Cosmogony, Suffering and Ignorance in the Yoga Sūtras: A Therapeutic Philosophy

The Yoga Sūtras (YS) of Patañjali, as well as many other texts from Eastern traditions, give us not only a theory of reality, but a therapeutics of the spirit.  In diagnosing the symptoms of the ‘disease’ they also detect the root of the cause, the cosmic reason for its existence, and provide methods for its complete elimination.  Such therapeutic nature is easily visible in the four noble truths of Buddhism and also in the structure of the second Book of the YS.  Both Buddha and Patañjali not only detect that the main disease is suffering but also that we all have it (YS II.15), even in moments of great pleasure and happiness.  Why? Because even though the symptoms may recede and we may feel well, the cause of the disease remains.  For Buddhism, attachment, the root of the disease, can be present even while we are feeling good, and for Patañjali, ignorance is always present during suffering regardless our mental state.  Both think that the disease can be cured (II.16) although the healing process may require an arduous and long treatment.  Curiously enough, for both Buddhism and the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali, the path for the cessation of suffering is eightfold.

            Now let us go a little bit slower.  Why does Patañjali say that the cause of suffering is ignorance?  Ignorance of what?  Sutra 17 says, under Iyengar’s translation, that “The cause of pain is the association or identification of the seer (ātma) with the seen (prakṛti) and the remedy lies in their dissociation”.  The word pain is translating duḥkha, which is more commonly rendered as suffering.  I think this is more accurate, since the word ‘pain’ conveys the meaning of a sensation that is ephemeral and ceases with its opposite, i.e. pleasure.  But suffering is more of an existential state that does not really have an opposite.  The only way to get rid of suffering is to stop its existence altogether, to eradicate the root that causes it. 

            Sutra 17 tells us that the cause of suffering is a certain ‘association’ (saṁyoga) between the seer and the seen.  But Iyengar adds, perhaps to make it clearer, that the remedy lies in their dissociation.  This could be a little bit confusing, especially when we get into the next sutras which talk about the Cosmogony of Yoga.  Who is the ‘seer’, what is the ‘seen’, and why should they be dissociated? 

            Patañjali describes ‘the seen’ (dṛśyam) as that which is constituted with the three qualities of: bright appearance, action, and steadiness (YS II.18).  Basically, the ‘seen’ is that which is constituted by the three guṇas, that is, the three basic universal forces that are characterized by bringing lightness, clarity, intelligence, brilliance, in the case of sattva;  movement, activity, restlessness, in the case of rajas; and heaviness, firmness, obscurity, in the case of tamas. Everything in Nature (prakṛti) is a combination of guṇas, and it is due to their different levels of sattva, tamas and rajas, that each object presents its particular characteristics (YS II.19).

            In the cosmovision presented by the YS, the manifestation of everything visible presupposes the activity of different levels of reality that have been evolving since the very first moment of existence of the Universe.  In other words, all the objects that we see, like plants, trees, rocks, rivers, animals, our own bodies, houses, cars, as well as everything that can be not only seen, but touched, smelled, tasted and heard, is already the manifestation of more subtle particles and natural forces that we cannot see, nor touch, nor smell, etc.  Those subtle elements or forces come from even subtler sources of manifestation in the Universe, in such a way that the more subtle a level of reality is, the more universal it becomes.  For example, in the realm of the objects that we normally “see”, we have them of different and varied colors.  If we attend to the source of the color, we realize that it comes from particles of light which are refracted in different ways.  But the light, being a subtler principle, is one and the same for all the colors.  Now, according to the YS, the particles of light would be a manifestation of something even more subtle, for just as there are particles of light, there are also electromagnetic waves.  So as long as there is a variety of species there will be a subtler principle from which that variety comes. 

            If we go far deeper into the levels of reality, we will find that the origin of all variety of physical forms, energies, frequencies and forces is that level in which things are not differentiable any more (alinga).  In that level, everything is merged into a mass of pure matter, if it can be described like that.  When that happens, the guṇas stabilize in full equilibrium, like a triad of forces that do not allow the other two to manifest.  Everything, from this pure potentiality of manifestation to the myriad forms, visible and invisible, that exist around us is what Patañjali calls “the seen”, and the seen has its origin in praṛkti, the ‘mass´ of pure procreative matter. 

            Prakṛti is called “the seen” because the Universe would not be manifest if there were not another to whom it can manifest, that is, the Universe is only the Universe because there is a consciousness that is constantly ‘seeing’ it.  That consciousness is usually described in the Indian classical tradition as a “witness”, as that which ‘perceives’ and is ‘conscious’ of all the objects in the universe without being one of them and without being affected by them (YS II.20).   The “seer” is that which gives this whole existence meaning, for if there were not “a seer”, “the seen” would not have any purpose.  There would not be anyone to whom the Universe could give “enjoyment or emancipation”.  Literally, for the YS, the purpose of this whole existence is so that “the seer”, the universal consciousness, can have the experience of enjoyment (bhoga) and liberation (apavarga) (YS II.18 and 21).  We could also put it in this way:  that it is “the seen” which gives purpose to the “seer”, for without anything to see or experience, the “seer” would not have to be liberated from anything, and therefore, would not be able to experience itself.  For liberation is just that, the moment in which Consciousness experiences itself as it is, pure, eternal, immaculate.  “The conjunction (saṁyoga) of the seer with the seen is for the seer to discover his own true nature (YS II.23)”.

            So now we can ask again, why, if the conjunction of the seer and the seen give purpose to each other, do they have to be separated, dissociated, as Iyengar’s (and many others’) translation says?  It is my interpretation of the Yoga Sūtras that the seer and the seen can never be dissociated, for their very same definition depends on each other.  It is, however, their confusion which needs to be avoided.  The seer and the seen are not the same, and yet, the whole predicament of our existence and suffering, as the YS have been repeating over and over again, is that we are constantly taking them to be the same.  But to take what is conscious to be unconscious is precisely what constitutes our ignorance (YS II.5), for it is when we take ourselves to be this body, and these belongings, and this personality, beliefs, ideas, labels, names, etc., that we ignore our real self.   This sounds like a repetitive Yoga Sutras slogan, but just consider: if we knew and fully acted with the consciousness that we are beyond any limited label that is attributed upon ourselves, then our happiness, freedom and possibility of action would not depend upon others’ acceptance, or others’ judgement, not even life disasters, or death…  This is, I think, the “dissociation” that Patañjali is referring to: the dissociation of what is the real conscious element in ourselves and in the universe from all those limited unconscious associations that do not allow us to express ourselves as conscious beings.  It is, thus, an existential dissociation rather than a metaphysical one.  It is a dissociation that happens in our understanding of ourselves and of the world, rather than a dissociation or separation like that which happens between water and sand. 

            In this way, the ignorance (avidya) that makes us ill with suffering is that cognition that makes an incorrect link between the seer and the seen, rather than the cognition that links the seer to the seen.  I again depart from Iyengar’s translation in II.25 where he renders the sutra as saying that “breaking the link binding the seer to the seen” is emancipation.  The seer and the seen are cosmically linked, we cannot disconnect or dissociate them.  That would just generate— and has certainly generated— more suffering.  Emancipation is precisely to recognize their link and discern correctly between them so that we stop making incorrect connections, like that of thinking that our self reduces to our ego or selfish personality. 

            Thus, the medicine against suffering is discernment, viveka (YS II.26), that knowledge that expands our wisdom into deeper and deeper layers of understanding (prajña) and that, according to the Yoga Sutras, is achieved by the eightfold practice of yoga (YS II.28).

(By the way, check on the sidebar to the right the video (posted previously) where I try to illustrate the different layers of reality according to the Yoga Sutras.)

Summary March 3rd, 2012

The Second Book of the Yoga Sūtras opens with the definition of Kriya yoga: tapas, svādhyāya and īśvarapraṇidhāna. As you may remember, we encountered these three elements as part of the 5 niyamas, but here they are considered as separate and an essential part of what has been called “the path of action”.  Perhaps a better way to put it is the one suggested by Nishala Devi.  She renders it as “yoga in action”.  I think this gets straight to the point, since the whole aim of this Second Book is the practice of yoga as a way of life.

The first element of kriya yoga, i.e., tapas, is not easy to translate.  As it is usually the case with Sanskrit terms, they are loaded with meaning and history.  In the context of the Yoga Sūtras, tapas is usually understood as self-discipline, a rigorous effort, or, in its most ascetic sense, as a practice of submitting the body to austerities.  There is a chant in the Vedas, called Nasadiyasukta, which is a beautiful poem about the origin of the universe, about how it all came to be.  And there is a line where it describes how, from the depth of darkness, the breathing One emerged out of its own Ardor.  This refulgence or shining desire has been traditionally associated with tapas, as a divine inner will or power to emerge, act, or be.  This is why tapas is also considered the main component in karma yoga, the path of selfless action, where all our deeds are dedicated to others and the divine in order to overcome the ego.  It is thought in Yoga philosophy that when we detach from our own interests, ego or expectation, only then we can connect with a deeper force inside us, that divine will out of which everything comes to be.

Together with this, the word tapas came to be associated with the yogis, seers and sages who, renouncing to worldly life, would dedicate their lives to find Absolute consciousness within themselves (See the new video link that I posted at the right top corner of this blog).  It was believed that, given their discipline, practice and bodily hardships, they attained special powers, usually given to them straight from divinities, who, pleased by their tapas, would concede certain favors and siddhis (attainments) to them. 

In our yoga practice, though, we can relate tapas with self-discipline; the effort that we put (ideally selflessly) not only into our poses and meditations, but also and most essentially, into detaching from the small or big things that distract our mind from remembering that we are beyond our own limitations and dualities.  Tapas is also that inner heat felt in the body after or while doing a pose, a pranayama or a meditation. 

            Svādhyāya is “self study”, but it is traditionally related to the reading and understanding of the sacred or philosophical texts that have as their aim liberation.  It makes a lot of sense to relate self-understanding with understanding of sacred texts, for it is through them that we can reflect upon how the teachings relate to our lives.  It is not just for the sake of knowing what they say, but for getting to know things of ourselves that otherwise would be harder to grasp.  This aspect of kriya yoga is usually associated with the one called jñāna yoga, the path of discernment.  The whole idea of “knowing ourselves” is to discern between what we really are, and what we are not.  This is a constant idea throughout Yoga, Sāmkhya, Vedānta and other hindu philosophical schools.  And we will keep trying to figure out what that really means (of course I do not mean only through these summaries but throughout all our lives)!

            The third element, īśvarapraṇidhana or surrender to the Divine, refers to the already mentioned aspect of devotion, the bhakti. We talked about this in the First Book when it was mentioned as one of the options to focus our mind and bring it to a state of nirodha.  Here, however, it is not put as an option but as an essential part of the practice.  Does this mean that yoga is religion after all?  As you may remember when we talked about this topic, I prefer to translate īśvara as the Divine and not as God, because this word is so culturally charged with a meaning that may not be appropriate within this text.  The idea of bhakti or devotion in its simplest terms is just to humbly recognize that there is a greater force in the universe that surpasses us, that plays with us, that loves us.  Bhakti refers to the loving relation we establish with life and the universe.  Some people may want to call it God, and certainly, in its historical expression, the ones who follow the path of yoga emphasizing the bhakti aspect tend to give a name and a personification to such divine force, such as the well known Krishna devotees.

Now, the next few sutras of this Second Book talk about the purpose (arthah) of this practice.  “For the experience of samādhi and the attenuation of afflictions” (YS II.2).  Notice that the Yoga Sūtras say that practice reduces, rather than eliminates, afflictions.  Why?  Was it not supposed to take us towards liberation and liberation is that state beyond afflictions and non-afflictions?  It is as if the Yoga Sūtras were pointing out to a deeper level of  practice or stage beyond kriya yoga that would actually eradicate them.  But we may only be able to understand whether afflictions are reduced or eliminated after we talk about the theory of karma.

           The afflictions (kleśas) are five (YS II.3): ignorance (avidya), ego (asmitā), attachment to desire (rāga), obsession to avoid unpleasant experiences (dveśa), and fear of death (abhiniveśa).  Avidya is considered to be the origin of them all.  It is because we forget or mistake our true nature (as pure conscious beings) that we identify with a limited form, description, label.  We think we are our personality (our likes, dislikes, believes, desires, etc.), and thus, every experience that threatens it makes us suffer.  From the ego, emotions born out of pursuing desire or avoiding pain come just as naturally.  And it is because of our deep immersion into this way of living, that we fear death.  Abhiniveśa is also translated as “clinging to life”.  Etymologically comes from abhi-ni-veśa, “to enter into completely”.  So strongly do we settle in our emotions, ideas, mindset, or experience, that we do not want to let them go.

Such afflictive causes are of a very subtle nature (YS II.10), and most of the time they pass unperceived by us.  Because they are so subtle, the only way to eradicate them is by bringing the mind back to its original state.  But how do we do that?  Remember First Book gave us many different ways of focus our mind?  The  Second Book says it again, the way to bring our mind back to their natural state is through meditation (II.11)  There is so much to unpack here!  We have come to the core of the Psychology of Yoga:

                                   

           Every perception we receive from the world gets registered as a vṛtti in our mind (citta).  Some vṛttis come and go, but repeated vṛttis stay, not only as memories that we can retrieve, but also as emotional experiences that sometimes we do not remember anymore and go deep in our subconscious mind.  They gather together and leave an “imprint” in the mind, a saṁskāra.  Those impressions start configuring and shaping the way our mind thinks and perceives the world.  Certain beliefs make us do certain things.  Experiences, emotions, convictions, etc. make us see the world in a certain way.  Our patterns of perception and action create a habit, and such shaping of the mind is called vāsāna.  In a sense, we always perceive the world through “lenses”, the lenses of our vāsāna.  When we look at the world through lenses we do not see the glasses.  We need to do a special effort to look at them, to notice their shape or how clean they are.  We usually just take the glasses off and clean them with a cloth, but we cannot take our minds off!  Instead, what we can do is try to silence our thoughts, or better said, to find the silence between thoughts.  This is what meditation does for us.  It brings a different impression to our mind so that it can focus in one thought, in one wave, so that the rest of the mind starts aligning with that focus of attention.  Remember that the whole point of bringing the mind to a state of focus is to become aware of our own thoughts and to eventually let them go, in the deepest sense of the word. 

As long as we do not let go of those deep impressions, they keep conditioning our experience of the world.  They keep determining the way we act, or think, repeating the same patterns that make us suffer or get attached.  Sutras II.12, 13 and 14 refer precisely to this cycle of perceptions-impressions-patterns-actions-suffering-perception… This whole cycle, called samsara is geared by ignorance, because the only thing that triggers it is our identification with those states of mind.  And for better or for worse, this process does not end with this physical body.  The nature of mental impression is not to be stored somewhere in the brain, much more, they are patterns of existence that need to come to fruition.  So even though this physical body dies, those mental patterns that were not reduced to the original mind, will still be determining existence whether in this life or in another, whether in this body or another one.  That mental pattern will find a place to realize itself, as a type of birth, a span of life, and quality of experience (YS II.13).  This is the famous theory of reincarnation and karma.  Whatever is in the mind, manifests in life.  So if we do not want something to manifest, we need to burn the seed of its cause, the root of those determined and blind actions, that is, the stock of karma or (karmaśaya).  

There was a very interesting question-commentary regarding this process.  “This is all very deterministic.  It seems as if all yoga was about had to do with detaching from this conditioning process of cause and effect.  There is no much creativity on this.”  In a sense this is true, for it is the distracted mind which is unconsciously determined by its own conditionings.  But the way to get out of this is definitely a transformative and creative process.  As it was mentioned in class, the best metaphor for this is the one used in the Bhagavad Gita, which puts it in terms of the fighting for the recuperation of the kingdom.  The king is ourselves, the kingdom is freedom, and the field of battle is the mind.  It is a very creative process because the transformation of our minds brings transformation in our experience and in the world.

              As Patañjali will say in the next sutras, the mind in itself is just an infinite realm of possibilities.  To take our mind to that state where we realize such infinity is the purpose of meditation.   My philosophy teacher at UH, Arindam Chakrabarti, says that the state of ultimate liberation only comes when we, our bodies and minds are dissolved back into the origin, consciousness and matter.  In other words, afflictions are ultimately eradicated from our minds when there is no more mind (ultimate death?). This may sound very radical, but perhaps it is a very deep truth that we cannot fully understand.  Perhaps the only way to manifest in a finite form such as this body and this experience is through ignorance and ego.  Otherwise, there would be no desire to experience anything, for we would know that our true self just is.

This takes us into the topic of the Cosmogony of Yoga, that is, the narration of how it all came to be.  But it will have to wait until next post.  In the meantime, enjoy your vṛttis.

Summary February 4th, 2012

We resumed our Yoga Sutras Reading group sessions with a brief recapitulation of Book I and an overview about the topics that we will encounter in our reading of Book II.  Remember that the very first thing we found in Book I, called Samādhi Pāda, was a definition of yoga as nirodha.  We talked about the different ways of translating such a term.  We saw how the definition of yoga is intimately related to the workings of the mind and a full session was dedicated to go over how Patañjali classifies the mental contents.  The distinction between a distracted and a focused mind is made in the first Book and many different techniques are enumerated in order to bring the mind into a detached and deep, contemplative state.  What was the reason for all this?  We talked about the way yoga philosophy understands the essence of ourselves and that the main predicament of our lives is that we tend to forget our own essence, our real self.  So the practice of yoga and detachment is meant to help our mind  realize its own nature and with that, acknowledge the infinite source of consciousness and wisdom that supports it, in spite of all the obstacles that may obstruct that vision.

Book II, called Sādhana Pāda, goes deeper into the description of the way our mind works and also gives more details about the practice of yoga.  The famous eight parts of yoga are defined after the description of the subconscious mechanisms of the mind, the theory of karma and the metaphysics (i.e. the theory of what there is) of yoga philosophy. 

We decided to start this book by reading the sutras that refer to what many have called, the “ashtanga yoga” (astau- eight, anga- limb, member).  Sutra II.28 tells us that the purpose of yoga practice is to purify our mind and bring forth our shining, clear, radiant, wise and conscious nature.  The eight elements are, as many of you already know by heart: yama, niyama, āsana, prānāyāma, pratyāhāra, dhāranā, dhyāna, and samādhi.

            We focused on the yamas and niyamas.  Sutra II.31 refers to the yamas as māhavratam, i.e. as the great vows:  ahimsā - non-violence, satya –truthfullness, asteya –non-stealing, brahmacarya- continence and aparigraha –fulfillment.  These are considered to be universal and unconditioned by time, place or circumstance.  If we think a little bit about what it means for them to be universal, we may think it is because they have to be followed unconditionally by everyone.  But if this is the case, then we find that there are many circumstances of our normal life where we do not follow them, and even more, where our culture and society thinks they do not have to be followed.  Just think about the position that soldiers are in.  If the yamas were taken as universal, then the whole military system would have to be vanished.  Another example is commerce and marketing.  If society were to really follow the yamas, then marketing a product by exalting virtues that it does not really have would need to be considered as an unacceptable practice for its lack of truthfullness. There are many more examples in our society where the yamas are not only not followed, but accepted as non-applicable.  So again, what does Patañjali mean by their unversality?  

           If the yamas were to be taken seriously, they would entail a huge change in many of our social well accepted institutions and costumes.  But not in vain sutra II.31 calls them the great vows.  To make a vow is to make a promise.  A promise is a statement that makes us responsible for its execution.  Without the promise, there is no expectation to act.  What I think we can read here is that the yogic discipline (just as any other spiritual path) involves making a big promise, to ourselves and to others.  And such a promise needs to be performed under any circumstances, regardless the social and cultural values around us, if we are to be called “yogis” or followers of such a path.  Of course, not everybody makes such a promise.  But once we have done it, we are committed to it.  Here then appears other sorts of considerations.  There are times when we have to decide between one value and another.  For example, if you see a child running in front of you trying to hide, and next you see the robber trying to asault him; if the robber asks you whether you have seen the child, would you tell the truth?  If you did not tell the truth you would be breaking the vow of truthfullness.  Really?  The yogic tradition says that whenever one niyama is compromised, we need to take the first one in the list as the most important.  This means that for the yoga tradition, avoiding violence is more important than saying the truth, for the truth that causes harm is useless. 

            Now, the next question is, what is to be non-violent?  As Gandhi’s grandson says, we usually are not conscious of how violent we are because we think that violence involves killing, beating, fighting and making wars, things that average people don’t do.  But there are many subtle ways of being violent in our behavior towards others and towards ourselves.  We can be violent not only in the way we act but also in how we communicate with others and in our own thoughts.  Sutra II.35 says that when we have established ourselves in complete non-violence, then all hostility and animosity is gone.  This statement has a very deep meaning that is not easily graspable without experiencing it, but I think Gandhi’s teachings are very inspiring and exemplifying. To be established in ahimsa does not necessarily mean that everything around us will be completely in peace.  Although Iyengar and other commentaries mention that the presence of a complete non-violent yogi will make people, animals and all hostility around him or her cease.  Nevertheless, historically reality has also given us opposite examples.  For there are occasions where in order for non-violence to triumph, it needs to be confronted with violence, and thus, many monks, and peace workers have found themselves subjected to violence, to the point of even killed.  Ahimsa is not always measured by the external outcome around us, but by our own capacity of remaining in complete non-violence (love and compassion) towards the violent (or the “enemy”).

            Just as ahimsa and satya, asteya or non-stealing refers not only to our acts, but also to our thoughts and words.  Asteya can positively be translated as “abiding in generosity and honesty” (Nishala Joy Devi, p.189).  And just as when we are established in truthfulness, our words become so powerful as to create the reality of their meaning, prosperity manifests when we express generosity.  This is one of the key ideas of this Second Book: there is reciprocity between our acts, their effect in the world and the response that we get back from the universe.

            Brahmacarya or continence is usually related with sexual abstinence, especially among the more ascetic yogic paths.  But we talked in class how this niyama is better understood as the containment of our creative energy and its pleasures in a way that we can direct it towards wisdom, knowledge, vitality and consciousness.  In other words, we talked about how sexual energy has been considered by yogic schools with tantric influence as a threshold for liberation and enlightenment.

            Finally, Sutra II.39 says that being established in aparigraha or non-greed gives us knowledge of past and future lives.  But what does this really mean?  Nishala Devi translates this sutra as saying that aparigraha is recognizing the abundance, the blessings in everything, and that this brings insight into the purpose of our lifes.  Iyengar also tells us that this yama makes us realize the true meaning of our lives, perhaps because by loving what we are and what we have in the present, we can acknowledge where we have come from, how our history has shaped us into who we are and where we are going on from there.

            While the yamas refer to our relation with others, the niyamas involve practices that relate to how we take care of ourselves. Sauca or cleanliness, refers not only to keep our physical bodies clean, but also our thoughts.  It is related with the idea of purity and, traditionally, it has been expressed in the form of yogic practices such as nasal, stomach, and bowels deep cleansing.  We talked about how the body has been some times considered as something dirty and how, thorugh constant purification the mind detaches from it and can focus in our inner self to experience  a higher joy. But we also mentioned that the body is considered as the temple of the Divine, and that as such, it needs to be valued, honored and taken care of.

            Santosa  is translated as contentment, which brings supreme joy.  Usually, and especially in the ascetic tradition, supreme joy is understood as the freedom from desires.  We talked about howit is possible to feel contentment while having desires as long as we do not attach to the outcome of our effort to obtain them.  Contentment as acceptance of the present situation does not exclude desires and emotions; it excludes the attachment to them and the identification to one way of being.  Things are always flowing and changing, so we cannot hold unto that. 

           Tapas is the self-discipline and effort that we put in the practice of yoga.  Traditionally it is understood as austerity.  In an ascetic sense, austerity is when we subject our bodies to extreme situations in order to overcome them, like holding the body in a fixed position for a certain amount of time, or fasting, or being in silence for some time.  The purpose of such practices is to purify our minds and reveal our inner power. 

Svādhyāya is self-study.  It usually refers to the study of sacred texts in order to gain more insight about the Divine.  But self-study can also mean to be constantly aware of our actions, thoughts and words.  I call it a “self-monitoring” and a constant bringing our mind into a focused and balanced state.  Introspection would be a good word for it, “to go inside” ourselves in order to discover our real and authentic self.

            Isvarapranidhāna or surrender to the Divine is what, according to yoga, brings the mind to a state of perfect contemplation (Sutra II.45).  We had talked about how, in the First Book, devotion to God or the Supreme Consciousness was one of the techniques to focus our mind.  Here, in the second book, it is taken as an essential part of the practice.  If we regard it as the practice of surrendering our mind to a higher consciousness or intelligence or awareness, then it is clear that the discipline of yoga essentially requires it, since the aim of the practice is precisely to open our mind, heart and vision to the reality of an infinite consciousness. On the other hand, without surrendering the mind to something higher (wider, bigger, etc.) than itself, then the discipline turns into a mere product of a measurable effort.  But this can only enhance the ego, making us feel that it is all product of our own effort.  Instead, a practice that acknowledges something that goes beyond our individual and limited minds allows us to “open” our hearts and achieve a higher awareness.  The practice, the tapas, or the power of our discipline needs to be balanced with the surrendering of our minds, for only then grace can happen, and through grace our “heart” or real self, not our egos, can grow.

    Please feel free to disagree and comment what you think about this topic.  We will be talking a little bit more about tapas, svādhyāya and isvarapranidhāna next meeting.  In the meantime, let’s observe how we apply the yamas in our lives.  Have we made already the big promise?

Summary Yoga Sutras 40-51 (August-September, 2011)

The last ten sutras of the First Book talk about the state of mind that is achieved by the previous mentioned techniques of concentration.  The key word in sutra 1.40 is vaśīkāraḥ, which means subjugation, having mastery over, bringing under control.  This word appears also in sutra 1.15 where it refers to the subjugation and control that the mind has over its own desires, in other words, it refers to detachment.  But the sense in which it is used in this sutra is somewhat ambiguous, and it can be seen in the different translations.  Iyengar, for example, translates it as referring to the mastery and power that the mind acquires over the minutest and greatest particle of matter when it is steady and focused.  On the other hand, Hariharananda interprets it as the control and subjugation that is achieved over the mind itself.  We can see how both senses complement each other in the next sutra which talks about how, when ceasing its own thoughts and mental fluctuations (vṛttis), the mind gets into a state of deep absorption (samāpattiḥ) and, becoming clear crystal as a jewel, it gets “colored” by what is nearby, whether it be an object, another mind, or simply any mental act of cognition.  This means that once the mind has reached this state, it stops projecting into the things and into reality all its prejudices, emotions, preconceptions, old ideas, and misconceptions that only disturb what really is.  Under this purified state, the mind can see things as they really are.  In this sense, the mind and reality become one.  At the end, it is the same whether the mind controls the minutest or greatest particle or whether the mind controls itself since in this state both, the mind and what it reflects, are one.

            Next three sutras get deeper into the notion of samāpattiḥ, which is usually translated as a state of absorption, transformation, completion, assuming the original form, etc.  The mind can be in a state of deep absorption when there is a clear understanding of something.  For example, every time we have understood how to perform an asana, after the instructor has explained to us the steps, the proper alignment, the benefits of it, etc., and we feel that we can now do it, and confidently get into it with his or her guidance, our mind is in a state of “savitarkā samāpattiḥ” or discursive absorption.  This means that the idea, the object, the word and the mind are in unison, poured together or intermingled.  Sutra 1.43 talks about an even deeper level of absorption, where the mind goes beyond words and concepts and understands something just as it shines on it.  It is that state where, for example, as the asana is performed, we do not need any more the help of words or concepts to understand it, but instead the direct experience and the ever new and fresh practice of it. 

There are two levels that go beyond this.  Just as the mind can become absorbed in its understanding of physical objects such as the apprehension of a bodily posture, or the knowledge of physical bodies in general, it can also become absorbed in subtler objects such as concepts, ideas, emotions, and abstract principles.  When we try to understand, for example, the ideas of love, freedom, detachment, or any other abstract concept, the mind first gets its understanding by the use of words, explanations, examples, but then in a deeper level, its understanding becomes more experiential, there is a direct awareness or even “feeling” of those notions. 

The capacity of our minds to focus in ever more subtle objects is what allows it to achieve a state of arrestment, for it is in those subtle levels where it learns not only to detach from the gross reality and dense desires and temptations, but also, where it starts to experience its own vastness and inner workings.   

Now sutra 1.46 introduces the word samādhiḥ to refer to those levels of absorption.   Iyengar points out that the difference between samādhiḥ and samāpattiḥ is that this one refers to a specific state of mind whereas the former refers to the practice of achieving such state.  This is very accurate, for Patañjali calls in sutra 1.46 the practices that use an object (be it gross or subtle) to bring the mind into focus, “contemplation with seed” (sabījaḥ samādhiḥ), while the practice of contemplation without an object is called nirbījaḥ, without seed (1.51).

           As the mind gets steadier, calmer, and undisturbed by its own thoughts, it can get a clearer knowledge not only of the objects that are “outside” it, but also of its own nature (1.47).  It is this self-knowledge what is considered to bring wisdom beyond words, beyond what others have told us, even beyond our own reason (1.48-49).  The type of knowledge acquired is direct, “able to bear the truth” (ṛtaṁbharā).  The mind undergoes a deep transformation in such a way that old thoughts and patterns are overcome, new and more lucid experiences become usual.  But even this type of purest thoughts need to be relinquished if we want to experience what real wisdom and freedom are.  According to the Yoga Sutras of Patañjali, the highest, better said, the deepest state of mind is total silence of thoughts; a mind empty of thoughts but full of awareness. This is exactly how Patañjali had defined yoga in the famous verse 1.2.

Summary Yoga Sutras 29-39 (August 14th, 2011)

The last of the set of sutras that talk about God or Iśvara (1.29) says that through the repetition of the sound that represents it, i.e. the Om, we realize our inner self and get free from all disturbances or obstacles.  It seems to me that this sutra expresses popular wisdom.  We see how people who believe in God call upon him/her through prayers when they are facing a hard situation.  Even though we do not have to believe in God or in something like Iśvara in order to be yogis or to practice yoga, the belief in something that is superior, a “special puruṣa” or a higher consciousness beyond our finite beings, can help others with a more devotional inclination, to focus their minds on a state of peace and calmness that is so precious to the yogic path.

            It is astonishing how the disturbances or obstacles mentioned in the Yoga Sutras 2000 years ago, continue to have so much meaning to us in the twenty first century.  As it was mentioned during class, we can see through this text how our human minds are still challenged by the same things. There are 9 obstacles mentioned in the sutra 1.30 which are divided by Iyengar in four groups:

1)      physical: sickness (vyādhi), sluggishness or fatigue (styāna);

2)      mental: doubt or indecision (saṁśaya), carelessness or negligence (pramāda), lazyness (ālasya),

              incontinence (avirati);

3)      intellectual: confusion or delusion (bhrāntidarśana), and

4)      spiritual: dissapointment or not having obtained a firm ground, feeling stuck    

                (alabdhabhūmikatva) and instability or giving up (anavasthitatvāni).

Along with these obstacles, the distracted and scattered mind develops the states of sorrow (duḥkha), despair (daurmanasya), a weak and trembling body (aṅgamejayatva) and irregular breathing (śvāsapraśvāsāḥ vikṣepa).  It seems as if Patañjali were describing the normal characteristics of many of our fellow humans (if not of ourselves to a certain extent) stressed, constantly worried, untrustful, unhealthy… This condition of the mind is called vikṣepa, which means “distracted” and is compared, in the next sutra 1.32, to the “onepointed” mind or ekatattva.  From sutras 1.34 to 1.39, various practices of onepointedness are described, but just before getting into them, we find a sutra that talks about the dispositions or attitudes that start bringing our mind back to a graceful, lucid, clear and “sattvic” state (cittaprasādanam): Friendship (maitrī) to those who are happy; compassion (karuṇā) to those who are unhappy; joy  (muditā) to those who are virtuous, and equanimity  (upeksanam) to those who are non-virtuous.  Sutra 1.33 is one of those parts of the Yoga Sutras that makes evident the Buddhist influence on them.  These four dispositions are exactly the same as the four virtues that are considered in Buddhism to be the antidotes to negative mental states such as envy, violence, intolerance, anger and pride.

Taking a closer look to each of them, we could find that the first one, “friendship or kindness to those who are happy”, seems not to be something difficult to practice.  And yet, Joy Devi gives a perfect example of when maintaining this quality of mind could be a challenge.  Imagine that you are in the park having a picnic with a friend in the perfect spot.  After the first few bites of the tasty dishes, a man sits very close to you and starts smoking; happily lying down on the grass, while the smoke is flowing directly to your nose.  Just take few moments to consider what would be your immediate reaction; your emotions and thoughts towards that man.  What would be the best way to act?  What this sutra tells us is that before any mental dialogue dictate our actions, words and attitudes, we must let our hearts open to kindness and act from there.  Usually, as Joy says, the other’s response will match the energy as well as the words we have put forth.  Although even if  this does not happen, we still have other resources of wisdom from which to act: compassion and equanimity, instead of judgment, anger, impatience and all the many other emotions that come to us when a situation is not as we would like.   In Joy Devi’s version, “compassion for those who are less fortunate” and “equanimity to those whose actions oppose your values” are attitudes that preserve the openness of the heart and calmness of the mind (p.84).  “Joy to those who are virtuous” is another one of those that seems easy to accomplish, and yet, this one addresses one of those sentiments that are easily disguised: envy.  In our insecurity, we may find reasons not to acknowledge others’ talents, but we may also deflate our own virtues and put others on pedestals.  “Honor for those who embody noble qualities” as Joy Devi puts it, means not only to feel happy for those who have them, but also to try to find noble qualities in everyone.  “Some of us may need to become archaeologists and dig dip”, says Joy.  But even when this is not possible, we still can remain calm.[1]

After this, Patañjali proceeds to enumerate various alternatives to focus the mind and achieve onepointedness:

1.34 - Through the practice of retaining the breath after exhalation.  (This is a type of pranayama, the practice of channeling the life force through the manipulation of the breath).

1.35 – Through the steadiness of the mind in any object arising through the senses.  (For example, focusing the mind in a specific taste, in a sound, in a visible object, or a texture, or a smell.)

1.36 – Through the contemplation of an effulgent and sorrowless light.  (This is a very cryptic sutra, difficult to interpret.  What is that light referring too?  Some say that it is the light of our inner self, the “core of our hearts” as Iyengar puts it in page 88.  It could also be referring to the practice within some yogic paths of focusing the mind in the light of a candle, perhaps as an external metaphor of our inner light.)

1.37 – Through the focus of the mind in enlightened beings.  (There is also another way of translating this sutra: “Through the focusing of the mind in any object without desire.”  But, in general, it is referring to the practice of meditating in a spiritual teacher (guru), a wise person, a sage, someone that is already beyond pleasure and pain, in a liberated state, free from desires.)

1.38 – Through the practice of observing our dreams (svapna) and the knowledge that comes from the conscious experience of dreamless sleep (nidrā).  (In the Tibetan yoga, the ability of knowing that we are dreaming while we are dreaming, in other words, to have a lucid dream, is developed to acquire knowledge, solve problems in our lives, get messages from the subtle realm, or to solve emotional issues and prepare ourselves for difficult tasks during the waking state.  There is also a yogic practice called “nidra yoga” that consists in bringing our bodies and minds to a complete point of relaxation but without falling asleep.  This gives us the experience of a state of consciousness where there are no thoughts, nor objects, but just pure awareness.)

1.39 – Through the meditation in any agreeable object.  (This sutra tells us that the mind has the ability to focus on any desired object.  Some people find focusing in sound easier than in silence, or in an external visible object rather than in an internal visualization.  Patañjali acknowledges here, one more time, the variety of paths that there are to achieve the same goal.)

            The great contribution of Iyengar is that he made of the physical poses (asanas) a point of concentration for the mind, capable of bringing us to deeper layers of consciousness and, ideally, to the experience of our true self. 

            Westerners are usually criticized for their focus in the physical poses; but Patañjali is telling us here that it does not matter in which object you point your mind towards, as long as it is agreeable to the yogic goal and to your personal inclination, the practice of “onepointedness” prepares the mind for deeper meditations, as well as being accompanied by a graceful, joyful, loving and compassionate state.  Perhaps, if there were a way to “measure” the practice of a yogi, it wouldn’t so much be how far he/she can bend in one asana, but how much, through the practice of asana or whatever the point of focus is, he/she has managed to express love, compassion, joy and equanimity throughout daily life.

Regarding this topic, I would like to share with you this short video that makes us reflect on our own attitudes towards others.  I think it illustrates nicely the idea of a distracted mind in the sense we have just discussed.  

I hope that your reading of the Yoga Sutras keeps inspiring your yoga practice, whatever form it takes and that you continue to be inspired in sharing your views, comments, doubts, questions and ideas with the group.  See you next meeting!

 

---

[1] Iyengar interprets the last attitude as “indiference”. Although that is the literal meaning of “upekṣanam”, it does not convey the positive quality that the other three attitudes have.  I personally prefer the term “equanimity”.

Summary Yoga Sutras 23-28 (July 30th, 2011)

We focused our conversation on sutras 1.23 to 1.28, which talk about Īśvara.  Īśvara is usually translated as God, Lord, Supreme Soul, or Divine Consciousness.  It is interesting to note that the sutra where Īśvara is introduced (1.23) starts with “or” (vā, in sanskrit):  “Or from surrendering to Īśvara”.  What is this “or” refering to?  Previously, Patañjali had said that nirodha, the stillness of the mind, could be achieved by practice (abhyāsa) and detachment (vairāgya), and by deepening our awareness into subtler levels of reality.  Now, he is adding another way of stilling our mind: Īśvara praṇidhāna, which could also be translated as devotion to God or a Supreme Being.  This is what is called the “bhakti yoga” path –a way of uniting our individual consciousness with a higher being, a higher self, a greater soul, force, or consciousness by means of love.  Although, as it was rightly mentioned in class, the word “bhakti” does not appear in the Yoga Sutras, here Patañjali is acknowledging that some people need to have an image, an idea or something that their mind can grasp in order to relate to the infinite and deepest aspect of consciousness.

 It is true that the bhakti path exalts the dualistic relationship between the devotee and the divine.[1]   God is seen as an external deity to which to pray and look to for emotional refuge and spiritual guidance.  On the other hand, within the same dynamics of devotion, the relation with the deity is so intense that the mind becomes “full” of the attributes of that divinity, such as love, infinite compassion, and wisdom, becoming one with the Divine.   So the path of devotion also includes the other side of the spectrum where the individual consciousness totally merges with the universal consciousness.[2]  Do you remember how Patañjali described supreme detachment in sutra 1.16?  Supreme detachment involved the envisioning of puruṣa (puruṣakhyāteḥ), that is, the realization of our true self.  In a sense, devotion and surrendering to Īśvara (which is just a word that stands for whatever other name you want to give to God or the Divine) is the quietening of our minds to let our inner self emerge.  This is what makes the Yoga Sutras so great, that with just two verses, Patañjali is acknowledging a multitude of spiritual paths that exist to realize the state of union.  Within this two verses we have the possibility of either seeing “God” within (or perhaps even as) our inner self, and on the other, to seeing it as something beyond us.  But however we decide to relate to Īśvara, the authentic and detached surrendering to “It” will bring us to that place of nirodha.

    This takes us to the next sutra 1.24 which characterizes Īśvara as that “special puruṣa” (puruṣaviśeṣa) that is free from conflicts, unaffected by actions, and untouhed by cause and effect.  If we think of Īśvara as that God who is totally detached from suffering, immutable to anything that happens in the world and in humans' lives, we might see God as very cold and indifferent.  But if we consider Īśvara as that special aspect of the universal consciousness to which we have access through our true self, then we can make sense of this sutra as talking about that dimension of ourselves that can remain peaceful even through the most conflicting, affecting and terrible situations.  As usual, Joy Devi's version of this sutra is very illuminating:  “The Divine Consciousness is self-effulgent like the sun”.   Just as the sun continues to shine even when there are clouds, rain and darkness, that divine consciousness of which we all partake, is always free, in peace, still, and beyond suffering.  At this point, a very interesting discussion arose about the unity or multiplicity of puruṣas, or souls.  If Īśvara is a “special” puruṣa, does that mean that there are different puruṣas?  Or, if it is true that, in a deeper sense, we are all one with that pure and infinite consciousness, then although apparently multiple and different from each other in our bodies and minds, are we all one in our true self?

    These questions have originated heated debates between the traditional commentators and teachers themselves.  The position that we are all one puruṣa would need to accept that when one soul achieves the state of union with the divine and realizes its true self, then all the others reach it too.  But this is not very evident.  It is not clear whether Patañjali thinks if we are all the same puruṣa or not, but the most satisfactory and beautiful answer that I have found is the one given by the vedantic tradition which says that Īśvara or the Divine is like the flame of fire from which small sparks spread in all directions.  While they are coming out of the flame they are different from each other, although if we could put them together they would fuse into one; and if we put the little sparks back into the big flame, they would be indistinguishable from the main “special flame”.  So in a sense, thinking of ourselves as separate puruṣas is true, but in another sense it is false.  It all depends on which moment of the little spark we focus on.

    Sutras 1.25 and 1.26 give a further characterization of Īśvara as omniscient and foremost teacher (guru).  Characterizations like this could make us start asking whether yoga is a religion.  The question was raised in class and many answers were given, some said yes, some said no.  Someone said that it is not but it can be; someone else said that it was a way of life, and someone else thought that it is a spiritual path.  The fact is that people relate to yoga in many ways.  Whether they do it as as a religion, exercise, health regimen, philosophical system or spiritual path, all depends how far one wants to go with the practice.  It may be that as we go deeper into the yoga path and its philosophy, we may find some ideas or beliefs with which we do not agree or relate to.  But it may also be that the practice of yoga and its philosophy can enhance and enrich our own religious beliefs.

    Īśvara is understood in the yoga tradition as the very first omniscient guru of all gurus.  This is in part to justify the authenticity and value of a particular school.  At the time the Yoga Sutras were composed, there were many schools and many paths of yoga, and each of them would claim omniscience of the founder of their respective tradition –otherwise their sacred texts could contain errors, and that would be unacceptable.[3]  Such original truth could only be passed on from guru to guru in order to faithfully preserve the teachings.  This idea is present in any yoga style that you can think of (Iyengar, Ashtanga, Kundalini, etc.).  There is the strong belief that the validity of the teachings is supported by the lineage it comes from because it is thought that the very first teacher got his or her knowledge from the source, which is divine.  That is why Īśvara is said to be “sarvajñabījam”, that is, the origin or seed of all knowledge.

    If we want to understand this in a more interiorized way, we can interpret these sutras as referring to that fountain of infinite wisdom that each of us have access to through our hearts.  Our minds may not understand many things, but when we manage to silence them, we can intuit answers that we never thought we would have.  In a sense, our soul is “omniscient”, because when we do not know what to do, when we do not understand, or get something, there is always a deeper layer of our awareness that can do it, even if it takes time to surface to our normal consciousness.  As Joy translates: “The Divine is the essence of all knowledge, wisdom, and love.” “Knowledge, wisdom, and love are the omnipresent teachers in all beings.”

    Sutra 1.27 brings us to the topic of the mantra AUM and connects it with Īśvara as its representation.  There is a tantric tradition that describes the origin of the universe as a pulsating energy.[4]  This energy, through its different vibrations, creates all beings and dimensions of reality.  The original sound of this pulsation reverberates through all creation, and each manifestation has its own particular vibration and sound.  The AUM is this original sound of the universe that flows through all that exists.  It is thought that the ancient sages who gave us this sound actually heard it through their meditations.  Thus, by repeating it constantly we can experience that inner vibration in ourselves and in all beings.  To understand a little bit better the meaning of the praṇavah (this is how Patañjali refers to the mantra AUM), we read in class the Māṇdūkya Upaniṣad [5], which talks about the significance of each of the sounds that compose it.

    Iyengar says (p.80-81) that vibration and sound brings us closer to God because it is the subtlest form of his Creation.[6]  God, however, is beyond vibration.  AUM is the sound that penetrates all vibration, but also, that goes beyond it, because the last part of the “mmm” vibration is that evanescent sound that goes into silence, which is the origin of all sound.  This is why AUM can bring us closer to the source. Even more, if we sing it with full intention and feeling (tadarthabhāvanam) it can make us “disappear” in its silence.

    I will then leave you with this silence so that you can go and meditate with the AUM and reconsider by yourself what Īśvara means to you in this moment of your life and with respect to your practice of yoga.

---

[1] You may have had contact with the Hare Krishnas and seen how they adore his image, chant to him, dance around invocating constantly his different names, and treat him as if he was a child, a lover, a husband, a friend, or anything that brings out love from oneself.

[2] While writing this summary, the writings of Meher Baba came to my attention.  There is one that a beautiful description of the devotional dynamic between the devotee and the Divine.  Click here if you want to read it.

[3] The sacredness of the Vedas, for example, would be endowed by the fact that the rishis, or sages, would have “heard” their content coming from the infinite source and not from a human.  Also, within the buddhist tradition, the omniscience of Buddha was something that had to be constantly proved before other traditions to state the validity of his teachings.

[4] The Trika school of Kashmir Shaivism.

[5] This is a very short reading that I strongly recommend to you. Just click in the title Māṇdūkya Upaniṣad above, and you will be directed to the text.

[6] Some yoga paths make of their practice the repetition of sacred sounds. Krishna Dass refers to chanting as the “asana of the heart”.  See documentary “Yoga Unveiled”.

Summary Yoga Sutras 16-22 (July 23rd, 2011).

We continued talking about the meaning of vairāgya in sutras 1.15 and 1.16. I brought to our attention the distinction between "detachment" and "renunciation". Although Iyengar translates it as "renunciation", the meaning of vairāgya is closer to terms like "detachment" or "dispassion", as it comes from the root "vi-rāga" where "vi" has the sense of separation from, or distinction, and "rāga", the sense of pleasure or desire. The word "renunciation" would better correspond to the Sanskrit "tyaj" which has the sense "to go away from", "to set aside", "to leave", or "to abandon". But leaving aside etymologies, as I heard one teacher at the university tell the students in a class about the same topic: "If you really want to know what the meaning of "renunciation" is, renounce something." He was inviting us to make an action that involved giving up something, even if it was as simple as not eating sugar for some time, or not eating for one day. Although renunciation, as we saw in the previous class, is a way to transcend certain patterns of thought or action in order to gain a state of freedom, it does not guarantee success in and of itself. Even though we can stop doing something, the desire can still linger in our minds. And even if we manage to renounce the desire itself and have no more conscious thoughts about it, what we thought well extinguished, may not be at all. Instead it may remain latent in the subconscious, manifesting itself unexpectedly. The act of renunciation is more of an external action, whereas the real act of freedom and detachment comes from an internal attitude of letting go, of being able to live with or without something and not suffer for it. This accomplishment, as Iyengar (Light on the Yoga Sutras, 66-67) and other traditional commentators point out, has different levels.


    The first level of detachment consists in being able to remain in peace among things that we perceive through the five senses or interact with physically. For example, particular objects (viśeṣa) and things that we like or do not like (certain food, temperature, places, sounds, etc.). Imagine that you want to detach from drinking coffee (because you know that it would be better for you to quit, for whatever reason). Your first step is the physical action, no more contact with coffee. You may still desire or crave coffee every morning, even if you serve yourself a cup of orange juice instead. Detaching from subtle and more abstract objects (aviśeṣa) like the desire, emotions, thoughts and feelings towards something, is the second level of vairāgya.  In this state, your mind would not think of coffee in the morning anymore. You are just fine with orange juice. But perhaps one day, you go by a restaurant and smell the aroma of coffee or look at someone enjoying a cup. You suddenly feel this craving for coffee that you thought was gone. The third level of detachment involves those subconscious thoughts and feelings stored deep in the psyche, requiring an even more intense and ardent attitude of dispassion. Finally, you are completely over it; there is no craving, no thought, no intention of drinking coffee. On the contrary, you do not even want to hear the word, and every time you are exposed to it, your mind immediately goes to the thought "I do not need it, I am detached from it". In a sense, you have become "attached" to your non-attachment (just as Puppetji graciously explains).[1] The third level of vairāgya is to go beyond your thought of being attached and not being attached. Achieving the fourth level of supreme detachment entails a detachment from all thought and judgment. Following our example (which is an elaboration on the one given by Iyengar on page 67), authentic attachment to coffee would be to not even think about your attachment or non-attachment towards coffee. You drink it or not, without aversion or passion. Your mental state goes beyond the effects that coffee's nature (guṇas)[2] causes on you. You are happy with or without it; and the decision of drinking it or not comes from a place in your mind that is not conditioned by a pattern, a habit, a belief, or an entrenched desire. Your decision of taking it or not comes authentically and freely.


    Perhaps the best examples of this supreme detachment or paravairāgya are found in the mystics of different traditions (Teresa de Avila, John of the Cross, Al Hallaj, Tulsidas, etc), who, in search of the real meaning of life and the experience of divine union, renounced either their possessions, or their families and/or all comfort, as well as traditional beliefs and cultural norms. Some of them even renounced food and what we would consider essential for good health. A fair question arises here: Did they really achieve detachment or did they remain attached to their "higher state of mind", to their love for God, to their supreme level of detachment? How to know if someone is really detached or not? How do we know if we, ourselves, are fully detached from something, and not deluded, unaware of the desire, ego or complacency that is still lying dormant at the bottom of our subconscious mind? There is no definitive answer from the outside. But the fact is that when supreme and authentic detachment arises, there is no more thought about it, not even the question of being detached or not. At this point, the meaning of s. 1-16 gains more light if we attend to its literal translation: tatparaṁ- the highest, ultimate; puruṣakhyāteḥ-vision or remembrance of the self, soul, spirit, consciousness; guṇavaiṭṛṣnyam- cessation of craving for the "guṇas", qualities of nature (objects of the world).  The ultimate vairāgya, which means the cessation of the craving for the objects of the world and nature (prakṛti), arises from the vision or remembrance of who we really are (puruṣa). How authentically we express the freedom of our selves, only we know. Thus, only we can know and feel if we are still attached or not. The question towards others is pointless, because there is no way to answer it from the outside.

      Parallel to the process of detachment-- understood as a process of remembering and re-envisioning our selves as the infinite and free consciousness that we are (puruṣa)-- there is a process of deepening of awareness (See Table 1). Sutra 1.17 refers to the different layers of awareness that give us access to the world and nature (prakṛti). According to the Yoga philosophy, each type of awareness reveals a different type of object. So if our awareness is only focused in the physical (vitarka), external objects, and on the field we experience through our five senses of perception (sight, touch, taste, smell and sound) and five senses of action (grasping, moving, reproducing, excreting, and speaking), then that is as far as our experience will go. If our awareness focuses in subtler objects through deeper reflection and thought (vicāra), then we are able to perceive the objects of that realm, such as feelings, emotions, abstract ideas, deeper layers of the body, and subtle energy fields. If our awareness goes deeper, we start noticing more profound and internal layers of the world of experience, such as the pure state of bliss (ānanda). And going even deeper, awareness will reveal the experience of the pure "I-ness"; the experience of "I am" (asmitā). I think we can now see how sutra 1.17 is talking about the possibilities of experience and how those are accessed through our awareness. 

         
Table 1. Stages of vairāgya and parallel processes.

         In order for you to experience this, think of any asana, like "trikonasa". Next time you practice it, try going through the different types of awareness. Your mind first goes to the physical aspect of it, focusing in the alignment of the feet, legs, hips, etc. Next, if you go deeper, your awareness starts to understand the pose in a more subtle way, such as how the stretching of the arms allows your chest to open and with that, your breath deepens, bringing a sensation of stability and clarity in your mind. Once you have adjusted, understood the details, and found that steady place in the pose, you start experiencing a sense of beauty; a personal, blissful sensation of executing your pose, as it is, with your own body and with its own possibilities. You experience, then, the so called asmitāmātra or the individual aspect of your being through that pose that now feels so personal. Going even deeper, bringing yourself to that state where you, your body, and your mind are all one in the pose; the "all" of you becomes "trikonasana". Then you can go beyond the individuality of the pose and start experiencing it as the cosmic paradigm. Now you can realize that you, everyone in the classroom, and every other practitioner in the rest of the world are doing that pose which is not yours, nor theirs, but just "trikonasa" in such a way that we, by practicing it, partake of the deeper, cosmic and universal meaning (with its physical and mental benefits). Finally, if possible, you can achieve that place of silence, where even the feeling of doing a particular pose, "trikonasana", disappears; and everything is just…yoga, nirodha, stillness, consciousness, silence, being, heart. The deepening of awareness can be applied to anything in our lives. The transformative power of the yogic physical poses (āsanas) lies precisely in that they, as Iyengar says in the introduction to Book I , p.12, "offer a controlled battleground for the process of conflict and creation. The aim is to recreate the process of human evolution in our own internal environment."[3]


 Sutras 1.18 and 1.19 talk about other states of mind experienced within this process of detachment and deepening of awareness. They are difficult to grasp because the commentaries vary in interpretation. The main idea in s.1.18 is that the state of virāmapratyaya is one where we lose the feeling of the "I". The physical body feels as if it were almost not there. The mind is absorbed in subtle, inward sensations, although the awareness is not deep enough to reach the subconscious aspects of the mind (saṁskāras). Sutra 1.19 talks about the state of consciousness where our being experiences "bodylessness" (videha) and the state of being totally merged in nature (prakṛtilayānām). The tradition understands this sutra as referring to beings that have transcended the physical level and continue having experiences in subtler dimensions. We would have to go more into hindu mythology in order to get what is meant by "subtle realms" and "unembodied beings". But because we do not have space here (nor had time in class to talk about it), I will just say that the idea of this sutra is that there is a state of mind that gives us the experience of being merged in prakṛti, where we are aware of the myriad of possibilities of creation and the infinite potentiality of manifestation in space and time.


  Of course, without having ever experienced something like the "subtle realm", all these layers of experience and awareness may sound unintelligible and hard to believe in. We could question (as it was done in class) the whole model of levels of detachment and awareness, as well as the account of experiences that supposedly come from deep meditative and yogic states. How could we know that this is not a product of imagination, a fantasy and delusion of certain people? What Yoga philosophy takes as the starting point of evolution, i.e. consciousness is, for science, just a product of the brain and the organic body. From a scientific point of view, what this philosophy takes to be an access to different levels of reality through awareness, is just an effect of the workings of different areas in our brain. In the end, when talking, reflecting and discussing about "consciousness" in the yogic sense, we are left with a feeling of not fully grasping what it is, because we, as westerners, come from a paradigm that cannot give account for something like the yogic description.[4] And yet, if we consider a comparative approach to the first person accounts of people who have been in those deep meditative states, we find a similar structure; parallelisms in the process of interiorization, as well as converging metaphors (although perhaps in a different language).[5]


   It is interesting to notice how, after having just described the "map" of awareness, introspection and possibilities of experience, sutra 1.20 presents the elements of faith (sraddha), vigor (virya), constant remembrance (smriti), absorption (samadhi), and discernment (prajña) as part of the practice for those who may have not yet experienced those levels. Sutras 1.21 and 1.22 remind us of the direct relation between practice, dedication, detachment and awareness. Through the intensity of our practice, devotion and intention (which can be mild, medium or supreme) we allow the consciousness of our authentic self to emerge more easily.


I know this is a long summary, but the topic deserves it. So many other things were discussed in class that it is impossible for me to even touch upon them here. This only confirms the beauty and enriching aspects of our classroom meetings. Thank you all for your interest and motivation. And many special thanks to Koa for her amazing help in editing these posts.

---

[1] See video on the right of this blog.

[2] Guṇas refer to the three qualities of nature: sattva (harmony, delight, clarity), rajas (dynamism, motion, restlessness), and tamas (obscurity, lethargy, density).  You can find a detailed and traditional explanation of these qualities in chapter fourteenth of the Bhagavad Gita.

[3] Think of what it would be like to perform a pose with complete detachment.

[4] Not until recently, some scientists with interest in Eastern thought have tried to approach it with a different paradigm such as the one emerging from quantum physics.  See any of  Amit Goswami’s articles on the topic of consciousness for an example of this.

[5] If you are interested in these kinds of parallelisms between spiritual traditions, I recommend you  reading “The Ascent of Mount Carmel” by St. John of the Cross and compare it with the process of detachment, awareness and steps to achieve the state of nirodha or kaivalya described in the Yoga Sutras. This is one of the most astonishing parallelisms I have encountered in comparative mysticism; considering that the Catholic church does not see with good eyes yogic meditation.