the potential for a tree to sprout, grow, blossom, fruit, and create more seeds. The Chāndogya Upaniṣad has a story of a father who asks his son to bring him a fruit from a giant banyan tree. The father asks the son to break open the fruit and then to cut into one of the tiny seeds. He then asks his son what he sees inside the seed, and the boy, looking at the viscous material, says that he sees nothing. Then his father explains that this apparent nothingness holds the potential of a giant tree.

Think of a fig, whose seeds are very tiny. Yet somehow within each seed, there is potential for a giant tree. The seed can barely be seen—it is almost invisible—and looking inside, it looks like nothing. Yet when nurtured, the seed will ultimately sprout and yield fruit. The seed contains the potential for the tree.

This teaching applies to many aspects of the journey of yoga. For example, a yoga class I took in college planted a seed that laid dormant for several years. Then when my life was blown apart, somehow I intuited that yoga could be of use, and I began to nurture that seed.

We are constantly planting seeds, and reaping the harvest of seeds we previously planted. As we study the teachings of yoga, we are planting seeds into our awareness. Those seeds are nourished with the nutrients of sādhanā/assemblage of practices, including the study of the teachings, as they reverberate and grow in awareness, and as well by the input from teachers and conversations with fellow students.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

Contemplate the teaching of the seed and the tree.

How have you experienced it manifesting in your life?

Can you discern how “seeds” you planted later sprouted and bore fruit?

What are other interpretations of this teaching?

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?

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?

Samādhi and Prajñā

Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtra considers several yogic qualities and the last two are samādhi and prajñā, which have a variety of nuanced meanings. The topic of samādhi is huge, evidenced by the first chapter of the Yoga Sūtra being entitled “samādhi,” and the great number of aphorisms which address it throughout the text. Briefly, samādhi refers to a meditative state of awareness with various stages, the ultimate involves a complete identification with the object of meditation. Prajñā is generally translated as wisdom. These two words can be seen as separate, or some interpret them as a phrase meaning “the wisdom of samādhi.”

In the process of meditation, one moves through the increasingly refined stages of samādhi, into the depths of awareness and the essence of reality. There’s a lot to say about the process and the effects that it has on us that is beyond the scope of the present discussion. But basically our awareness becomes clarified such that we see things more clearly. This allows us to begin to see the essence of reality, of who we are, and the nature of everything.

This clarity is associated with prajñā, translated as wisdom, insight, and discernment. It is a profound knowledge based on the increased awareness we experience in deep states of meditation. So there’s a sense of clarity and a wisdom arising from the deepest connection with the highest, yielding the ability to see things as they really are. That’s why some translators pair these two as the wisdom (prajñā) that is inherent in samādhi.

So our practice of yoga, particularly meditation, creates the conditions for this wisdom to emerge. As well, such knowledge reinforces the previous qualities listed: we have more faith/ śraddhā in the process of yoga and increased vīrya/strength. Smṛti/remembering is supported with this clarity of awareness, and one thing we remember is that connectedness the state of samādhi ultimately yields. The practical consequence is that as we access this wisdom within, it guides us in all our householder activities so that our life begins to reflect the highest possible outcomes.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

Contemplate and write about samādhi and prajñā.

How have you experienced increasing discernment on your path of yoga?

How do you see the connection between all the five qualities listed in Yoga Sūtra 1.20?

The Role of the Guru

The whole process of yoga, including study as well as guidance in all the practices, is supported by teachers. Spiritual teachers are among the most venerated professionals in the world, and rightly so. A human teacher is a necessary component because having walked the path already, they can guide us in the right direction, help us avoid pitfalls, and generally make our journey more efficient and effective.

That said, gurus and teachers who abuse their power and engage in exploitation have been unveiled and widely denounced by the yoga community and elsewhere. In response, some people are inclined to entirely reject gurus and the notion of needing a teacher at all, relying solely on inner guidance.

Before going any further with this topic, take some time to consider your current beliefs about gurus and teachers. Take a moment to pause, contemplate, and write down answers to any of the following:
– When you hear the word guru, what comes to mind?
– What role have teachers played in your life?
– Who or what have been your greatest teachers, and why?

——————————————————————————–

What is a guru really? What is their role on the path of yoga? An often-given definition of guru is whatever takes one from the dark to the light. The guru is that which takes you from ignorance to knowledge, concealment to revelation. The guru is whoever or whatever guides you in the journey of yoga.

SS 2.6 gururupāyaḥ
Guru: guru
Upāya: method or means
The guru is the means

We know the value of a teacher, in any field of knowledge, as someone who takes a student from a place of not understanding to a place of knowledge. This applies to everything from cooking to car repair to art and, of course, any academic field. We rely on experts to educate us. As Śiva Sūtra 2.6 clearly states, teachers are a primary means to knowledge. We can certainly teach ourselves to some degree—and there are rare cases of spontaneous knowledge, such as child prodigies—but it’s generally more effective and efficient to learn from a teacher.

The one primal guru that is Consciousness itself appears in many forms. Human teachers who can access this Consciousness act as conduits for the highest knowledge. The tradition differentiates between different types of gurus, which are forms of the sadguru or sat–guru, referring to the “true teacher.” The guru can be an enlightened spiritual master, but another way to think of the sadguru is as the underlying higher Consciousness that can guide us, if and when we choose to listen to it. This is where we get the idea that guru is within—because ultimately it is.

But let’s be clear: Who are you consulting when you turn within? We can’t delude ourselves into thinking that our everyday neurotic self is the best counsel to seek because this has the potential of reiterating all of our old patterns and ways of being. It is not moving us from the dark to the light and could simply reinforce our ignorance. So before relying solelyu on insight, we must first clarify our individuality to create access to the wisest self. And usually, the means to do so (such as practices like meditation) come through a teacher.

Eventually, as we move farther along the path of yoga—and especially as we meditate more—our access to, and clarity of, the inner Self becomes greater and is, therefore, a more reliable guide. In the meantime, we must be careful not to delude ourselves. This is why it’s suggested that in addition to consulting the inner guru, to verify insights with both the texts and teachers.

A consistent message I’ve received from my teachers is that the time of the mega-guru is over. Instead, what is now emerging is a larger number of teachers, each working with smaller groups, quietly creating shifts in consciousness that eventually will reach a critical mass. 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. Each must make the effort required to understand and apply the teachings, so that what they offer each other has authenticity.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

– How have you learned about yoga and meditation? Consider what has influenced you, including particular teachers, lineages, other people, books, etc.

– Do you favor learning from teachers, the traditional texts, or from listening to yourself? How has that worked?