Introduction
During a study trip to the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute in Mysore in 1996, I asked the Ashtanga master K. Pattabhi Jois about the relevance of different scriptures for the Ashtanga Vinyasa method. With the words “This is Patanjali Yoga,” he pointed out that the text of prime importance for this school was the Yoga Sutra compiled by the ancient seer Patanjali. He said it was a difficult text, and only sincere study could lead to an understanding. He urged me to undertake daily study of the Yoga Sutra for a long time. The combination of these studies with daily Ashtanga Vinyasa practice led me eventually to realize that the Yoga Sutra and the vinyasa method are really only two sides of the same coin.
That is the central theme of this book. For yoga practice to be successful, there can be no separation of practice and philosophy. Indeed, new approaches to practice have always come out of philosophy, while practice prepares the intellect for philosophy. In fact the Yoga Sutra suggests that philosophical inquiry — svadhyaya, or vichara as Shankara calls it — is itself a form of practice, and an essential ingredient of the path to freedom.
This book is dedicated to bringing the two aspects back together and restoring what historically was one system, lost through the lapse of time.
The Rediscovery of the Ashtanga Vinyasa System
The notion that the Yoga Sutra and the vinyasa system are two sides of one coin has been strongly present from the beginning of the modern-day Ashtanga Yoga lineage. K. Pattabhi Jois received thevinyasa method from his master, T. Krishnamacharya; Krishnamacharya’s own master, Ramamohan Brahmachary, instructed him to seek out what was understood to be the last remaining copy of an elusive scripture, the Yoga Korunta, thought to have been compiled by the ancient seer Vamana.
According to Krishnamacharya’s biography,1 the Yoga Korunta contained not only the vinyasa system but also the Yoga Sutra of Patanjali and its commentary, Yoga Bhasya, compiled by the Rishi Vyasa. These were bound together in one volume. We can see from this that, in ancient times, what are today regarded as two systems that only share the same name — the Ashtanga Yoga of Patanjali and the Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga of the Rishi Vamana — were in fact one.
We see here also the idea that yogic philosophy is taught together with the practice. The practice of asana (posture) alone poses a danger. According to K. Pattabhi Jois, “Partial yoga methods out of line with their internal purpose can build up the ‘six enemies’ (desire, anger, greed, illusion, infatuation, and envy) around the heart. The full Ashtanga system practised with devotion leads to freedom within one’s heart.”2
Today, however, we are in the situation where on the one hand there are scholars who try to understand the Yoga Sutra without knowing its practices, while on the other hand there are many Ashtanga Vinyasa practitioners who are established in practice but do not know the philosophy of their system. Both aspects practiced together will make practice easy, because we know where it leads and how we get there. Without dedicated practice, philosophy can turn into mere theory. Once established in practice, we will swiftly internalize the philosophy and attain higher yoga.
The Relevance of Ashtanga Yoga Today
I do not claim here that Vinyasa Yoga is the only form of Patanjali Yoga. That would be absurd. It is, however, one of the authentic representations of Patanjali’s sutra that is still alive.
This system is precious — and relevant — today because it was conceived by the ancient seer Vamana, the author of the Yoga Korunta, especially for householders (grihasta). A householder is somebody who has a job and family, and lives and works in society, as opposed to a monk, hermit, or ascetic (sannyasi). Some forms of yoga are designed for hermits who have no social responsibility and therefore can be engaged with meditation techniques all day long.
Being a hermit or ascetic, however, was never a requirement for yoga. As the Bhagavad Gita explains, “One who outwardly performs his social duties but inwardly stays free is a yogi.”3 If everybody ceased performing their social responsibilities, the text continues,4 this world would be ruined, for obvious reasons. So we need not be disturbed if responsibility for others keeps us from devoting more time to our practice, since fulfilling one’s duty is practice. But what is important is how we practice. How do we spend the precious time we can allocate to practicing?
When T. Krishnamacharya had completed his training, his master, R. Brahmachary, proposed to him that he should get married, have a family, and teach yoga to city dwellers. This came as a surprise to the younger man: being so highly trained, he could have become a great scholar or the abbot of a monastery. But as a teacher of yoga to city dwellers he would have very low social status.
Brahmachary told Krishnamacharya to study the Yoga Korunta, as he knew this would equip him best for teaching householders. The Vinyasa Yoga described in that text was the ideal form of Patanjali Yoga for householders, since it required only around two hours of practice per day.
The Eight Limbs of Yoga, and How They Work Together
According to Patanjali there are eight “limbs” of yoga. How they work together can be understood from the following story:
Once upon a time a couple lived happily together in a country that had an unjust king. The king became jealous of their happiness and threw the man into a prison tower. When his wife came to the tower at night to comfort him, the man called down to her that she should return the next night with a long silken thread, a strong thread, a cord, a rope, a beetle, and some honey. Although puzzled by the request, the wife returned the next evening with all the items. Her husband then asked her to tie the silken thread to the beetle and smear honey onto its antennae. She should then place the beetle on the tower wall with its head facing upward. Smelling the honey, the beetle started to climb up the tower in expectation of finding more of it, dragging the silken thread as it did so. When it reached the top of the tower the man took hold of the silken thread and called down to his wife that she should tie the strong thread to the other end. Pulling the strong thread up, he secured it also and instructed her further to tie the cord to the other end. Once he had the cord the rest happened quickly. With the rope attached to the cord he pulled it up, secured one end of it and, climbing down, escaped to freedom.
The couple are, of course, yogis. The prison tower represents conditioned existence. The silken thread symbolizes the purifying of the body through asana. The strong thread represents pranayama, breath extension, the cord symbolizes meditation, and the rope stands for samadhi, the state of pure being. Once this rope is held, freedom from conditioned existence is possible.
Patanjali’s eight limbs of yoga relate to Ashtanga Vinyasa practice thus:
The first limb consists of a set of ethics, which ensures that the yogi interacts in a harmonious way with the surrounding community. The ethical precepts are: not to harm others, to be truthful, not to steal, to engage in intercourse only with one’s partner, and to abstain from greed.
The second limb consists of observances, which ensure that body and mind are not polluted once they have been purified. Purification in yoga has nothing to do with puritanism. Rather it refers to the “stainability” of body and mind. “Stainability” is the propensity of the body/mind to take on a conditioning or imprint from the environment. The observances are physical and mental cleanliness, contentment, simplicity, study of sacred texts, and acceptance of the existence of the Supreme Being. The first two limbs are initially implemented from the outside, and they form a platform from which practice is undertaken. Once we are established in yoga they become our second nature: they will arise naturally.
The third limb is asana. Many obstacles to knowing one’s true nature are manifested in the body, for example disease, sluggishness, and dullness. The body profoundly influences and, if in bad condition, impinges on the functioning of mind and intellect. Through the practice of yoga asanas the body is made “strong and light like the body of a lion,” to quote Shri K. Pattabhi Jois. Only then will it provide the ideal vehicle on the path of yoga.
As the Yoga Sutra explains,5 every thought, emotion, and experience leaves a subconscious imprint (samskara) in the mind. These imprints determine who we will be in the future. According to theBrhad Aranyaka Upanishad, as long as liberation is not achieved, the soul, like a caterpillar that draws itself from one blade of grass over to the next, will, by the force of its impressions in this life, reach out and draw itself over to a new body in a new life.
This means that the body we have today is nothing but the accumulation of our past thoughts, emotions, and actions. In fact our body is the crystallized history of our past thoughts. This needs to be deeply understood and contemplated. It means that asana is the method that releases us from past conditioning, stored in the body, to arrive in the present moment. It is to be noted that practicing forcefully will only superimpose a new layer of subconscious imprints based on suffering and pain. It will also increase identification with the body. In yoga, identification with anything that is impermanent is called ignorance (avidya).
This may sound rather abstract at first, but all of us who have seen a loved one die will remember the profound insight that, once death has set in, the body looks just like an empty shell left behind. Since the body is our vehicle and the storehouse of our past, we want to practice asana to the point where it serves us well, while releasing and letting go of the past that is stored in it.
Yoga is the middle path between two extremes. On the one hand, we can go to the extreme of practicing fanatically and striving for an ideal while denying the reality of this present moment. The problem with this is that we are only ever relating to ourselves as what we want to become in the future and not as what we are right now. The other extreme is advocated by some schools of psychotherapy that focus on highlighting past traumas. If we do this, these traumas can increase their grip on us, and we relate to ourselves as we have in the past, defining ourselves by the “stuff that’s coming up” and the “process that we are going through.” Asana is an invitation to say goodbye to these extremes and arrive at the truth of the present moment.
How do past emotions, thoughts, and impressions manifest in the body? Some students of yoga experience a lot of anger on commencing forward bending. This is due to past anger having been stored in the hamstrings. If we consciously let go of the anger, the emotion will disappear. If not, it will surface in some other form, possibly as an act of aggression or as a chronic disease. Other students feel like crying after intense backbending. Emotional pain is stored in the chest, where it functions like armor, hardening around the heart. This armor may be dissolved in backbending. If we let go of the armor, a feeling of tremendous relief will result, sometimes accompanied by crying.
Extreme stiffness can be related to mental rigidity or the inability to let oneself be transported into unknown situations. Extreme flexibility, on the other hand, can be related to the inability to take a position in life and to set boundaries. In this case, asana practice needs to be more strength based, to create a balance and to learn to resist being stretched to inappropriate places. Asana invites us to acknowledge the past and let it go. This will in turn bring us into the present moment and allow us to let go of limiting concepts such as who we think we are.
The fourth limb is pranayama. Prana is the life force, also referred to as the inner breath; pranayama means extension of prana. The yogis discovered that the pulsating or oscillating of prana happens simultaneously with the movements of the mind (chitta vrtti). The practice of pranayama is the study and exercise of one’s breath to a point where it is appeased and does not agitate the mind.
In the vinyasa system, pranayama is practiced through applying the Ujjayi breath. By slightly constricting the glottis, the breath is stretched long. We learn to let the movement follow the breath, which eventually leads to the body effortlessly riding the waves of the breath. At this point it is not we who move the body, but rather the power of prana. We become able to breathe into all parts of the body, which is equivalent to spreading the prana evenly throughout. This is ayama — the extension of the breath.
The fifth limb is pratyahara — sense withdrawal. The Maitri Upanishad says that, if one becomes preoccupied with sense objects, the mind is fueled, which will lead to delusion and suffering.6 If, however, the fuel of the senses is withheld, then, like a fire that dies down without fuel, the mind becomes reabsorbed into its source, the heart. “Heart” in yoga is a metaphor not for emotions but for our center, which is consciousness or the self.
In Vinyasa Yoga, sense withdrawal is practiced through drishti — focal point. Instead of looking around while practicing asana, which leads to the senses reaching out, we stay internal by turning our gaze toward prescribed locations. The sense of hearing is drawn in by listening to the sound of the breath, which at the same time gives us feedback about the quality of the asana. By keeping our attention from reaching out, we develop what tantric philosophy calls the center (madhya). By developing the center, the mind is eventually suspended and the prana, which is a manifestation of the female aspect of creation, the Goddess or Shakti, ceases to oscillate. Then the state of divine consciousness (bhairava) is recognized.7
The sixth limb is dharana — concentration. If you have tried to meditate on the empty space between two thoughts, you will know that the mind has the tendency to attach itself to the next thought arising. Since all objects have form, and the witnessing subject — the consciousness — is formless, it tends to be overlooked by the mind. It takes a great deal of focus to keep watching consciousness when distractions are available.
The practice of concentration, then, is a prerequisite and preparation for meditation proper. The training of concentration enables us to stay focused on whatever object is chosen. First, simple objects are selected, which in turn prepare us for the penultimate “object,” formless consciousness, which is nothing but pure awareness.
Concentration in Vinyasa Yoga is practiced by focusing on the bandhas. On an external level the focus is on Mula and Uddiyana Bandha (pelvic and lower abdominal locks), but on an internal level it is on the bonding together of movement, breath, and awareness (bandha = bonding). To achieve this bonding, we have to let go of the beta brain-wave pattern, which normally accompanies concentration. Instead we need to shift to an alpha pattern, which enables multiple focus and leads into simultaneous awareness of everything, or being in this moment, which is meditation.
The seventh limb is dhyana — meditation. Meditation means to rest, uninfluenced, between the extremes of the mind and suddenly just “be” instead of “becoming.” The difference between this and the previous limb is that, in concentration, there is a conscious effort to exclude all thoughts that are not relevant to our chosen object. In meditation there is a constant flow of impressions from the object and of awareness toward the object, without any effort of the will. Typical objects chosen are the heart lotus, the inner sound, the breath, the sense-of-I, the process of perception, and intellect, one’s meditation deity (ishtadevata) or the Supreme Being.
In Vinyasa Yoga, meditation starts when, rather than doing the practice, we are being done or moved. At this point we realize that, since we can watch the body, we are not the body but a deeper-lying witnessing entity. The vinyasa practice is the constant coming and going of postures, the constant change of form, which we never hold on to. It is itself a meditation on impermanence. When we come to the point of realizing that everything we have known so far — the world, the body, the mind, and the practice — is subject to constant change, we have arrived at meditation on intelligence (buddhi).
Meditation does not, however, occur only in dhyana, but in all stages of the practice. In fact the Ashtanga Vinyasa system is a movement meditation. First we meditate on the position of the body in space, which is asana. Then we meditate on the life force moving the body, which is pranayama. The next stage is to meditate on the senses through drishti and listening to the breath, which ispratyahara. Meditating on the binding together of all aspects of the practice is concentration (dharana).
The eighth limb, samadhi, is of two kinds — objective and objectless. Objective samadhi is when the mind for the first time, like a clear jewel, reflects faithfully what it is directed at and does not just produce another simulation of reality.8 In other words the mind is clarified to an extent that it does not modify sensory input at all. To experience this, we have to “de-condition” ourselves to the extent that we let go of all limiting and negative programs of the past. Patanjali says, “Memory is purified, as if emptied of its own form.”9 Then all that can be known about an object is known.
Objectless samadhi is the highest form of yoga. It does not depend on an object for its arising but, rather, the witnessing subject or awareness, which is our true nature, is revealed. In this samadhi the thought waves are suspended, which leads to knowing of that which was always there: consciousness or the divine self. This final state is beyond achieving, beyond doing, beyond practicing. It is a state of pure ecstatic being described by the term kaivalya — a state in which there is total freedom and independence from any external stimulation whatsoever.
In the physical disciplines of yoga, samadhi is reached by suspending the extremes of solar (pingala) and lunar (ida) mind. This state arises when the inner breath (prana) enters the central channel (sushumna). Then truth or deep reality suddenly flashes forth.
Why a Traditional Practice is Still Applicable
A peasant once spoke to the sage Ramakrishna thus: “I am a simple villager. Please give me in one sentence a method by which I can obtain happiness.” Ramakrishna’s answer was: “Totally accept the fact that you are a machine operated upon by God.” This needs to be deeply understood. It is through the belief that individuals exercise free will that ego is produced; and, in turn, ego produces suffering. In the Bhagavad Gita Lord Krishna states, “All actions are done in all cases by the gunas (qualities) of prakrti (nature). He whose mind is deluded through egoism thinks I am the doer.”10
This means that the entire cosmos, including our body-mind complex, is an unconscious machine operated upon by God. Our self, who is pure consciousness, is forever inactive. It merely witnesses. The giving up of the idea that it is we who act is echoed in the Yoga Sutra by Patanjali’s use of the term kaivalya. This final state of yoga is the realization of the complete independence of consciousness. Since it is completely independent, it has no way of influencing the world. Like a mirror, which simply reflects, consciousness can neither reject nor hold on to objects of its choice. Give up the sense of agency,11 says Krishna: “Only a fool believes I am the doer.”
The surrender of the illusion of free will is reflected in the vinyasa system by acceptance of the original system as expounded by the Rishi Vamana. Of course it is easy to make up our own sequences ofasanas, and possibly commercial success and fame will result. But then we run the risk of falling for the ego, which says I am the doer and the creator. We are only pure consciousness — the seer, the witness, the self — which, as the Samkhya Karika12 says, plays no active part in this world.
That does not mean we cannot adapt the practice for some time if difficulties are to be met or yoga therapy needs to be practiced. We need to return to the original system whenever possible, though. Rishi Vamana’s system leads through outer structure and limitation to inner freedom. If we constantly practice self-made sequences, we create inner limitation through outer freedom.
The rishis of old did not conceive the ancient arts and sciences by trial and error. The method they employed was samyama, which combines concentration (dharana), meditation (dhyana), and absorption (samadhi). In that way, deep knowledge of how things really are can be gained. Patanjali himself explains in the Yoga Sutra how he gained his knowledge. Knowledge of the mind, he says, is gained by doing samyama on the heart.13
He also explains how the body can be understood. Medical knowledge, he says,14 is gained by practicing samyama on the navel chakra. This is how the science of Ayurveda came into being. It should be noted that Patanjali compiled the Charaka Samhita, an ayurvedic text. When we study and practice the ancient sciences today, we need to do this with a feeling of respect and devotion.
The teachings of the ancient masters have never been declared invalid. They have only ever been added to.
1. Krishnamacharya the Purnacharya, Krishnamacharya Yoga Mandiram, Chennai.
2. The Yoga Journal, San Francisco, November/December 1995.
3. Bhagavad Gita III.7.
4. Bhagavad Gita III.24.
5. Yoga Sutra II.12.
6. Maitri Upanishad VI.35.
7. Vijnanabhairava, trans. and annot. Jaideva Singh, Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi, 1979, p. 23.
8. Yoga Sutra I.41.
9. Yoga Sutra I.43, quoted from The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, trans. C. Chapple, Sri Satguru Publications, Delhi, 1990, p. 53.
10. Srimad Bhagavad Gita, trans. Sw. Vireswarananda, Sri Ramakrishna Math, Madras, p. 79.
11. Frequently used in Indian texts, this word means “the condition of being in action or exercising power.”
12. A text describing Samkhya, the ancient prototype of all Indian philosophies.
13. Yoga Sutra III.34.
14. Yoga Sutra III.29.