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Parivrtta Paschimotanasana
S piritual realization is the aim that exists in each one of us to seek our divine core. That core, though never absent from anyone, remains latent within us. It is not an outward quest for a Holy Grail that lies beyond, but an Inward Journey to allow the inner core to reveal itself.
In order to find out how to reveal our innermost Being, the sages explored the various sheaths of existence, starting from body and progressing through mind and intelligence, and ultimately to soul. The yogic journey guides us from our periphery, the body, to the center of our being, the soul. The aim is to integrate the various layers so that the inner divinity shines out as through clear glass.
Yoga identifies five of these different levels or sheaths of being ( kosas ), which must be completely integrated and in harmony with each other in order for us to achieve wholeness. When these subtle sheaths are in disharmony, they become sullied like a mirror reflecting the tarnished images of the sensory and sensual world. The mirror reflects what is in the world around us rather than letting the clear light of the soul within shine out. It is then that we experience disease and despair. True health requires not only the effective functioning of the physical exterior of our being, but also the vitality, strength, and sensitivity of the subtle levels within.
Most of us think of our “body” as simply our physical form—our skin, bones, muscles, and internal organs. For yoga, however, this is only the outermost layer of our body or annamaya kosa. It is this anatomical body that encompasses the other four subtle bodies, or kosas.
The kosas are like the layers of an onion or the Russian dolls where one is nested within the other. These include our energetic body ( pranamaya kosa ), our mental body ( manomaya kosa ), our intellectual body ( vijnanamaya kosa ), and ultimately our blissful or soul body ( anandamaya kosa ). When these bodies or sheaths are misaligned or clash with one another, we inevitably encounter the alienation and fragmentation that so trouble our world. When, on the other hand, we are able to bring the various sheaths of our body into alignment and harmony with one another, the fragmentation disappears, integration is achieved, and unity is established. The physical body (annamaya kosa) must connect with and thereby imprint upon the energetic and organic body (pranamaya kosa), which must, in turn, accord with the mental body (manomaya kosa), the mental body with the intellectual body (vijnanamaya kosa), and the intellectual body with the blissful body (anandamaya kosa). Likewise, if there is no communication between the blissful body and the physical body, then the blissful body cannot bring its illumination to the motion and action of the physical body, and there is darkness in life and not Light on Life.
The demarcation of the different sheaths is essentially hypothetical. We are unique and integral. Nevertheless, in order to achieve the integrity and wholeness we desire, there must be communication from the inner to the outer and the outer to the inner as each sheath blends with the next. Only then are we bound together as one functional human being. If not, we experience dissolution and fragmentation, which make life uncomfortable and confusing.
It is essential for the follower of the yoga journey to understand the need for integration and balance in the kosa. For example, the mental and intellectual bodies (manomaya and vijnanamaya kosa) must function effectively in order for us to observe, analyze, and reflect what is happening in the physical and energetic bodies (annamaya and pranamaya kosa) and make readjustments.
The physical body in other words is not something separate from our mind and soul. We are not supposed to neglect or deny our body as some ascetics suggest. Nor are we to become fixated on our body— our mortal self—either. The aim of yoga is to discover our immortal Self. The practice of yoga teaches us to live fully—physically and spiritually—by cultivating each of the various sheaths.
I hope as you read on you will begin to understand that if you too live and practice yoga in the right way and with the right attitude, far greater benefits and more radical changes will take place than mere physical flexibility. There is no progress toward ultimate freedom without transformation, and this is the key issue in all people’s lives, whether they practice yoga or not. If we can understand how our mind and heart works, we have a chance to answer the question, “Why do I keep making the same old mistakes?”
It is the map the ancients left us that gives us the form for the chapters of this book. Their knowledge and technology make up the contents. The human being is a continuum—there are no tangible frontiers between the kosas as there are no frontiers between body, mind, and soul. But for convenience sake, and to aid us on our journey, yoga describes us in terms of these discrete layers. We should imagine them as blending from one into the other like the colors of the rainbow. Following this traditional description of the five different bodies or kosas, we have divided this discussion into five central chapters of “Stability: The Physical Body” (annamaya kosa), “Vitality: The Energy Body” (pranamaya kosa), “Clarity: The Mental Body” (manomaya kosa), “Wisdom: The Intellectual Body” (vijnanamaya kosa), and “Bliss: The Divine Body” (anandamaya kosa).
In these chapters we discuss the various stages of the Inward Journey as we discover Nature ( prakrti ), which includes the physical body, and Soul ( purusa ). As we explore the Soul, it is important to remember that this exploration will take place within Nature (the body), for that is where we are and what we are. Our specific field of exploration is ourselves, from skin to unknown center. Yoga is concerned with this fusion of nature and soul because this is the essence of human life with all of its challenges, contradictions, and joys.
As I have said, we human beings live between the two realities of earth and sky. The earth stands for all that is practical, material, tangible, and incarnate. It is the knowable world, objectively knowable through voyages of discovery and observation. We all partake of this world and its knowledge through the vast store of accumulated collective experience. There is one word for all this. It is Nature. In Sanskrit, Nature is called Prakrti. It is composed of five elements, which we characterize as earth, water, fire, air, and space (previously called ether). Consequently and sympathetically, the body is made up of these same five elements, which is why we also use the term prakrti for the body. When space explorers bring back rocks from the moon and scientists study them, they are studying Nature. When we calculate the temperature on the surface of the sun, we are observing Nature. Whether we study planetary Nature or cosmic Nature, it is Nature. Such study is endlessly fascinating because Nature is full of variety. Not only is it full of variety, it is also constantly changing, so there is always something new to see. We too are part of Nature, therefore constantly changing, so we are always looking at Nature from a different viewpoint. We are a little piece of continual change looking at an infinite quantity of continual change. Small wonder that it gets quite exciting. The most important thing we can learn about Nature is the inherent and innate laws by which it functions.
Even hundreds of years before Patanjali wrote the Yoga Sutras, Indian yogis were trying to see some pattern in the seemingly chaotic fluctuations of Nature. The infinite variety of natural phenomena gives an appearance of chaos, but, they asked, is it possible that the laws that govern the unending turbulence of nature are orderly and comprehensible? And if we can grasp how they work, would it not be possible for us to emerge from chaos into order? All games are meaningless if you do not know the rules. When you do, they can become very good fun. You still take a few knocks and lose a few games, but at least you are participating; you are playing the game. Yoga says you are playing the game with the body and self. By playing you can learn the rules, and if you observe them, you have a far better chance of success in life as well as of gaining illumination and freedom.
So humankind stands with its feet planted squarely on the earth, as in Tadasana (mountain pose), and its head in the sky. But what then do we mean by the sky? Clearly I do not mean the earth’s biosphere, or anywhere that physically exists, however far away. I could have said, “Our feet on the earth and our head in the heavens.” Many languages do not have two separate words for sky and heaven as English does. The word heaven is useful as it suggests something that is not physical. This opens up possibilities: a) that it is perfect, as nothing physical can be perfect since all phenomena are unstable; b) that it is Universal—i.e. One, whereas Nature is many as we see from its diversity; c) that it is Everywhere, Omnipresent since, not being physical, it is not limited or defined by location; d) that it is supremely Real or Eternal. In yoga the body is held to be of real substance, whereas the changing of ourselves and unveiling of the immeasurable sky within is called cit-akasha, or literally the vision of space itself.
Anything physical is always changing, therefore its reality is not constant, not Eternal. Nature is in this sense like an actor who has only different roles. It never takes off its costume and makeup and goes home, but just changes from one role to another, for ever and ever. So with Nature we never quite know where we are, especially as we too are part of it.
The non-physical Reality, however difficult to grasp, must have the advantage of being eternal, always the same. This has a consequence. Whatever is real and unchanging must offer us a fixed point, an orientation, like a perfect north on a compass. And how does a compass work? By an attraction between magnetic north and a magnet in our compass. The compass is ourselves. So we are able to infer that there is a Universal Reality in ourselves that aligns us with a Universal Reality that is everywhere else. Do not forget the word align. It is through the alignment of my body that I discovered the alignment of my mind, self, and intelligence. Alignment from the outermost body or sheath (kosa) to the innermost is the way to bring our own personal Reality into contact with Universal Reality. The Vastasutra Upanishad says, “Setting the limbs along proper lines is praised like the knowledge of Brahman (God).” Even earlier, from the Rig Veda comes, “Every form is an image of the original form.” We have seen that this Reality is not changeable in Time or limited by Space. It is free of both. It follows that, although our journey takes place in time and space, if ever we reach its end and encounter the supreme non-physical reality, it will not be in time and space as we know them.
I have purposely avoided until now using the usual translation for the non-physical reality as its mention usually stops people thinking for themselves. In Sanskrit, the word is Purusa. In English we can call it Cosmic or Universal Soul. The word Soul usually has such strong religious connotations that people either accept or dismiss it without reflection. They forget that it is simply our word for an abiding reality. It is logical but remains conceptual to our minds until we experience its realization within ourselves.
We rightly associate this abiding reality with selfless love, which is founded in the perception of unity, not difference. The strength of a mother’s love derives from her unity with the child. In unity there is no possession, as possession is a dual state, containing me and it. Soul is unchanging, eternal, and constant; it always remains as witness, rooted in divine origin and oneness. The whole practice of yoga is concerned with exploring the relationship between Prakrti and Purusa, between Nature and Soul. It is about, to return to our original image, learning to live between the earth and the sky. That is the human predicament, our joy and our woe, our salvation or our downfall. Nature and Soul are mingled together. Some would say they are married. It is through the correct practice of asana and pranayama and the other petals of yoga that the practitioner ( sadhaka ) experiences the communication and connection between them. To an average person it might seem that the marriage of Nature and Soul is one of strife and mutual incomprehension. But by communing with them both, they come closer to each other for the purpose of a blessed union. That union removes the veil of ignorance that covers our intelligence. To achieve this union, the sadhaka has to look both within as well as looking out to the frame of the soul, the body. He has to grasp an underlying law or else he will remain in Nature’s thrall and Soul will remain merely a concept. Everything that exists in the macrocosm is to be found existing in the microcosm or individual.
There are eight petals of yoga that reveal themselves progressively to the practitioner. These are external, ethical disciplines ( yama ), internal ethical observances ( niyama ), poses (asana), breath control (pranayama), sensory control and withdrawal ( pratyahara ), concentration ( dharana ), meditation ( dhyana ), and blissful absorption ( samadhi ). We call these the petals of yoga as they join together like the petals of a lotus flower to form one beautiful whole.
As we journey through the interior sheaths (kosa) of the body, from the exterior skin to the innermost self, we will encounter and explore each of the eight petals or stages of yoga described in the Yoga Sutras. For the seeker of Truth, these stages remain as important today as they were in the days of Patanjali. We cannot hope to understand and harmonize the sheaths without the precepts and practices provided in the eight petals. I will mention them here briefly, but they will be discussed more fully in the following chapters.
The yoga journey begins with the five universal moral commandments (yama). We learn in this way to develop control over our actions in the external world. The journey continues with five steps of selfpurification (niyama). These relate to our inner world and senses of perception and help us to develop self-discipline. We will discuss these throughout the book, but initially they serve to curb our behavior toward others and toward ourselves. These ethical precepts are always with us from the beginning to the end of the yoga journey, for the demonstration of one’s spiritual realization lies in none other than how one walks among and interacts with one’s fellow human beings.
After all, the goal of yoga may be the ultimate freedom but even before this is achieved, there is an incremental experience of greater freedom as we discover ever more self-control, sensitivity, and awareness that permit us to live the life we aspire to, one of decency; clean, honest human relations; goodwill and fellowship; trust; self-reliance; joy in the fortune of others; and equanimity in the face of our own misfortune. From a state of human goodness, we can progress toward the greater freedom. From doubt, confusion, and vice we cannot. Progression in yoga is a moral one for a very practical reason rather than a judgmental one. It is almost impossible to jump from “bad” to “best” without passing through “good.” Also, as ignorance recedes, “good” is an infinitely more comfortable place to be than “bad.” What we call “bad” is ignorance in action and, as a strategy for life, thrives only in darkness.
The third petal of yoga is the practice of postures ( yogasana ), which will be the next chapter of this book. Asana maintains the strength and health of the body, without which little progress can be made. It also keeps the body in harmony with nature. We all know that mind affects body, for example, “You look down in the dumps,” or “He was crestfallen.” Why not, suggests yoga, try the other way round—access mind through body. “Chin up” and “Shoulders back, stand up straight” express this approach. Self-cultivation through asana is the broad gateway leading to the inner enclosures we need to explore. In other words, we are going to try to use asana to sculpt the mind. We must discover what each sheath of being longs for and nourish it according to its subtle appetites. After all, it is the inner or subtler kosa that support the layers exterior to them. So we would say in yoga that the subtle precedes the gross, or spirit precedes matter. But yoga says we must deal with the outer or most manifest first, i.e. legs, arms, spine, eyes, tongue, touch, in order to develop the sensitivity to move inward. This is why asana opens the whole spectrum of yoga’s possibilities. There can be no realization of existential, divine bliss without the support of the soul’s incarnate vehicle, the food-and-water-fed body, from bone to brain. If we can become aware of its limitations and compulsions, we can transcend them. We all possess some awareness of ethical behavior, but in order to pursue yama and niyama at deeper levels, we must cultivate the mind. We need contentment, tranquility, dispassion, and unselfishness, qualities that have to be earned. It is asana that teaches us the physiology of these virtues.
The fourth petal of yoga concerns the breathing techniques or pranayama ( prana = vital or cosmic energy, ayama = extension, expansion). Breath is the vehicle of consciousness and so, by its slow, measured observation and distribution, we learn to tug our attention away from external desires ( vasana ) toward a judicious, intelligent awareness ( prajna ). As breath stills mind, our energies are free to unhook from the senses and bend inward to pursue the inner quest with heightened, dynamic awareness. Pranayama is not performed by the power of will. The breath must be enticed or cajoled, like catching a horse in a field, not by chasing after it, but by standing still with an apple in one’s hand. In this way, pranayama teaches humility and frees us from greed or hankering after the fruits of our actions. Nothing can be forced; receptivity is everything.
The withdrawal of the senses into the mind (pratyahara) is the fifth petal of yoga, also called the hinge of the outer and inner quest. Unfortunately, we misuse our senses, our memories, and our intelligence. We let the potential energies of all these flow outward and get scattered. We may say that we want to reach the domain of the soul, but there remains a great tug-of-war. We neither go in nor out, and that saps the energy. We can do better.
By drawing our senses of perception inward, we are able to experience the control, silence, and quietness of the mind. This ability to still and gently silence the mind is essential, not only for meditation and the inward journey but also so that the intuitive intelligence can function usefully and in a worthwhile manner in the external world.
The final three petals or stages are concentration (dharana), meditation (dhyana), and total absorption (samadhi). These three are a crescendo, the yoga of final integration ( samyama yoga ).
We begin with concentration. Because dharana is so easy to translate as concentration, we often overlook or dismiss it. At school we learn to pay attention. This is useful, but it is not in yogic terms concentration. We do not say of a deer in the forest, “Look, he’s concentrating.” The deer is in a state of total vibrant awareness in every cell of his body. We often fool ourselves that we are concentrating because we fix our attention on wavering objects—a football match, a film, a novel, the waves of the sea, or a candle flame—but is not even the flame flickering? True concentration is an unbroken thread of awareness. Yoga is about how the Will, working with intelligence and the self-reflexive consciousness, can free us from the inevitability of the wavering mind and outwardly directed senses. Here, asana serves us greatly.
Consider the challenge of body on mind in an asana. The outer leg overstretches, but the inner leg drops. We can choose whether to let the situation be, or we can challenge the imbalance by the application of cognitive comparison supported by the force of will. Maintaining the equilibrium so that there is no back-sliding, we can add our observation of the knees, feet, skin, ankles, soles of feet, toes, etc.; the list is endless. Our attention not only envelopes but penetrates. Can we, like a juggler, keep these many balls in the air without letting any one drop, without release of attention? Is it any wonder asana takes many years to perfect?
When each new point has been studied, adjusted, and sustained, one’s awareness and concentration will necessarily be simultaneously directed to myriad points so that in effect consciousness itself is diffused evenly throughout the body. Here consciousness is penetrating and enveloping, illuminated by a directed flow of intelligence and serving as a transformative witness to body and mind. This is a sustained flow of concentration (dharana) leading to an exalted awareness. The ever-alert Will adjusts and refines, creating a totally self-correcting mechanism. In this way, the practice of asana, performed with the involvement of all elements of our being, awakens and sharpens intelligence until it is integrated with our senses, our mind, our memory, our consciousness, and our soul. All of our bones, flesh, joints, fibers, ligaments, senses, mind, and intelligence are harnessed. The self is both the perceiver and the doer. When I use the word “self” with a small s, I mean the totality of our awareness of who and what we are in a natural state of consciousness. Thus the self assumes its natural form, neither bloated nor shrunken. In a perfect asana, performed meditatively and with a sustained current of concentration, the self assumes its perfect form, its integrity being beyond reproach.
If you want a simple way to remember the relationship between asana and concentration (dharana), it is this: If you learn a lot of little things, one day you may end up knowing a big thing.
Next we come to meditation (dhyana). In the speed of modern life, there is an unavoidable undertone of stress. This stress on mind builds up mental disturbances, such as anger and desire, which in turn build up emotional stress. Contrary to what many teachers try to tell you, meditation is not going to remove stress. Meditation is only possible when one has already achieved a certain “stressless” state. To be stressless, the brain must already be calm and cool. By learning how to relax the brain, one can begin to remove stress.
Meditation does not achieve this. You need to achieve all these as a foundation for meditation. However, I am aware that in modern English usage, the word meditation is often used for various forms of stress management and reduction. In this book, I shall be using it in its purest yogic sense as the seventh petal, which can be achieved only when all other physical and mental weaknesses have largely been eliminated. Technically speaking, true meditation in the yogic sense cannot be done by a person who is under stress or who has a weak body, weak lungs, hard muscles, collapsed spine, fluctuating mind, mental agitation, or timidity. Often people think that sitting quietly is meditation. This is a misunderstanding. True meditation leads us to wisdom ( jnana ) and awareness (prajna), and this specifically helps in understanding that we are more than our ego. For this one needs the preparations of the postures and the breathing, the withdrawal of the senses and concentration.
This process of relaxing the brain is achieved through asana. We generally think of mind as being in our head. In asana our consciousness spreads throughout the body, eventually diffusing in every cell, creating a complete awareness. In this way stressful thought is drained away, and our mind focuses on the body, intelligence, and awareness as a whole.
This allows the brain to be more receptive, and concentration becomes natural. How to keep the brain cells in a relaxed, receptive, and concentrated state is the art that yoga teaches. You must also remember that meditation (dhyana) is part and parcel of yoga; it is not separate. Yama, niyama, asana, pranayama, pratyahara, dharana, dhyana, and samadhi, all these are the petals of yoga. There is meditation in everything. Indeed, in all these petals of yoga one needs a reflective or a meditative mood.
The stress that saturates the brain is decreased through asana and pranayama, so the brain is rested, and there is a release from strain. Similarly, while doing the various types of pranayama the whole body is irrigated with energy. To practice pranayama people must have strength in their muscles and nerves, concentration and persistence, determination and endurance. These are all learned through the practice of asana. The nerves are soothed, the brain is calmed, and the hardness and rigidity of the lungs are loosened. The nerves are helped to remain healthy. You are at once one with yourself, and that is meditation.
One way of looking at meditation was offered by the Israeli astronaut, Ilan Ramon, who was killed in the Columbia Space Shuttle. After circling the earth, he made an appeal for “peace and a better life for everyone on earth.” He was not the only astronaut to experience this transcendent vision. Others noted that “having seen earth from a vantage point that blurs political difference, people who travel in space share a unique perspective.” Yet they are looking down on a planet where violent struggle is the norm. There is the biblical phrase “an eye for an eye,” a philosophy of revenge, not justice. But Mahatma Gandhi warned that in a world ruled by an eye for an eye, soon the whole world will be blind.
We cannot all go into outer space to glimpse a planet where shared human goals can be achieved by peaceful cooperation. But when we look at photos of our blue orb hanging in space with no national boundaries cut into its surface and the white cloak of clouds enveloping it, we too are moved by the earth’s unity. How then do we live this unity? Duality is the seed of conflict. But we all have access to a space, an inner space, where there is an end to duality, an end to conflict. This is what meditation teaches us, the cessation of the impersonating ego and the dawn of the true, unified Self, beyond which there is no other. Yoga says that the highest experience of freedom is Oneness, the supreme reality of unity. But we cannot penetrate inward in order to experience immortal bliss without first harmonizing the five sheaths that encompass the soul.
Asana and pranayama are the apprenticeship to that transcendence of duality. Not only do they prepare our bodies, spine, and breath for the challenge of inner serenity, but Patanjali specifically said that asana teaches us to transcend duality, that is, hot and cold, honor and dishonor, wealth and poverty, loss and gain. Asana bestows the firmness to live with equanimity in the vicissitudes of the world’s hurly-burly. Although it is strictly speaking possible only to meditate in one asana, it is possible to perform all asana in a meditative way, and this is what my practice has now become. My asana is meditative, and my practice of pranayama is devotional. Meditation itself is the final conquest and dissolution of the ego, the false self, which impersonates the Real Self. Once duality is reconciled and transcended, by the grace of God, the supreme gift of samadhi may be granted.
In the final stage of samadhi (union), the individual self, with all its attributes, merges with the Divine Self, with the Universal Spirit. Yogis realize that the divine is not more heavenward than inward and in this final quest of the soul, seekers become seers. In this way they experience the divine at the core of their being. Samadhi is usually described as the final freedom, freedom from the wheel of karma, of cause and effect, action and reaction. Samadhi has nothing to do with perpetuating our mortal self. Samadhi is an opportunity to encounter our imperishable Self before the transient vehicle of body disappears, as in the cycle of nature, it surely must.
Yogis, however, do not stay in this stage of exalted bliss, but when they return to the world their actions are different, as they know in their innermost being that the divine unites us all and that a word or action done to another is ultimately done equally to oneself. Yoga considers actions to be of four kinds: black—those that bring only ill consequences; grey—those whose effects are mixed; white—those that bring good results; and a fourth, those that are without color, in which action brings no reaction. These last are the deeds of the enlightened yogi, who can act in the world without further chaining himself to the karmic wheel of becoming, or causality. Even white actions, consciously performed with good intent, bind us to a future in which we must harvest the good results. An example of a white action might be that if a lawyer, for the sake of justice, were to struggle to save an innocent man who is wrongly accused. But if a child were to dash into the road in front of an oncoming car, and you, in a flash, without a second’s reflection, snatched the child out of harm’s way, it would be like a yogi’s action, that is to say, one based on direct, instantaneous perception and action. You would not congratulate yourself by saying, “How well I saved that child.” That’s because you would not feel yourself to be the author, but rather the instrument of something that was simply “right,” existing purely in the moment, without reference to past or future.
For this reason, the final chapter in this book, “Living in Freedom,” concerns ethics and returns to the first two stages of yoga (yama and niyama). By seeing how the free or self-realized man or woman lives in the world, we will see what we can learn for how each of us lives not at some ultimate destination but each step along the journey inward and the journey of life onward.
Before beginning this journey inward, we must clarify its nature. There is a frequent misunderstanding of the journey inward or the spiritual path, which suggests to most people a rejection of the natural world, the mundane, the practical, the pleasurable. On the contrary, to a yogi (or indeed a Taoist master or Zen monk) the path toward spirit lies entirely in the domain of nature. It is the exploration of nature from the world of appearances, or surface, into the subtlest heart of living matter. Spirituality is not some external goal that one must seek but a part of the divine core of each of us, which we must reveal. For the yogi, spirit is not separate from body. Spirituality, as I have tried to make clear, is not ethereal and outside nature but accessible and palpable in our very own bodies. Indeed the very idea of a spiritual path is a misnomer. After all, how can you move toward something that, like Divinity, is already by definition everywhere? A better image might be that if we tidy and clean our houses enough, we might one day notice that Divinity has been sitting in them all along. We do the same with the sheaths of the body, polishing them until they become a pure window to the divine.
A scientist sets out to conquer nature through knowledge—external nature, external knowledge. By these means he may split the atom and achieve external power. A yogi sets out to explore his own internal nature, to penetrate the atom ( atma ) of being. He does not gain dominion over wide lands and restless seas, but over his own recalcitrant flesh and febrile mind. This is the power of compassionate truth. The presence of truth can make us feel naked, but compassion takes all our shame away. It is this inner quest for growth and evolution, or “involution,” that is the profound and transformational yogic journey that awaits the seeker after Truth. We begin this involution with what is most tangible, our physical body, and the yogasana practice helps us to understand and learn how to play this magnificent instrument that each of us has been given.