Pr(act)ice Makes Perfect? (YS 1.12-16, redux)

Pr(act)ice Makes Perfect?

Before moving on to what could be considered some slightly more esoteric sections of the Yoga Sutras, it is best to stop a while longer on the concepts of abhyãsa (practice/praxis) and vairãgyam (devoid of desire for possession/disinterest), two sides of a balancing scale, that when in alignment can help us calm the whirlwinds (vritti’s)of our Mind (citta), bringing us one step closer to the challenge of samãdhi (a very tricky word that we shall deal with in detail in due time).

As we saw in previous Sutras (1.12-14), abhyãsa is no quick fix to our mental, nor physical maladies. In order to have a strong Yogic practice according to Patañjali, it must not only be a strong foundation, grounded by a reverence for uninterrupted effort, but it must also be diligent, regular and over a long period of Time. Now, for the Brahmin man of 2000 years ago, sitting around navel gazing for hours at a stretch every day of the week was merely de rigueur, just another day not at the office so to speak. For the 21^st century person who has not checked out of society to live in a cave of the foothills of the Himalayas, this is not the case, by far.

We have to make Time…and that is not always easy, and sometimes, not entirely possible. We can always make a few minutes, to be sure, to quiet ourselves and bring our breath into focus, even if it is literally for just a few minutes in silent contemplation or meditation, but the trick is that when we need that most is when it feels most difficult to do.

Ideally then, we want to try and carve out a portion of time in our schedules to take care of the mind’s fluctuations on a daily basis, over the course of our life’s time. As Socrates hints at though at the end of Plato’s Republic, to actually encounter the Ideal in this physical world is nothing short of a Noble Lie we tell ourselves. And, we try to counteract that with the Noble Truths of the Buddha (or chose your flavor of precepts to follow, even if your own), to help us combat or mollify our sufferings in life, which are generated by none other than a-vidyã, or ignorance.

With this quest in mind, there are many studios that have the well-known saying by Shri Patabi Jois that  “Yoga is 99% practice, 1% theory” printed on the walls or elsewhere. I would like to pick that apart a bit more with respect to abhyãsa and vairãgyam. 

Something very common in ãsana-based Yoga (which on the grand face of the history of Yoga clock only arrived at 5 to midnight to be fair), we see a familiar phenomenon—way too zealous practice that ultimately, and always, results in two things: injury and/or burnout. (Having gotten into Yoga 25  years ago because of injuries as I overdid abhyãsa with swimming and water polo, and having gone off the deep end with Yoga abhyãsa some years ago, I again write from experience. It can happen.) Often when people discover the magical mystery tour of Yoga, whether it be via meditation, ãsana, kirtan or Yoga retreats, teacher trainings and workshops, there can be a highly zealous, shall we say even, obsessive approach that emerges by gunning for that 99%. Going to 2-3 classes a day, every day, watching countless Yoga Youtube clips, posting sexy ashtavakrasana (apparently one cannot be a “true” yogi/ni without doing this pose…) pics of one’s self on FB or Instagram, one then becomes addicted to the abhyãsa.

What follows is seldom good.

Whereas one can say that this leads to a “better” life or stronger Yoga practice, often it begins to highlight the one thing that increases our suffering, our Ego. Trying to outdo the last amazing pose, it becomes a mere posturing of the Ego. In other words, don’t make an ãsana out yourself by becoming a Yoga poser. As we see in the forthcoming Sutras, the asmitã, or self/ego-aggrandizement, can be a very powerful pitfall in our practice. We may well listen to our inner guru, but often it takes an outside observer to remind us of just how far our asmitã has gone. The abhyãsa can take over if we are not careful, and this is where vairãgyam plays a balancing role.

Making an ãsana out of myself with asmitã: thinking, my leg is not perpendicular

As we looked at with the Bee in the Rose, vairãgyam is not the disconnection or total withdrawal from the world, but rather it is experiencing Life directly, without the intermediacy of the senses. Seeing and experiencing things as they are, without filters, prejudices and aversions or attractions, and moreover, going beyond the concept of the gunas, or qualities in things, that is the vision of vairãgyam, hardly shutting oneself off from the world, but quite the opposite. Then, we may actually see the world as IT IS, not as we want it to be.

The gunas, brushed over quickly in the Sutras, are generally considered three in number: sattva (true/authentic), rajas (zealousness) and tamas (sloth, inertia). Taken in various combinations, these three gunas will give flavor or taste to people, places and things. Vairãgyam is the concept of not being swayed by this taste, but to have direct, unmitigated experiences. No matter how refined one may be in this area of disinterest, eventually taste, flavors, and the filters will kick in; it is inevitable. We could not get out of bed if they did not, for we would not even know what a bed is.

However, we can still appreciate what this can do, and a prime example then is with our abhyãsa. Can we practice with diligence, regularly and over a long period of time without falling into the trap of becoming attached to that practice? Without giving it a quality of sattva, tamas or rajas or some combination thereof? Without judging ourselves and others when that practice may fall short, or overly compromising when it is going so well? That is the key, and the challenge. Does our inner guru tells us when enough is enough in time, or is it usually too late, after the burnout, the crash or the injury? Honestly.

By practicing vairãgyam then with our practice of abhyãsa, we can see how we can bring the scales into balance. Finding how much praxis is enough is, in fact, part of the theory. I have long believed in this balance in all aspects of life. Simple action is useful at times, but fools do rush in where angels fear to tread. However, the flipside is that if we have our nose stuck in the books, our heads in the clouds, and cannot touch our toes in bent-knee uttanasana, yet claim to ardently practice (modern) Yoga, then something is out of whack. We need to balance the physical and mental ledger.

Finding and making the time for our abhyãsa is paramount in the world we live in. A simple look around tells us the world is indeed sick, and if we do not take time to heal ourselves, then it shall only get sicker by proxy of our negligence. Yet, in order to create and engage an efficient and effective praxis, a healthy dose of theory does neither a body, nor mind, harm; so long as it too is taken in moderation.

Get on the mat (and then off again), get off the couch (and back on again), meditate, chant, bend and breathe, but also, take a moment to nourish the Mind and Soul. It’s not just physical, nor mental, but a union, it’s Yoga.

The Bee in the Rose (YS 1.12-16)

A bit of a handful, but bear with me, the Bee and the Rose shall make it clear enough, soon enough.

Once we begin to see the logic and the method behind the Yoga Sutras, things begin to become a bit clearer (though not always...as we shall see). When I talk about the Sutras, I stress one thing, they are in line with the Bhagavad Gita and Buddhism in one very important distinction to all that has come before in Indian thought, that is, Samsara, the cycle of birth and re-birth, influenced by one's storehouse of Karma, and characterized by duhkham, or suffering, can be broken within this lifetime. Previously, the duhkham, suffering, of life was unavoidable and eternal. There was no release, no true moksha, only pacification of the gods by sacrifice and mitigation of suffering by noble birth as a male, brahmin priest, steeped in the knowledge of the Vedas, the definitive texts on the nature of the Universe.

We were merely the Who's such as those living on the dust speck, at the mercy of an uncaring, impersonal Cosmos.

And, along came our Horton, Siddhartha Guatama, the Buddha. The Buddha came from the warrior caste, the kshatriya, not the priestly caste of the brahmins. This could not be more important. Since time immemorial, the brahmin priests had sole authority over the welfare of our Souls...we were doomed to rebirth based upon our lack of full reconciliation of our karma storehouse.

The Buddha, however, more in line with the Upanishads, which moved from the general cosmology to the specific person, set out one day and stumbled upon the harsh facts of life. We suffer. We get sick. We get old. We die.

From his wanderings in the city as a pampered and sheltered prince, and against his father's wishes, the young warrior (heir to the throne), devised what has become known as The Four Noble Truths, which is important for our following Sutras, and the Sutras' ultimate method for moksha, or release in this lifetime.

They are in shorthand form:  (Pali/Sanskrit)

1. All is suffering (dukkha/duhkham).
2. Suffering is caused by craving, or thirst (tanhã/trshna)
3. There is cessation (nirodhah) (hmmm...sounds familiar) of suffering.
4. The way is the 8-fold path (patipada/ashtanga...let's put a pin in that one shall we...)

As such, the Buddha basically levels the entire teachings of the brahmins within fewer than 50 words...quite the accomplishment. As you can imagine, the Priests were none too happy about this. (Rush's classic LP 2112 comes to mind when our protagonist rediscovers music, much to the distress of the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx.)

So, how can we map this onto our Sutras at hand? Let's take a look. Patañjali has given us the definition of Yoga, that being the cessation/temperance of the vritti's, which he then lists and defines, and now, we get the first part of the Method to bring this change about in our lives with 1.12.

abhyãsavairãgyãm tannirodhah  1.12

Or,

The cessation/restraint/temperance of these (tan=vritti's here as a collective pronoun) by way of (the dual compound, meaning both are necessary) abhyãsa (diligent practice) and vairãgyam (disinterest in worldly objects).

Or, in plain words,

We can calm the mind with diligent practice and relinquishing the desire to possess.

As such, we have a two-fold preparatory approach to dealing with the vritti's, which will later be complemented by Patañjali's own 8-fold path (I seriously doubt that 8 is a coincidence here, which we will discuss later in chapter II...).  We have diligent practice/effort and a disinterest in material goods. Let's go further with this as there can be some confusion, especially concerning vairãgyam.

First, we take on abhyãsa in the following two Sutras:

tatra sthitau yatno'byãsah  1.13

sa tu dirghakãlanairantaryasakãrãsevito dridhabhumih  1.14

Or,

When firmly established (locative absolute for you linguists), diligent practice is an effort.  1.13

Moreover, it is a firm foundation, attended by a reverence for uninterrupted (effort) over a long period of Time. 1.14

The first comment I would like to make is on the word yatnah, or effort. When I am teaching an ãsana-based class, whether it be Yin, Hatha or Vinyasa, I stress the difference between "effort" and "strain". There is a fine line between the two, and part of one's Yogic practice (abhyãsa) should be attention to that difference. When we cross the threshold from effort to strain, we often cross many other boundaries as well including: discomfort to pain, dedication to obsession or humility to arrogance. These are all pitfalls in life that we may encounter, and the insidiousness of the subtlety between one and the other is often what lands us in unsavory situations. Again, I speak from experience, having transcended each of these thresholds at various times in my life, whether it be in relationships, sports, Yoga, studies, work or you name it. This is real. It can happen to you.

So, we must be vigilant not to cross the line. But, oh, the places you'll go...sometimes you will cross the line. Then what? Then, you re-set. More often than not, these transgressions shall cause you and others pain. Do you give up and throw in the proverbial towel? No, you re-set. Re-set the humility. Re-set the dedication. Re-set the mind.

In 1.14, Patañjali goes a step further, telling us that this diligent effort of abhyãsa must be done over a long period of Time, with a sense of reverence. My excuses to the late Mr. Lennon, but this is not Instant Karma.

Reverence, or here in Sanskrit ãsevitah, is one of my favorite words in English. One of my old colleagues (though I was vastly junior in every way) at The University of Texas, Prof. Paul Woodruff, wrote an excellent book on this word, entitled (you guessed it!) Reverence. Reverence is not religious as it might seem on first blush, but it is a heightened respect for something greater than ourselves. I recently attended a workshop with Mati Guerra at Antwerp Yoga about the Yamas and the Niyamas of the Sutras, and he pointed out that words can lose meaning. I could not agree more. "Love" has lost nearly all of its meaning in modern times, especially in America.

For example, what does it mean any more to love someone or something? If you have no reverence for the word, it basically means no-thing. Only a reverence for the word, for the emotion, for the experience can retain its meaning, and only you, the bearer of the reverence can ever really know. For me, that word, Love, still retains a great deal of reverence, and I do not use it lightly with people or things, but, it does require vigilance not to abuse those big words that make us so afraid, as Stephen Dedalus says in James Joyce's Ulysses. Abhyãsa then requires a sense of reverence. It is not merely showing up on the mat in the shala, or at the dojo for zazen, or the pool to swim laps, or whatever one's diligent practice is. It requires attention and samkalpa, or intention as well, buoyed by a sense of reverence.

Furthermore, this diligent practice must be executed uninterruptedly and over a long period of time. Easier said than done. With work, kids, relationships, bills to pay and mouths to feed, our abhyãsa can suffer. And, something I find rather hypocritical in the Yoga world is a lack of empathy for when this happens. There is a lot of head shaking and tsk-tsking whether verbally or silently judging, despite the shellac of "non-judgement" espoused in studios across the globe. Sometimes, life simply gets in the way. Again, do we roll over and call it quits? No, when you can regain your center, when you can gain control again, you can re-set, re-implement and resume. This is a lifetime's process, not merely a Summer fling for your body and Soul. Yoga becomes a way of life, but, over a long period of time.

The second prong on this initial Method to tackle the vritti's is a bit trickier and easily misunderstood. One of the leveling criticisms of Buddhism (and Yoga as we shall see) over the ages has been: it is an escape from feeling/emotion, and therefore not really living, but a pessimistic checking out of life's course. Not necessarily. However, vairãgyam is the culprit for this sentiment with respect to Yoga. Literally taken, it means "a total absence of 'taste/craving/desire, that is rãga'" and "for material goods" is implied for good measure. On the surface then, it seems like it means, you don't care. Let's see.


dristhãnushravikavishayavitrishnasya vashikãrasamjñã vairãgyam   1.15

Or,

Vairãgyam is the conscious/volitional control of one who is devoid of thirst for material objects, whether seen firsthand or learned from scripture. 1.15

And,

tatparam purushakhyatergunavaitrishnyam   1.16

The highest form of that (vairãgyam) is the absence of desire/thirst of the gunas for the perception of the Soul.

Right. What do we do with that mouthful?

In 1.15, we see that this is volitional, a choice. So, if someone is immersed in vairãgyam, you could say that he or she chooses to check out of life. You could, but that is missing the point. In Western philosophy, we have correlation in Kant's Third Critique, that of Judgement. Kant speaks about the disinterested observer as being the true observer, because no filters or categories are used. In other words, there is no pre-judgement or pre-judice. We just simply experience it. Kant further tells us that the only two things we can truly experience in this way are: the Beautiful (Schönheit) and the Sublime (Erhabenen). When we encounter Beauty or the Sublime, we experience, according to Kant im-medi-ately. In other words, there is no "I" thinking that "oh, that is a beautiful flower" or "that mountain range is sublime". It just happens. There is literally an absence of taste or Geschmack, which is an exact translation of vairãgyam. That, for Kant, is dis-interested observation. Vairãgyam is similar in that it is not a lack of "care" it simply precedes that.

So, a rose is a rose is a rose...right?

Maybe; imagine we experience a beautiful rose. In the moment before we even classify it as a rose, or that it smells nice, or we like its color, or that we say that it is beautiful, at THAT MOMENT, we experience Beauty, without taste, without pre-judice. The moment, we then say, "that's a rose" perhaps because a Bee stings us as we smell the flower and are jolted into "reality", then we are judging the Beauty, not experiencing it. As soon as we judge it as rose and as beautiful, something sinister happens, we desire it. Why is this sinister? Because, the result of desire of something is the will to possess it. The Ego then steps in and says, "I want this beautiful thing to be mine." And, that is the beginning of our duhkham, or suffering. The desire which leads to the will to possess.

Vairãgyam, then, is not a distancing ourselves from the material world, nor for tuning out, but rather, for willfully putting that desire to possess into check, because, we can never truly possess another thing, nor person.

When we can see the rose, experience the immediacy of its Beauty, and then not have the desire to possess it, but to let it be, then we are one step closer to vairãgyam...

Splinters in the Mind’s “I” (YS 1.5-11)

Sometimes the Yoga Sutras are quite logical, almost strikingly so in their language and composition. Following the mystery character of the “seer” we are relieved to see the next 7 Sutras are quite straightforward and provide us with some important definitions. However, as we shall see, it is the application of these definitions that shall present us with the challenge. Moreover, the following Sutras show just how incredibly prescient the Sutras are, anticipating modern psychoanalysis by about 2,000 years, and they are human, oh so human.

YS 1.5 and YS 1.6 read as follows:

vrittayah pañchatayyah klishtãklishtãh  1.5

And

pramãnaviparyayvikalpanidrãsmrtayah  1.6

Translated:

The vritti’s are five in number and can be either afflicted or non-afflicted. 1.5

And

[They are] pramãna,  viparyaya, vikalpa, nidrã and smritih  1.6

Meaning,

[They are] valid/correct knowledge/experience, false knowledge/illusion, imagination, sleep (dreams) and memory. 1.6

The only comment on 1.5 is that we shall see these vritti’s can be klishta or a-klishta, (as in Ancient Greek, a short “a” most often means “not” or “lack of” the word that follows) meaning afflicted or non-afflicted, more specifically tainted by experience and prejudice. We’ll return to this in a later post.

As for 1.6, this is merely a list, and the definitions follow in the subsequent 5 Sutras, which we now turn to.

Pratyaksãnumãnãgamãh pramãnãni  1.7

Or

Pramãna (valid/correct knowledge) consists of pratyaksa (direct perception), anumãna (conjecture), and ãgamah (sacred writings).

What this means is that these are considered potentially authoritative sources of information. I want to stress the “potentially” because they can be highly misleading, misinformed, and people can be easily swayed into believing them to be true, though in truth, they may be highly tainted and afflicted with falsehood. Pratyaksa literally means “in front of the eyes.” But, as mentioned before, eye-witness accounts can fool both us and those we are reporting to.

Anumãna means  something akin to the Greek concept of anamnesis, which is literally bringing up to the surface of the mind, to conjecture is to throw it up and out to the world from within our minds. Yet, again, this can lead to misinformation as even Sherlock Holmes can make mistakes….

And, finally, the one that is a personal pet peeve of mine. When someone says, “but I read it in a book, it must be true…” Were I to have a dollar each time I heard this as “proof,” well, I wouldn’t be worried about making a living, that’s for sure. Placing all your bets on something just because it is written is a very slippery slope indeed. As such, our three types of  “correct” knowledge are all highly susceptible to being false, hence qualifying as a vritti that needs to be reined in by Yoga.

Viparyayah mithyãjñãnamatadrupapratishtham  1.8

Or

Viparyayah (illusion) is erroneous knowledge that is not rooted in the thing itself. 1.8

In other words, we say “this”, when in reality, it is “that”.  The classic Indian example that I have written about before is when one is walking down a pathway in poor light and he or she sees a long cylindrical object on the path and the mind immediately imagines it to be a deadly cobra, but in reality, it is a rope. Sometimes our minds process faster than we are aware, and in the instant, we can experience viparyayah. Or, more commonly, we can convince ourselves that something is other than it is. Sound familiar?

Shabdajñãnãnupãti vastushunyo vikalpah  1.9

Or

Vikalpah (imagination) is something devoid of reality contingent upon the knowledge of its verbal expression.

Simply put, we imagine things based upon our experience of hearing/reading about something and then creating a story that is not founded upon reality. It is quite the flavor of the times to talk about “creating stories” for ourselves that deceive us. Patañjali was way ahead of the curve on this one. I don’t want to live in a world devoid of imagination, but when we need to get the balance right, it is our stories (sometimes known as lies) that we tell ourselves and others that can knock things out of whack, and they are often highly prevalent in relationships, whether with friends or lovers, and this can be quite troublesome. I speak from experience. Imagination is a fickle beast.

Abhãvapratyayãlmbanã vrittirnidrã 1.10

Or

Nidrã (sleep, dreams inclusive) sleep is a modality founded upon a lack of understanding or awareness.

In other words, sleep/dreams are a subconscious modulation of the mind. Hmmmm…let’s see, I’ve heard that before. Ah, yes, Sigmund Freud, who was given and took credit for dream analysis. News flash, Indian thinkers have been doing this for over 2,000 years. There is a great deal of literature on the nature of dreams in Sanskrit, especially in connection with the sacred syllable OM, or A-U-M, as I have written about before (check it out if interested). As such, when we sleep and dream, we puzzle together the pieces of our lives, interspersed with unconscious imagination, creating false knowledge, or at least, something not completely founded upon awareness, hence a vritti in our Mind’s Eye.

And, finally:

Anubhutavishayãsampramoshah smrtih  1.11

Or,

Smritih (memory) is an impression of a lived experience that remains with us.

Yet, as we can all attest, even the clearest memories take on a life of their own. We have a grave tendency to filter, for better or for worse, the memories of our lives and experiences we have lived. Sometimes we filter out bad memories and sometimes we filter out good ones, often in each case for self-protection against heartache or mental anguish. When this happens, the full gamut of the lived experiences is compromised, insufficient and can lead to delusions of times passed, again, for better or for worse.

What we can take away from these five vritti’s is that our psychological constitution does not always work in our favor. Sometimes a self-preservation kicks in, and at those moments, it may seem that we are doing ourselves a favor, but more often then not, it is repression, pure and simple. We, as a species, like to bury the dead. In another lifetime I used to work on the Irish writer James Joyce, and wrote a book on the relationship between memory and death within his writings. In a shameless bout of self-promotion I’ll quote from that work (for, I don't always know what another author may mean...but watch out for falling into the trap of ãgamah!) to conclude:

• Joyce's works were shot through with both pain and hope, the oscillation between the two were the balance of the tragi-comedy that is life, and to write was to become bigger than ourselves by becoming part of something larger than life, memory. (from When We Waken the Dead: Readings on Memory and Death in Joyce by Robert L. Fulton, Jr.)

And so, we tell ourselves stories, in hope and in pain...often upsetting the balance of the citta, but often just to feel alive.

The Eyes Have It (YS 1.3-4)

To be seen, or not to be seen, that is the question...

One of the more "mysterious" aspects of the Yoga Sutras appears for the first time in 1.3, namely with the word drashtuh. This is the genitive form of the noun coming from the verb <<drsh>> or, to see. This verbal root is not unfamiliar in many yoga shalas as it comes into daily practice with the word drishti. Drishti, is the past passive participle of the verb and it literally means "the thing that is seen." In Yoga practice, we use this word to denote a fixed point on which to turn our gaze in order to maintain focus and balance. Usually not a good idea to choose the person wobbling in front of you in Utthita Hasta Padangusthasana (that would be me...one of my less-good asanas to be fair), but rather somewhere such as a spot on the floor or the juncture between the wall and the ceiling. However, in the Sutras, this enigmatic "seer" pops up here and there, without any real explanation as to what or who it is.

This drishti, however, is not so cryptic and simply becomes our meditative aide while holding a pose, more often than not a balance posture. As such, if we lose our focus, we lose our balance, much as in life. Our dristhi gives us purpose, direction and stability. And, when the mind wanders and wonders, the vritti's take over, and we can fall. Life and Yoga are full of distractions and obstacles, and it is a constant struggle of vigilance to maintain our dristhi.

Yoga Sutra (YS) 1.3 reads:

tadã drashtuh svarupe'vasthãnam (YS 1.3)

or,

At this time, [Yogah] abides in the true nature (svarupe) of the seer.

It is not clear if Yoga is meant here, so I have left it in a parenthetical way. Most translations take the seer to be the subject, but grammatically that is impossible. It is literally "in the true nature of the seer". No ambiguity in the Sanskrit.

However, it would be possible to also translate as:

At this time, the abiding of the seer is in its true form/nature.

The "at this time" comes from the moment when Yoga becomes the "nirodhah" of the "vritti's" as we have already seen in YS 1.2, or the goal of tempering the noise created in or by the mind.

By extension, it is tempting to then take the "seer" to be not necessarily the two eyes with which we see the world, but rather the metaphysical third eye, the mind's eye as the seer of true sight. Why? Mainly because our eyes can deceive us. Eye witness accounts are seldom correct as the mind plays tricks on us by filling in the blanks or creating the illusion of things we want to see or the delusion of removing things we do not want to see. As we shall see later, attraction and aversion are quite powerful distractions and obstacles for our minds to see clearly. Moreover, this would completely discount the perceptions of a blind person, and when one closes his or her eyes in meditation, the ocular orbs no longer serve a purpose.

So, when we can calm the machinations and fluctuations of the busy mind, the mind's eye can take over and at that moment, we can function in our "true nature" and seek out our svadharma, which is ultimately where we are going with Yoga. But, all in good time. This is the end, we have to go back to the beginning, with patience, leading us to YS 1.4

vrittisãrupyamitaratra (YS 1.4)

or

However, at other times, (there is) the appearance of behavior/conditioning.

Huh?

Again, as the sutra style leaves out certain words, such as verbs, and case endings, we have to make some guesses here and there.

When Yoga is functioning on all levels, the mind's eye can see clearly and resides within its true nature, but at other times (namely, most of the time), the mind's eye is clouded by our behavior and conditioning, in other words, by our habits borne out of ignorance, or avidyã. What is important to note here is that avidyã, or ignorance, or even a-gnosis, does not mean stupidity, but rather a lack of knowledge. Perhaps we have not seen properly with the mind's eye, or, we have forgotten. Either way, at that moment, the movements of the mind, the vritti's are in control, and we are no longer in a state of our "true nature". This is not so surprising as it would be impossible to maintain the state of samãdhi at all times as we would not be able to function in the world.

What we can strive for, at least, is to use the knowledge that we do gain in our better moments to try and help us in our, shall we say, not-so-good moments. Usually easier said than done as when we are weak in our minds, then emotions and distractions of the so-called "monkey mind" can wreak havoc on us and cause us to do stupid things, even we we should and do "know better".

Humanity 101.

Ridding ourselves, or tempering our deep-seated behaviors, conditionings and habits is a monumental task, and it takes time (perhaps a lifetime), and it takes patience, lots of it, and the path will involve failures and disappointments. Yet, the only true failure is giving up the forward progress through the dark or unfamiliar woods of the Soul's life experiences. To fail and to fall is part of life, as is suffering, but to close the Mind's Eye to the world and to the challenge of getting back up and trying again, is the only true failure.

The Anatomy of a Sutra (YS 1.2)

The Yoga Sutras of Patañjali present many challenges as anyone who has ever attempted to read them can attest. However, if you also happen to be into reading the original Sanskrit, you will see that understanding the Sutras is merely the tip of the linguistic and semantic iceberg.

Sanskrit itself is already a highly challenging language given its vast range of verb tenses and moods, conjugations and declensions, and something most troublesome when translating the genre of sutras, the grammar often falls away, leaving larges swatches of ambiguity as to how to actually read the text at a basic level.

The form known as "sutras" is based upon the concept of terseness, or, saying as much as possible in as few words as possible. Furthermore, Sanskrit's propensity for compounds allows for one to cut off the vital suffixes which normally would give us clues as to how the words works in the verse, thereby excising the very syntax necessary to understand the text.

Let's take a look at the most well-known sutra, that being 1.2, the definition of Yoga according to Patañjali. The standard translation for YS 1.2 is something along the lines of: "Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind stuff". Right...and what does that actually mean? Let's take a look at the original, and then dissect it a bit to tease out some translations of our own.

Yogash'cittavrittinirodhah: 

That is how the sutra would look in Roman script. In the Devanagari, it would also look like one single word. As such, the first challenge in taking apart a sutra is actually to figure out where one word begins and ends, and then start to re-assemble the pieces into a coherent sentence. The problem is that this can often lead to a Frankenstein-like sentence in the target language that makes little or no sense. Or, the translator, hoping that none of his or her readers actually knows Sanskrit (and often neither does the translator...) and the result looks nothing like the original.

So, how do we begin?

Here is a typical notecard that I use when translating:

On the top, you can see the sutra in Devanagari in a single "word" with the pieces of the puzzle split up below.

When we do dissect the sutra, we end up with the following four words: Yogah   citta-  -vritti-  -nirodhah

Then, I begin to define the pieces.

Yogah:  yoking/union/joining/connection

Citta:    attention/reason/intellect/thinking/mind/memory/consciousness

Vrittti:   condition/conduct/behavior/character/flux/fluctuations

Nirodhah: temperance/restraint/cessation/control

For the linguistically inclined, you will immediately notice something is missing, a verb. In Sanskrit, the verb <<as>> or "to be" does not have to appear, and if no verb is there, then that is usually the default, thus we supply "is" for our verb.

Looking at the endings of the words, we can see that two are in the nominative, Yogah and Nirodhah. In mathematics, we have x=y, and that should be commutative, meaning: x=y  =  y=x. In other words, it does not matter if the x is on the right or the left. In language, however, x=y does not necessarily mean y=x. Let's see how.

Yogah is Nirodhah   or   Nirodhah is Yogah. Not quite the same. One defines Yogah, the other Nirodhah. Since it is the Yoga Sutras, we probably are safe taking Yogah as the subject to be defined. So, we have Yoga (is) temperance/restraint/cessation/control. We have a start. But, now things can get interesting.

Because Citta and Vritti are in the compound form, they do not have declined endings, meaning, we don't know how they really function on a grammatical/syntactical level. Sanskrit has eight forms of a noun: vocative, nominative, accusative, instrumental, genitive, dative, ablative, and locative. By comparison, German has four, English one, and Finnish 15... So, it could be harder, but could be easier.

Taking Citta, or attention/reason/intellect/thinking/mind/memory, we have to make a choice. If we choose the genitive, it is "of the mind", but locative would be "in the mind" and instrumental would be "by the mind", just to name a few.

So, we then take vritti-,  or condition/conduct/behavior/character/flux, and that again could be a variety of cases, such as "by conduct" or "of the flux/fluctuations" or "from the condition"... you can see how this becomes exponentially exhaustive.

As a translator and reader then, we have to make choices. Sometimes there are clues in various commentaries about the syntax, but those are not always reliable. There is a strong theory that Patañjali also wrote the commentary attributed to the nebulous "Vyasa", which could shed quite a bit of light on the Sutras, but that is not an absolute certainty.

Suturing the pieces back together then, with the possible definitions, along with the probable cases of the nouns, we get something like this:

And, we can begin to approximate a translation or two, or three that at least makes some sense. My Golden Rule of Translation is: If it makes sense in the original, then it needs to make sense in the target language...but, we also need context to better understand.

And, a few options emerge:

Yoga (is) the temperance of the consciousness within the mind.

Yoga (is) the control of the mind's behaviors.

Yoga (is) the restraint of the fluctuations by the intellect.

or,

Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind stuff....

And, so forth.

However, the final point to be made is that this is not meant to stand alone. We want our bumper sticker Sutras, but the truth is, 1.2 does not make sense until you continue reading to find out what exactly the vritti's are and why is nirodhah the "goal" of Yoga?

In other words, I am all for finding the one or two sutras which speak to someone, but again, with the nota bene that they are part of a larger whole, and do need some context to ultimately make sense.

How Soon is Now? (YS 1.1)

Discussing the Yoga Sutras this weekend and on previous occasions with the Antwerp Yoga Teacher Training group and then later with my dear friend (who has indirectly taught me more about the Sutras than all books/translations combined), we discussed the first word of the Yoga Sutras by Patañjali, that being "atha".

The Yoga Sutras begin thus:

atha yogãnushãsanam

Again, with the sutra style of writing, with sutra being the origin of our English medical term, suture, they are short, pithy phrases that are linked together like the threaded stitches of the surgeon's closure.

The word "atha" is important. Seemingly innocuous, we still must give pause on it. Unlike today, writing used to be an effort because space and materials were at a premium. Although the Sutras and most major Indian texts were originally oral, eventually they were written down, and as such, were an effort. One could not merely (for example, I just edited this as I saw a typo when posted...) type so prodigiously on a laptop as I am now, not worrying about mistakes because we can just press delete, and it is deleted. Spelling? No problem, spell check is there for us.

This was not always the case, in fact, when you sit down and scratch your head and really think about it, it is shockingly recent. Now we don't have worry about the resources needed to write. Now everything is instant, ephemeral.

However, when the Sutras were composed, every word counted, so we should count the first one, "atha".

Atha can mean a few things, namely: "now", "then", "at this time" or "next" among others. Most often in translations of the Sutras, the word "now" is chosen. Fair enough, but what does that really mean? Now...

The full translation of 1.1 could read:

Now for the official explication of Yoga.

or

At this point begins the treatise on Yoga

and the like, again, remembering that without specific grammar clues, we have some options.

Let's choose "now" then. Seems simple enough, but, as Morrissey asks, "How Soon is Now?" And, if it is now, what came before? And, that gives us the pause. What came before now?

There are a couple of interpretations about this word. One is that Patañjali of the Yoga Sutras is the same Patañjali who wrote about Sanskrit grammar and Ayurvedic studies. That theory (which is highly unlikely in truth) is that this would be the third piece in his triptych on mental and physical health, Yoga. As such, one would have had to master Sanskrit and Ayurveda before, and the "now" said person could begin the study of Yoga. Interesting theory, but again, highly unlikely they were composed by the same person. Yet, it is a good caveat. Before beginning the study of Yoga, some preparation may be in store.

The objection may arise, "But, Yoga is not academic, and there is no one way, it is what you make it." Yeah, well, okay. Yoga does have a wide berth of definitions and iterations these days, but if you are going to read the Yoga Sutras, some context does suit you well.

The Yoga talked about in the Sutras was primarily, if not exclusively about meditation and self-study. It is a a fascinating look into the psychological make-up of the human mind, millennia before the advent of neuroscience and psychoanalysis. It is not always easy going and they are extremely dense and do take time to "study". We are allergic to that word these days. We want our Sutras, and we want them now. And, so, most people skip to the bumper-sticker worthy 2.46 sthirasukhamãsanam (I'll deal with this one in another post...) and smugly say they are quoting the Yoga Sutras...not knowing the slightest about what this means and how it fits into the Sutras as a whole.

We skip what comes before "now" and then just take what we want now. I want it NOW says the petulant Veruca Salt, and we all know her fate in the Chocolate Factory.

So, how soon is now?

How much preparation should one take or not take before delving into the Sutras? What tools will you need?

Simply answered: Patience

When reading the Sutras, it is tempting to skip to what serves us well, but, remembering that they are Sutras, the key word, a la Dirk Gently is, "Everything is connected." And, so, we should not take the "atha" for granted.

Now is the time...are you ready for it?