Category Archives: Tantra

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?

The Māyīya and Kārma Malas

This ninth sūtra of the Pratyabhijñā-hṛdayam (PH) indicates a mechanism of contraction that results in our hearts being covered. The malas are what taint, conceal, and limit the pure, full, and free Consciousness. There are three types of malas: the āṇava-mala, the māyīya–mala, and the kārma–mala. These are how the Tantric tradition explains the limiting conditions that contribute to ignorance, trap us in our surface life, and hamper the free expression of the heart.

Previously, we considered the āṇava–mala as the core sense of separation, from which follows a sense of differentiation, which is the māyīya–mala. Through the process of manifestation, the one light refracts into many different colors. Āṇava–mala is the mūla–mala, the “root covering,” the primal limiting condition that reduces the universal consciousness to an aṇu, a limited being. This root contraction yields the two other malas. They can be thought of as progeny or consequences of the āṇava–mala. I have heard the āṇava–mala likened to an earthquake, which shifts the plates in the earth, and the other two malas are like the resulting tsunami. As a consequence, we experience ourselves as different from all the other colors or manifestations of the one Citi/Consciousness. In our individual experience this creates the awareness that “I am different” from everyone and everything. This differentiation can lead to a chronic assessment or evaluation.

The māyīya–mala is experienced as the tendency toward comparing and evaluating what is better, what is less. Consciously or unconsciously, we compare ourselves to others to see how we stack up. The individual life wave sees itself as different from all the other waves. We take measure and wonder: Is our life wave better than all the other waves? Am I bigger, more attractive, splashier?

On a positive note, this feeling of differentiation can lead us to seek connection. From the highest perspective, difference is a beautiful thing. The differentiation experienced in the relative plane allows us to enjoy the beauty of this world and other beings in it. If we can appreciate the differences as unique and beautiful manifestations of Śiva-Śakti, it can lead us toward experiencing the connectedness of all things. And on the other hand, when we focus in a comparative way on differences between ourselves and others, or between our group and other groups, we begin to act out of this sense of difference in ways that can be deleterious. For example, we may think we are better and deserve more than others who are different from us.

As we feel separated from Source and become a limited embodied being, we also experience the veil of doership, the kārma–mala. There is a sense of agency, that “I am the doer.” One definition of karma is action. Due to the separation from the Highest, we forget the source of our actions and think instead that we are the one acting. The wave thinks it alone is creating the tide and is ignorant of the oceanic Source of all action.

On the other hand, as householders, we have to act in order to live in the world. This sense of doership allows us to fulfill our life’s desires, our intentions for how we want to live this life. However, if we do not feel connected to Source, we may act in misaligned ways, reflecting the sense of disconnection and difference.

So these three malas are all interrelated, the āṇava–mala being the big pinch, the contraction, the earthquake that sets a tsunami in motion in which we feel not only separate (āṇava–mala) but different (māyīya–mala). We compare ourselves to others and feel we are lacking. From this lack, we act and we think we are the source of action (kārma–mala) and that we are in control. In all these ways, the individual life wave forgets its oceanic source. The heart of who we are, the deepest layer of our Self, is veiled. Our experience on the surface of our lives is that it doesn’t even exist.

Reflect and Explore

How do you see the malas operating in your life?

Specifically, consider:

• When do you feel the most differentiated from others (māyīya), and/or powerless (kārma)?

• When do you feel the most connected, and/or powerful? What helps manifest that feeling?

The Malas and Āṇava Mala

In his introduction to this ninth sūtra of the Pratyabhijñā-hṛdayam (PH) Kṣemarāja points out the discrepancy between the highest consciousness and limited individuality and seeks an explanation of the mechanisms which create that limitation. PH 9 says: “Consciousness is covered by impurities due to the contraction of its powers and becomes a transmigrating soul.”

“Consciousness” refers once again to Citi, the highest absolute Consciousness. As in PH 5, there is the idea of contraction (saṃkocāt). Here, the contraction of the power of the absolute Śakti, is explicitly mentioned. Then this sūtra elaborates on the process of contraction: the individual is covered by malas, the impurities (mala–āvṛtaḥ). The result is that the individual becomes a transmigratory soul (saṃsārī). So here, as in the fifth sūtra, is described this process of contraction which creates the individual. But PH 9 goes further by delineating some mechanisms for that contraction, as well as some consequences. Kṣemarāja specifically points to the malas to describe the limitation that hampers the freedom of Consciousness.

This contraction is described as a veiling or concealing. Mala literally means “taint, impurity, dust, dirt, or dross.” The malas are what cover, conceal, and limit the pure, full, and free Consciousness. There are three types of malas: the āṇava-mala, the māyīya–mala, and the kārma–mala. These are how the Tantric tradition explains the limiting conditions that contribute to ignorance, trap us in our surface life, and hamper the free expression of the heart. Āṇava–mala is the mūla–mala, the “root covering,” the primal limiting condition that reduces the universal consciousness to an aṇu, a limited being. This root contraction yields the two other malas. They can be thought of as progeny or consequences of the āṇava–mala. I have heard the āṇava–mala likened to an earthquake, which shifts the plates in the earth, and the other two malas are like the resulting tsunami.

This essay addresses the first mala, the āṇava–mala, which is the primal limiting condition that reduces the absolute Consciousness to the individual, the aṇu. The inherent nature of the Absolute is svatantra, absolutely free, and out of that freedom the Highest chooses to conceal itself. The One becomes the many. The wave arises, as though separate from the ocean of Consciousness. We each become the aṇu, an individual, which is limited through the crimping this āṇava–mala creates. Aṇu means “individual,” but it also means “small” like an atom, so there can be a feeling of being small, feeling less than full. This can lead to a sense of a lack of fulfillment as well as a sense of imperfection.

For the vast sky or the ocean of Consciousness to embody—to materialize—it has to shape itself and take on a covering of skin. What was unlimited is squeezed into limitation. It could feel like going barefoot all summer then having to squash your feet into winter shoes or bundling up with clothing that’s too tight so that movement that was once unlimited now feels constricted and less free.

That constriction has experiential consequences. Without the freedom to do or be anything, we have the experience of being imperfect, incomplete, unsatisfied, and incapable. We feel imperfect due to separation from the Perfect. From this root contraction of the āṇava–mala, the thought arises, “I am separate.” We feel disconnected from Source. There is a sense of loss, a vague feeling that there is more, and an experience that something is lacking. We feel empty because of separation from fullness/pūrṇatva. This can be experienced as feelings of inadequacy, unworthiness, or a lack of self-esteem.

As negative as this sounds, it can also be the impetus for a desire to reconnect with the Highest. Feeling a lack, we seek fulfillment. This can manifest in many ways, including how we might feed the ego or seek experiences or use drugs or sex or food to fill us up. Or we can turn toward the Highest, toward reconnecting with that which is the source of all fulfillment. It is this sense that there is something more that turns us toward teachers, teachings, and practices to help us reconnect with that Source.

Reflect and Explore

How do you see the malas operating in your life?

Specifically, consider the āṇava mala:

• When do you feel the most unworthy, small, or imperfect?

• When do you feel the most worthy, full, or complete? What helps manifest that feeling?

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.

Concealment and Revelation (Part 2 of the Pañca-Kṛtyas)

Encoded into the image of Naṭarāja, the dancing are Śiva, 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/five acts are sṛṣṭi/creation, sthiti/maintenance, saṃhāra/dissolution, tirodhāna, vilaya, or nigraha/concealment, and anugraha/revelation or grace. There are different interpretations of this encoding of the pañca-kṛtyas onto the Śiva Naṭarāja, so see what resonates most for you.

The fourth act, nigraha, vilaya or tirodhāna, is concealment, and in one mapping it is represented by Naṭarāja’s standing leg. That foot stands on the dwarf Apasmāra, the demon of ignorance, who represents cosmic forgetfulness. Apasmāra is ajñāna or avidya, the lack of knowledge, or ignorance, of who we really are. We get lost in the wild dance of life and forget our true, essential nature, which is concealed. Here Śiva Naṭarāja literally stands upon ignorance, holding it at bay.

In another mapping, Śiva’s fourth act of concealment is represented by the arm that crosses Naṭarāja’s heart. That arm conceals the heart, and that downturned hand points to the upturned foot, which represents the fifth and last of the five acts: anugraha/grace or revelation. The arm crossing the heart closes off or “conceals” the heart, and that hand points the way to the antidote of the closed heart: the revelation represented by Naṭarāja’s beautiful, upturned foot—his kuñcita–pāda.

Paradoxically, Śiva performs these acts simultaneously. So there is a simultaneous dyadic process of nigraha/concealment and anugraha/revelation. As the Absolute creates the manifest world, the Absolute itself gets concealed. The Divine moves from its unmanifest perfection into manifest limitation. In order to manifest, the Divine must limit itself. There isn’t some other entity that conceals It. It creates and conceals itself. This is quite a paradoxical and mind-blowing teaching. I have heard it likened to a cosmic game of hide-and-seek the Divine plays with itself. It is simultaneously concealing and revealing itself. The Absolute limits itself by its own creative activity. One way to think about it is that when you choose to create one thing, that at least temporarily limits you to that one thing, out of the potential of all the things you could create. So as one thing is created and revealed, everything else is concealed.

Another way to think about this: as the unmanifest, unlimited, spacious Absolute takes on some form like an individual body, the very act of taking a body creates limitation. The expansiveness has to contract itself to take on the boundaries and limitations, squeezing itself into a bodily form.

In doing so, there is a forgetting of that original expansiveness. Naṭarāja stands on the dwarf of forgetfulness. His crossing arm occludes the heart in this gesture of forgetting. We forget that we are nothing but the great expansive ocean of Consciousness. Yet the hand of the crossing arm points to the upturned foot of grace, the other half of the dyad of concealment and revelation.

The heart of us, the essential Self, is covered over during the dance of manifestation into a human body. Yet our body and our embodied life is a vehicle for us to remember our essence, the heart of who we are. So the crossing hand points to the uplifted foot as a reminder of the possibility of a heart connection, to the very essence of ourselves.

That fifth act, grace, is a word that may have religious connotations for some of us. Yet by some circumstance, we find our way back home, so to speak, and remember the true Self. This is anugraha, vilaya, or tirodhāna, represented by Naṭarāja’s upraised foot.

So what is grace? You are invited to contemplate this for yourself, as there are many different ways to think about it. One way I think about grace is as anything that helps raise us up or connect us to the higher Self, to our hearts. It can simply be that which supports us in everyday life. But it is also that which leads us or opens us to that divine Sourceplace within ourselves.

When Śiva-Śakti contracts to embody as our individuality, we arrive on this planet forgetful of that source. Our innermost nature is concealed from us, yet by grace we can remember, and our divine Self is revealed to us. Each of us here now, when considering these teachings, is by grace receiving the gift of these teachings, which aids in uncovering and revealing our hearts to us.

Reflect and Explore

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

How do the different mappings of Naṭarāja inform your understanding?

How do the five acts relate to each other?

How do you experience concealment?

How have you experienced revelation/grace?

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?

YOUR MIND IS DIVINE

The very first aphorism from the Pratyabhijñā-hṛdayam (PH) says: the Highest Citi, out of her freedom, contracts from its expanded state to manifest everything. Then PH 5 specifies a result of that process. The absolute Consciousness contracts to produce our individual awareness, citta.

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.

You may recognize citta in this sūtra as the same word from the definition of yoga in the Yoga Sūtra. Yoga is the calming of the whirlings/vṛttis of the mind/citta (YS 1.2). PH 5 indicates the citta is a relatively contracted state of awareness. Remember the citta-vṛttis include all our thoughts and feelings, both positive and negative.

Anyone who observes the movements of the mind/citta-vṛttis, knows that the mind is quite active, which, of course, is the opposite of the directive from YS 1.2 to stop (nirodha) the thoughts. The challenge in trying to calm the mind is reflected in a teaching common in spiritual circles about “monkey mind,” which asserts that the mind is unsettled, uncontrollable, and full of restless mental chatter. You may perceive a bit of a rub between the idea from Tantra that “the mind is divine” and the idea of monkey mind.

When I began to study the Yoga Sūtra, I got the sense that thoughts are a bad thing, especially in meditation. From the perspective of Classical Yoga, one wants to squelch/nirodha the thoughts/citta-vṛttis. Early in my journey, I thought I was really messed up and couldn’t meditate properly because my mind was active. But in this sūtra (PH 5), the expanded awareness/cetena, contracts to form our individual mind/citta. If we think of our thoughts as manifestations of the Highest/Citi, maybe thoughts aren’t so bad, and perhaps they can be seen as part of a benevolent process. The mind/citta is a beautiful thing; we just need to make it an ally. We need it to function in, and maximally experience, our householder life. It allows us to live in this world. The mind is allowing you to read this book and learn these teachings.

Particularly as indicated in this sūtra, the mind/citta is a manifestation of the Highest/Citi. Indeed, it is a gift that allows us to maximize our householder lives and to contact the highest Consciousness. The mind is the instrument to return to the Divine. So from a Tantric perspective, there is an honoring of the mind that has a different flavor than is found in Classical Yoga.

Reflect and Explore

How does the phrase “monkey mind” make you feel?

Do you see your mind as an ally or a problem? Why?

The Contraction of the Highest Consciousness
into our Individuality

One of the hallmarks of the Tantric philosophy I study and adhere to is that everything is a manifestation of the one Divine Consciousness, including each of us as individuals. The obvious question that usually arises is something like: If everything is made of a completely free and whole consciousness, including me, then why don’t I feel free? Why do I feel bound or disconnected, or why do I experience suffering? The fifth sūtra of the Pratyabhijñā-hṛdayam (PH) begins to answer this question.

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

It says: Consciousness (Citi) contracts from its expanded state (cetana) and becomes our individual awareness (citta), conforming to objects of perception (cetya). In parentheses, I indicated four words in this sūtra that come from the verbal root cit, which means “to know.” Each of these words has a teaching for us. This sūtra begins with citi, which in this text designates absolute Consciousness. PH 1 says that the highest Citi, out of her freedom/svātantrya, contracts from its expanded state (cetana) to manifest everything. Here in PH 5, a specific result of that manifestation is given. The Highest contracts to produce the individual consciousness, citta. We as individuals are each a manifestation of the Highest, yet are limited, due to that contraction. Even so, we are at essence divine, having come from that great ocean of Consciousness.

This teaching is reflected in the teaching of the pañca-kṛtyas, which delineate the fundamental acts of the Highest. The five acts describe how the world is unfolded from the Absolute to the relative—how the manifest world is created or emitted, then maintained, until again it is enfolded back into the Absolute. As well, in this process, one of the five acts/pañca-kṛtyas of the Absolute is concealment (nigraha). The Absolute in its expanded state (cetana) contracts from its fullness, squeezing itself into a human form. For us as individuals, this concealment is akin to forgetting who we are. It is a kind of cosmic amnesia, and the results can be devastating in this earthly realm because we have forgotten our heart essence.

This forgetting of our Heartself and our connectedness to everything, can produce horrific consequences. When the primary experience is one of disconnection, it can yield results like social injustice, degradation of the environment, and so on. One of the greatest promises of yoga is the ability to recognize the divine source both within ourselves and as everything, allowing the highest qualities of awareness to pulse out through each of our thoughts and actions.

REFLECT AND EXPLORE

Contemplate this teaching from PH 5: Consciousness (Citi) contracts to become our individual awareness (citta).

Consider how it relates to any other teaching, as well as your experience of it.

How do you think this is manifested in the world at large?

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?