Author: thecolourandthechaos

Um, I’m in the wrong queue

Um, I’m in the wrong queue……

The art of queuing, a great British institution. So I find myself at 9am on Saturday morning in a long long queue to enter the Chamundi Temple at the top of Chamundi Hill. This was not the plan.

My Friday afternoon was spent running errands, registering for practicing at KPJAYI with Saraswathi Jois, printing the required paper work for registration, visiting a favourite shop… Friday evening I went to aarti at the Ramakrishna Ashram (I will write about this in the future).

I woke up on Saturday, put my mat down and practiced. Anyone who travels and maintains a practice is used to the experience of rearranging furniture, modifying asanas in accordance with space, making the best of a situation. This was the situation 😉

At about 07.30 I had finished making shapes and I was ready to climb the 1008 steps up Chamundi Hill. I used to do it every Saturday, it’s not a difficult climb and there is a ritual element of pilgrimage to it that I like. I enjoy the sweating and the cardiovascular element as well as the magic of the scenery.

When I arrived there were police directing cars and rickshaws and there was a festival energy in the air. I wasn’t aware of any major festival this weekend, but I am ignorant of all them. It was definitely busier than I remember it being. You start by touching the feet of Lakshmi at the bottom of the steps, passing under a great arch you begin the climb up into the wild green vegetation, surrounded by monkeys.

There were many women stopping at each step to daub kumkum (turmeric) onto them. Bending down, taking a pinch from the plate they carry it on and using, I think, the ring finger to apply the kumkum to the step – 1008 times! Some friends and I did it once, it is a way of really marking the climb as sacred, a way of offering your effort and respects to the Goddess it is a kind of tapas (effort put towards a spiritual goal). My tapas this day was to take off my shoes and do the climb barefoot. I’ve never done it barefoot before, and honestly I think I will always do it barefoot now. It felt incredible to have the stone, cool and a little damp from all the rain under the soles of my feet. I loved knowing that my feet would be stained red from the coloured turmeric. It felt right.

About halfway up there is a giant stone Nandi stature. Nandi is the vehicle of Shiva, he also stands watch whilst Shiva meditates. I was told once that if you want to ask Shiva for a boon rather than disturbing Him you whisper it in Nandi’s ear and when Shiva comes out of his mediation he will relay to Shiva. Nandi the bull, Shiva’s messaging service. Since I was told this every time I pass a Nandi I bow down, cup my hand around his ear and whisper “world peace please”. Anything is possible for Yogeshwara.

Arriving at the top there were yet more police and more signs that large numbers of people were expected. Lots of crowd control measures. I deposited my shoes at the shoe stand. Even taking shoes into the temple in a bag is deeply disrespectful. I walked around the outside of the Chamundi Temple marvelling at the decorations that had been put up and wondering why. I asked a policeman and he explained that in this month, the month of Ashadha, every Friday they have a big Lakshmi puja and many people come from all over Karataka. This month is when the sun turns retrograde and from now until Shankranti in January traditionally any auspicious endeavour is avoided, if you are middling traditional you avoid doing anything that needs an auspicious date only for this month.

Okdokes, I thought, I’ll be giving the big temple a miss today then. And I pootled off around the corner to go to the Shiva temple. As I approached I noticed there seemed to be a small queue here also and a small entry fee, which I had never seen for the Shiva temple here before. I bought a small garland of flowers to offer and went and joined the line. I paid my 50INR and headed in the gate working through the cattle pen like structures that had been set up to manage the number of people and maintain some measure of order.

The line turned right. The Shiva temple was left. I was a little confused why they were directing us this way around but ok, I will happily trot along. The line turned right again. We were now in a barred and cramped set of structures, that could have felt quite claustrophobic. Generally I avoid these sorts of situations. The Hillsborough disater in 1989 where people died by being crushed against a barrier left a strong imprint in my mind. I am aware that large groups of people can be unpredictable and I am someone who always like to know where the emergency exit is. There wasn’t one.

This is queue.

I realised I had joined the queue for the Chamundi Temple and now I couldn’t turn round and say “sorry wrong temple, let me out please.”

The queue moved fast and was very peaceful, respectful. The lady behind me warned me I should cover my flowers or the monkeys would steal them. My offering to Shiva would be going to Shakti instead. As we neared the main door everyone became quiet, you could hear lips moving in  soundless mantra japa.

Looking up the ceiling of the temple was covered with flowers. Photos were permitted outside the temple but once you cross the threshold not.

Inside, it was packed, no personal space and moving with the throng of people. In the main sanctuary for a moment I saw the beautiful silver murti smiling benignly at us all, the crowd moved on and me with it. Outside in the courtyard there was a smaller alter that was not so busy and I presented my flowers there. The priest took them and gave me prasad. I got some kumkum, a single rose and 6 green glass bangles. Treasure. I am very glad I joined the wrong queue, I feel as though this trip has been blessed by the Goddess herself.

Now down the hill on the bus into town for my first Dosa.

The Green Hotel

The Green Hotel, taken from the garden.

The British have a long relationship with Mysore. The Chittaraja Place, which is now the Green Hotel is a testament to that. Architecturally it is classic British Raj. It was built in 1916 by the Maharaja of Mysore for his sister. It has high ceilings and dark wood, windows with small panes of glass and wrought ironwork on the outside. It is spacious and airy. The garden is beautifully maintained. In the wonderful business of the city it is an oasis of calm (not quiet, it is right next to a main road, it is quiet-ish in the early hours of the morning).

Buildings like this are classed here as ‘heritage’ and it is a beautiful example of a different time. It became a hotel in the 1970’s and is now managed by a British charity called the Charities Advisory Trust. The hotel itself proudly maintains as environmentally conscious standards as possible. It utilises solar power, there is no air conditioning, the rooms do not have televisions, the water for the garden is recycled.  The profits from the hotel go towards a variety of projects including planting mango trees to support Dalit communities, funding towards a school and maternity hospital for tribal communities, promoting literacy and health in rural areas, to name just a few.

Basically, I’m staying here because I like the vibe. See what you think…

Front door.
Entrance way.
The garden, standing with the hotel front door behnd me.

These are pictures of the first floor, which will be my “office” for the next two weeks and the inside downstairs eating area.

Journey part 2

Journey pt2.

Traversing airports at great speed is not something I like to make a habit of. Leaving the first flight with a 30min window to get to the gate for the second I was something akin to a woman on a mission. Part of that mission became helping a woman travelling alone with a tempestuous toddler and an unruly suitcase, entertaining a hyperactive child who was only a small part into an epic half way round the world trip to New Zealand from Europe, and talking about the dispersal of the Tibetan people through south India with a young woman who was stood behind me in the security line (she noted that I had a prayer to the Green Tara as one of my tattoos).

These interactions with strangers are part of the magic of travelling for me. Humans brought together with a common goal (in this case to get from a to b safely) can be such a force for positive feelings. Possibly because of the vulnerability of not being in control of the journey some of us become softer and more receptive to helping each other, to small kindnesses and to meeting each other as we are.

I arrived in Bengaluru at 03.05 am I left my home at 05.15 am. I was tired.

Passing immigration feels like the last hoop to hop through for me. In my head there is always the chance, however slim and for no reason at all, that one might not be granted entry to a country.

“hm, where in Mysore is she staying?” said one immigration officer to the other.

“The Green Hotel” I answered, hopefully with a soft tone and a please let me in, I’m very nice when I haven’t been awake for 20hrs smile.

“Oh very good, Jayalaxmipuram, yes” came the reply. “I am from Mysuru.”

Approval granted, off I went.

One joy of returning to a place I know well, making a trip I have made many times before, is that I know what is waiting at the other end. Fly Bus or taxi? I normally get the Fly Bus, for anyone travelling from Bangalore airport to Mysore I really recommend the Fly Bus, it’s clean, comfortable and around 800INR. You pick it up just outside the terminal, and even when I couldn’t book in advance I have always got a seat. But, This time I had booked a taxi. Another joy of going back somewhere is you know who to ask to come and get you. He’s very reliable, an excellent driver and I will happily pass his number on to anyone who wants to finish their journey in a car rather than a bus – it’s actually only more convenient if you don’t want the hassle of getting a rickshaw to your lodgings once you get to town.

I am ten years older now than when I first came to Mysore. In those days I was of no fixed abode, living between India and the UK, working bank shifts in a busy London maternity unit to earn enough money to keep up the nomadic lifestyle. The last few years of being in one place, nurturing a community, have changed me. Apart from being physically older I am also a little less hasty, I make decisions differently, I have different priorities. I like to observe these changes, nothing stays the same. When we can mark change and note evolution it can support us in how we live. Where are you now? How did you get there? Is it where you want to be? These are questions we can always ask ourselves, sometimes I find it easier to ask them when I am outside of my normal routine.

Why am I coming to Mysore again? To see Dr Jayashree. Because it is somewhere I feel safe and comfortable. Because for me it has the right balance of different and familiar. Why have I chosen to stay in The Green Hotel? Because from the first time I saw the building in 2015 I knew I wanted to stay here one day and now after years of hard work I am in a financial position not to have to slum it. (I will write a post about the hotel with pictures and history so you can see how lovely it is)

We arrived at the hotel at about 7am. After unpacking I immediately went to the supermarket for supplies (have areopress + immersion heater rod will travel – by the way to get an immersion heater rod I had to google “UK Nescafe advert 1980’s woman drinks coffee in car heating up from the cigarette lighter socket”). Before sleeping I wanted to sit for a little in the garden of the hotel.

As I was sitting I saw two women eating breakfast, we had greeted each other earlier and in the spirit of positive interactions with strangers that began this post we made conversation. They were from Switzerland, one of them was born in Bern. Oh Universe you amazing funny thing. It was their first time in Mysore. I asked if they were interested in my two top things to do here? Luckily they said yes. I love sharing the things that bring me joy, I think that is quite human, this desire to share happiness. We want to enrich each others lives. Think of a piece of music you love or an artist or a book, we often want to give these to our friends. And in the giving we also receive, the things that make us happy are often parts of who we think we are, when we share we can feel validated.

What are my two top tips for Mysore? Well, I am glad you asked 😉

Firstly a true hidden treasure is in the Folklore museum. Below is an extract describing my first experience of  the museum from “Mysore to the Mountains”.

And second is Chamundi Temple, and this I will write about in a further post (I’ve been there today so I will describe that adventure shortly).

Having dispensed my advice I went to bed, to sleep, some 30 ish hours after I woke up.

From “Mysore to the Mountains”.

Jaya Lakshmi Vilas mansion was built at the beginning of the twentieth century for the daughter of the maharaja of Mysore. By the early twenty first century when it was acquired by the University it had fallen into disrepair. Although renovations to secure the buildings have been carried out by the University it is still a ghost of a building. Approaching from the pseudo English gardens of this grand but tired mansion, I was overwhelmed by a sense of strangeness, that there should be a building like this, gardens like these, here in this climate and environment felt odd. It emphasised for me that so often we place value on the appearances of things, of imitation rather than authenticity, but it also made me wonder if there comes a time when imitation develops its own authenticity.  The building is painted a pale yellow with grand columns at almost every entrance. It is a collection of buildings built around a small courtyard. There is a quiet to the buildings, a sense that they have ceased to serve their purpose and are waiting to be put to use again. The current use for these Greco-Roman shadows of an age now past is housing the Folklore and Folk art museum. 

One of the nice things about having no expectations is being constantly surprised and rarely disappointed. As a child I had spent many hours in the British Museum and Natural History Museum. As an adult these were still sanctuaries I return to, to see beauty and experience contrast, to contemplate the stories we tell and the ways we tell them.

I entered through a small door into the great interior of the buildings. It felt like stepping into a shell. The emptiness and vast space of the rooms making a greater impression than the cabinets filled with, I have no idea what; cabinet upon cabinet of artefacts and not a label to be seen; rows and rows of pieces of pottery, or rooms full of paintings and no indication of when they were painted by whom, no information about why or the context of these pieces. It was a wunderkammer of India. I walked from exhibit to exhibit, yearning for knowledge. What was I looking at? Who made these things? What were they for? My imagination exploded with possibilities. My critical mind was incredulous that I could be assaulted by so much history and know nothing about it. In one building I walked through I found myself in a small room full of shadow puppets and carnival stick puppets. Cases lining the walls filled with brightly coloured figures just waiting for their stories to be told again, and what stories I’m sure they are. I just don’t know them. I hope someone still does. I would like to imagine these puppets at night, lighting the old lamps in the windows of the mansion, and dancing their tales to the statues of Gods and the pigeons.

The second building across the courtyard was equally baffling with as little description of the contents. As I walked towards the back of this building I came into the old dancing hall, not quite big enough to be called a ballroom but broad and high with a gallery around. In this room I found three women mopping the floor. Before these three I had had the whole of the museum to myself, I’m not sure who was more shocked them or me. I had almost forgotten where I was so immersed had I become in the random collection.

At the far end of the dancing hall stood an immense statue of Durga, bright, bold, red and black. Trident in hand, sat on her tiger, she presides over this empty room so incongruous and yet so perfect. Here in the midst of a shambles, ramshackle building reflecting a time of borrowed grace is the Goddess in all her perfection, protecting me and challenging me to challenge myself. I stood in awe. How is it possible that a sculpture of such beauty in such a fantastically evocative setting could be so secret? The sacred and the profane; something I was going to become accustomed to.

For a moment my mind danced with those who had practised their waltz and tea dance in this space I imagined their perfect precise dresses, overseen by this awesome force of the sacred feminine. It amused me to imagine that past in this present space.

Further into the warren of the museum there was a small room with a section about Kuvempu. Kuvempu was the nom de plume of Kuppali Venkatappa Puttappa, a Kannada poet, playwright and critical thinker born in the early twentieth century. His great message was one of universal humanism, arguing against the caste system, and meaningless religious practices. On the wall, displayed in Hindi, Kannada, and English was this.

“Every soul is an enduring start of the cosmos. It is believed that the soul outlives the physical body. Therefore the soul is said to be immortal.”

The following poem depicts the obstacles that the soul has to cross and the shackles it has to break to obtain immortality. The poem speaks of ideals which can make one happy and attain spiritual upliftment.

Be unhoused, oh my soul

only the infinite is your goal.

Leave those myriad forms behind

Leave the million names that bind

A flash will pierce your heart and mind

and unhouse you my soul

Winnow the chaff of a hundred creeds.

Beyond the systems, hollow as reeds,

turn unhorizoned where truth leads,

to be unhoused my soul.

Stop not on the unending way.

Never build a house of clay.

The quest is endless. Night and day?

There can be no end to your play

when you are unhoused o my soul.

The infinite’s Yoga knows no end.

Endless the quest you apprehend.

You’ll grow infinite and ascend,

when you are unhoused, o my soul.”

Translation by V.K Gokak.

Journey part 1

Journey pt1.

“ah, yes you couldn’t check in online because the first flight is cancelled so you won’t make the connecting flight.”

These were the words that greeted me at the check in counter at Zurich airport as I was about to begin my journey to Mysuru on Thursday.

“Right.”

(My go to when “What the Fu*k?” is not appropriate.)

“So what do I do then?”

Some might say this was an inauspicious beginning, in fact the extreme efficiency of Lufthansa had me rebooked and on my way within 20 mins just on a different airline and  different route. My wandering years (2014 – 2018), many of which were spent in India, taught me to ask for help, to trust that there is a solution, and to be open to the solutions that may be presented.  I am glad that even after 6 years living the land of organisation, timekeeping, and precision (Switzerland) I can still have faith in the process of traveling.

For me traveling is a practice of vulnerability. I will often be in situations I don’t fully understand, in places that are alien to me. I like to travel because it is also a practice in humility, I am in a different culture and I intend to try to be respectful and behave appropriately. Professionally I am used to being the person guiding or leading, when I travel I enjoy being independent, observing before acting, being curious about what is ‘normal’ here

I remember my first time in India, very quickly I became comfortable with being stared at, being other, being different. And I found that the simple act of smiling was almost always reflected back and all of that vanished to being just two human animals looking at each other.

When I boarded the first flight on Thursday I was smiling generally and happened to catch the eye of a teenager who was settling into her seat.

“Oh do I need to move?” they said.

“not at all,” I laughed “I was just smiling”

They smiled back and laughed.

Smiling is infectious, and when I am feeling myself it is something I do a lot. Luckily I am feeling very grounded in myself as I cross approximately 9000Km, taking a total of 22 hours door to door to see my teacher and come home to the land of Sadhus and Saints.

Notes: Shout out to the airline staff who didn’t have a vegan meal on-board and so gave me all the fruit they could find.

Random Musings…

Why I am a convert to online yoga…..

Back in March it became apparent that the way the practice of yoga was to be experienced would need to change for some people.  Yoga has been practised for around 5000 years. Therefore it is likely that the practice itself and the way it has been taught have changed many times in its history.  The way some of us had become used to experiencing the practice of yoga was in group settings being led through an asana sequence with philosophical teachings as an adjunct.  The classes would often take place in a designated space, increasingly a ‘yoga studio’.  In the days when I started practicing yoga, yoga studios were few and far between. During the 20 years of my practice they had become common.  Now it looks like that might change. 

When Europe was about to lock down for the first time I was due to go to Amsterdam to take a weekend workshop with one of my teachers. I was determined I would go. The workshop was cancelled. Europe closed its borders and I stayed in Switzerland. 

When I first started practicing yoga, in 2001, I would go to class once a week. From the very first class I knew I wanted to learn more, so I greedily read as many books as I could, explored the philosophy, the physical practices and the esoteric elements like mantra and mythology. During this study I learned that yoga was an internal as well as an external practice and that the work on the inside could only be done by me. It was not a necessity to attend a group class to do the introspection and reflection that were required to internalise the practice. A teacher was useful and regular contact with that teacher was very useful but the collective experience of practising in a group was not essential, personal practice was essential though. Everything I read said the key to yoga was practice.

I began to develop a personal practice of asana, chanting and meditation. My first asana sequence was the kneeling sun salutation my initial yoga teacher taught (she described it as being taught by Krishnamachrya for women so they could practice in their saris), my second was the sun salutation from the Sivananda school which I taught myself out of the wonderful book Yoga Mind and Body (for those of you from the UK of a similar age to me it’s the one with the blue leotard).  Perhaps I was lucky that I discovered yoga just before its explosion of popularity, so for me I learned to be self-reliant, independent in my studies.

The tradition of yoga is that the teachings were offered from an experienced practitioner to a student, not learned from a book, because the effect of being near an experienced practitioner can be powerful. Therefore I continued to study with a selection of teachers as well. The only way to access these teachers was through group classes. I was often the student who would wait at the end of class with questions. This experience of being able to ask questions of an experienced practitioner is essential in the learning of yoga, precisely because it is an internal and external practice. The practice is a journey, the books, the ancient teachings are the compass, the teacher is the map. You know where you want to go, you know which direction to move in but often times it is useful to have the overview offered by someone who knows the landscape.

My explorations in yoga were wonderful; I tried lots of different styles of asana practice and visited lots of different well respected teachers, attending many workshops and trainings.  My personal studies continued as I observed many of the teachers who I was exposed to focused on asana and I was curious about the philosophy at a deeper level, not at an academic level but as a lived experience. All of the trainings I attended were in person and often involved long journeys to be present with the teacher.

I am a firm believer in the presence of a teacher, the physical energy that you feel from them radiates to you. You can feel their experience and the veracity of the teachings. I yearn to sit at the feet of my teachers again.

But I can’t. My teachers are in India and America and the United Kingdom. I am in Switzerland. In previous years physical distance was alleviated by regular trips to Mysore to connect with my philosophy and Sanskrit teacher, and my American teachers would often make tours of Europe so I could be with them then. However this year is different. This year there will be no travel. Enter the internet.

My Sanskrit teacher has been teaching online classes for years, she’s in her 60s and is used to having international students, she was the first teacher to encourage me online to meet with her. Philosophy and Sanskrit online I could understand but asana? I believed that asana could only be taught safely in person. I had personally practised asana using CDs (and in the old days even cassettes), recordings of classes and yoga DVDs. However I was very unsure about online yoga as a teaching tool. As a yoga teacher I feel a large responsibility for the safety of my students. I am concerned that their alignment is not injurious. I was not convinced that teaching online could provide me the same security, that I could observe and adjust as required.

One of the things that practising with my teachers through online interactive platforms has taught me is that it is possible to give alignment guidance and to correct errors with verbal cues to individuals. The greatest thing it has taught me though is that it is also possible to feel connected to and seen by people thousands of miles away.

As we move into the winter months and we face uncertainty about how the year will end and the next begin I urge us all to continue with our practice of yoga.  To have the luxury of accessing my teachers online feels incredible. To connect with the wisdom and experience of Eddie Stern twice or three times a week instead of twice or three times year is a gift. To have an hour every week with Dr M A Jayashree, and to get to study exactly what I need to with her is an honour.

During the first lockdown Jivamukti Yoga Bern shifted its classes on to Facebook live. I am very proud for that time. We offered all of our classes free of charge and we maintained a regular presence in the online space. Personally it was difficult to ‘teach’ to my mobile phone without being able to see or communicate with the students directly about their practice. Now we are making hard choices again about what is the best way to continue to serve our community. 

My experience as a practitioner using online resources persuaded me this was a viable option to maintain community and to continue to offer classes. No, it is not the same as a class in person. The personal classes are now very different to how they were nine months ago too. A lot of things are different. Yoga isn’t.

The practice of yoga continues to be and I hope will always be a journey into the unknown knowns, the journey into our Selves away from ourselves. I can offer my assistance to you in this journey much better when I can see your face, even if it is through a screen across the mystery of cyberspace. I can answer your questions and see your body move through its asana practice.  I really hope you take the plunge into the ocean of the unknown and practise with us online. The experience will be different from how it was. The only constant is change as Heraclitus, the Greek philosopher tells us, how we adapt to that change and how we respond to any situation is up to us.  In the Bhagavad Gita we are reminded of the constant turning upside down of the world “jagad viparivartate” (chapter 9 10th shloka) and as one of my teacher’s teachers Sri Brahmananada Sarasvati used to say

“You don’t need to practise every day. But when you need your practice, you hope you have been practising everyday.”

Hari Om Tat Sat.

The seed of all knowledge.

तत्र निरतिशयं सर्वज्ञ-बीजम् ॥

tatra niratiśayaṁ sarvajña-bījam ||

 

After the deep questioning about the nature of īśvara Patanjali generously gives our minds a rest with a (relatively) simple sutra. īśvara is unsurpassed in the knowledge of all, because īśvara is the seed of all knowledge.

tatra = in that (in this case in īśvara)

niratiśayaṁ = above all else, unsurpassed

sarvajña = sarva – all, jña (jñāna) – knowledge, knowing

bījam = seed

Bryant discusses the use of ‘seed’ in the context of there being different levels of knowing just as there are different levels of growth in the life of a plant. The seed contains all the knowledge of how to become a flower just as īśvara contains all the knowledge of how to become a universe.

In Bouanchaud’s beautiful book “the essence of yoga” he describes the relationship between the perceived individual self and īśvara beautifully.

“īśvara is a model for human beings – our essence is an identical spiritual entity. However…we are imprisoned in negative impulses and sentiments and bound by corporeal limits”

Bouanchaud, B. (2001). The essence of Yoga. Delhi: Sri Satguru, p.38.

It is the release from the prison of negative impulses and corporeal limits (see chapter three, probably wont get to this until 2025!) that a practice of yoga gives us, thus we unite with īśvara.

What is īśvaraḥ?

क्लेश-कर्म-विपाकाशयैर् अपरामृष्टः पुरुष​-विशेएष ईश्वरः ॥२४॥

kleśa-karma-vipākāśayair aparāmṛṣṭaḥ puruṣa-viśeṣa īśvaraḥ

kleśa: affliction, pain, obstacle to clarity of mind.

karma: action, law of actions.

vipākāśayair: vipāka, result, consequence, ripening . āśayair, ‘by the receptacle, storage, or deposit of samskaras’ ¹.

aparāmṛṣṭaḥ: unaffected, unmoved.

puruṣa: consciousness as a soul.

viśeṣa: special, distinict.

īśvaraḥ

īśvaraḥ is distinct consciousness which is unaffected by the law of karma, or by the afflictions which are stored as saṃskāras.

Bryant states that this is the sutra to which the longest and most detailed commentaries have been dedicated. It is no wonder that this would be the case as contained within these few words is the essence of a debate around the theistic nature of Patanjali’s yoga sutras.

īśvaraḥ is a special and distinct form of puruṣa. We first encounter puruṣa in the 16th sutra where Patanjali suggests that through dispassion we see the reality of the soul. The impression I got from sutra 16 was of some kind of all encompassing, nebulous, consciousness which pervades everything. Yet here it seems that Patanjali is creating a division or a differentiation between different puruṣas. If īśvaraḥ is a special kind of puruṣa then are there other kinds of puruṣa? Are we to think of puruṣa as a universal energy or one which is segregated?

Sri Brahmananda Saraswati describes īśvaraḥ as a force of puruṣa. īśvaraḥ is the “phycological consciousness (and) a symbol of God”² . īśvaraḥ as an element or an aspect of puruṣa. puruṣa is a big concept to try to wrap ones mind around, and it is potentially difficult to identify with an impersonal, universal force.

It is postulated by Bryant that the introduction of īśvaraḥ in this section of the yoga sutras is relevant to how Patanjali was asking us to relate to īśvaraḥ. Namely as a focus for our mediation. This is not a treatise on the nature of God as a creator or supreme orchestrator rather a description of how we can find a personal relationship with an element of puruṣa. The sutras between 23 and 29 detail a technique for mediation which has īśvaraḥ at its heart.

It is possible that Patanjali is providing us with a description of some of the qualities of īśvaraḥ to give us a guide as to what may constitute this special form of puruṣa to which we are surrendering, bowing down to and offering up out consciousness to. It is not, for example, a physical object or an idol, it is not an embodied being or another person. It is a reminder that although īśvaraḥ dwells within the murti (temple idol, statue) the murti is not the whole of īśvaraḥ. It could also be an attempt to make the yoga sutras accessible to all as a technique rather than a dogma. īśvaraḥ becomes a generic term for the force of puruṣa with which we can personally identify.

 

1. Bryant, E. (2009).The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. New York: North Point Press. pg 87.
2. Mishra, R. (2010). The Textbook of Yoga Psychology. Monroe: Baba Bhagavandas Publication Trust. pg 139.

p.s fear not klesa, karma and samskaras will all be discussed at a later point. I thought it was more important to continue and remain focused on isvarah as a term for now.

Let it go, Surrender, Dislocate.

ईश्वर प्रनिधानाद् वा

ĪŚvara praṇidhānād vā

 

It is no wonder that this sutra should be the first stumbling block and cause for such an hiatus in my attempt to communicate an exploration of these ideas.  Please accept my apologies for how long it has taken me to get back to writing this.

This is the first directly theistic sutra. It contains a word which cannot be defined through reason or logic. A word whose meaning is so diverse it sends as many running into ecstasy as it does running into denial and rejection.  An appreciation of the vast nature of this sutra is almost impossible through the rational mind.  And that is in many ways what Patanjali encapsulates in its simplicity.

First I invite us to consider some of the challenges of translation. Translation is not an exact science. Language is mutable and tricksy at the best of times. Meanings are fluid and personal.  Definitions which should lend clarity an often divide opinion and lead to dispute.

We had a car once, and half of our family thought it was blue the other half thought it was green, no amount of word play, or analytical thought could develop our understanding of where the other half were coming from, we all acknowledged that there was  room for ambiguity but also held firmly to our convictions of the colour. And this is just a colour and a car. What if the thing we all saw differently was something as vast as the universe?  How do we find a word that encompasses all of it?

Not only is it difficult to imagine a single word that can adequately express this idea but translating this word from one culture to another adds further layers of challenge.  For example let us imagine that in the original language (in this case Sanskrit) the word really can mean everything to everyone. Imagine there is a word that means both blue and green and all the nuances in between.  Even if this word exits in one language unless there is a word that corresponds exactly in the language of translation we are still stuck in a mire of maya. 

For a long time humans have tried to make sense of the world they see around them using language, we crave understanding and somewhere our understanding of understanding has become primarily cognitive rather than experiential.  But life is experiential, we experience, we feel and if we’re honest how often do we actually understand?

For a western woman coming from the philosophical paradigm of the European enlightenment most of the philosophies I have been exposed to are written by men coming from a Judaeo-Christian culture.  To fail to acknowledge that this will have an impact on my world view and certain words will be imbued with this cultural understanding is to not acknowledge a fundamental challenge most of us will face when confronted with the word Isvara.

Furthermore the history of people who began to translate the Indian philosophies is dominated by white men, often Christian.  So when presented with a word that represents the energy of universe in a way that one might be able to relate to personally, it is only natural that they would reach for a translation that they were comfortable with: God. 

But how many of us are still comfortable with this word? How many of us come to the word God neutral? I was raised an atheist, I have had studied Christian theology and western and eastern philosophy, I’ve had more ‘religious’ experiences than I can shake a stick at and I still stumble when I say God in public conversation.

My experiences of God are not of the traditional Judaeo-Christian description, no burning bushes, no heavenly hosts.  My experiences are of a sense of deep peace, deep love, and a conviction that everything will be ok.  

When describing religious experiences the mystics of all faiths use similar language.  From Rumi, to Aquinas the themes are the same and the language is very different to the dogma that many of us are first introduced to as religion.

Patanjali is a practical philosopher whose main interest is in finding ways that we can all have ‘religious’ transcendental experiences. 

Up until this point Patanjali has discussed the need to practice but has given little guidance on what we practice to reveal these experiences.  One could suggest that in this sutra Patanjali gives us our first practice, and if we nail it it can also be our only practice!

What is the practice? To offer everything up to Isvara.  What is Isvara?  Isvara is the manifestation of the energy of the universe which you can personally relate to.  Whatever that may be for you.  The key here is that it is a manifestation of the whole and that there is a possibility for a personal connection.  This sutra is describing the devotion of bhakti yoga, the dedication of karma yoga.  The act of offering up, of surrendering doership, of recognising that we are a part of something bigger.  It is not surrender in the sense of quitting.

The word pranidhana  can be broken down into components.

pra:        completely, in front.

ni:           down

dha:       to place

dhana:  placing, holding

 

To place ourselves completely down in front of that manifestation of the universe we personally relate to.

We are making ourselves humble, we are removing our sense of self importance and beginning the long process of watching the ego dissolve. An alternate translation for pranidhanad is to transfer identity; again there is the sense of losing the self to find the Self.

 

 

 

Its not what you do it’s the way that you do it.

मृदु-मध्याधिमात्रत्वात् ततोऽपि विशेषः

mṛdu madhyādhimātratvāt tato’pi viśeṣaḥ

 

There is distinction (viśeṣaḥ) between practicitioners, some are mild (mṛdu), some middling (madya) and some above measure (adimātra).

Commentators offer varying interpretations of this sutra.

Is the sutra discussing……

  1.  those practitioners who are most ardent in their practice and even amongst these there are varying levels of intensity. This understanding is built on the sandhi between tatah + api which becomes tato’pi – tatah means from that and api as well. If the ‘that’ is in reference to the intensity mentioned in the previous sutra then this interpretation is logical.
  2. the previous three sutras. The mild practitioners are the prakṛti lyanam, the middling the faithful and diligent and the above measure the most intense.
  3. a combination of both: A recognition that within every practice and practitioner there are varying levels of commitment, that at times we will be merged in matter and need that gross practice to still the mind, at times we will embody faith and this will stop the whirling thoughts and at other times we can be entirely focused, free from distraction. And at any given time the level of intensity of intensity will vary too, we could have a mild/mild practice or a intense/mild practice. It is a recognition that to be human is to embrace change, but remain consistent.

Whichever interpretation you favour, I find this sutra reassuring, the important thing is that we practice, that we practice regularly and with as much sincerity as we can. But we are embodied and human and therefore all we can ever do is our best. Some days we will be possessed by a fervent ardour to get on the mat or take our seat and other days we may find it more challenging. Patanjlai is reminding us Samadhi is always there, self realisation is inevitable, it just might take longer if our effort is restrained.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(the story of the) Hurricane

तीव्र संवेगानाम् आसन्नः

tīvra – saṁvegānām āsannaḥ

The keen (tīvra)  having intensity (saṁvegānām) find samadhi to be near (āsannaḥ).

Patanjali is using this selection of sutras to discuss the qualities of practitioners or the qualities practitioners need to be successful. In 1:19 those who are merged in matter, find their way to a type of samadhi. Next are the faithful and diligent. Here we have the intense and ferocious in their quest for enlightenment.

It is possibly indicative of its evolution from Samkhya that Patanjali’s philosophy spends much time labelling and categorising. It is also useful for practitioners to reflect on our intension, our progress.

For example; if we take the prakriti layanam of 1:19, as Shri Bramananda Sarasvati does, to be those people who find peace in the repetition of material tasks and the yogis who practice with faith, vigor, and discernment (from 1:20), to be two different levels on the route to evolution then this sutra represents the yogi who will evolve the quickest and achieve samadhi in the shortest time through their enthusiasm.

The root vij gives rise to vega which forms the stem for saṁvegānām and such words translated as; violent agitation, the desire for emancipation, vehemence, and also hurricanes, rough seas and the heaving of the ocean. I infer from this a kind of tumultuous state which I would not normally associate with yoga. It feels more like the tapas, the extreme austerities performed when trying to bargain with the Gods for a boon.  But perhaps Patanjali is reminding us to engage actively with the process of evolution, that samadhi needs effort to be put forth in order for it to manifest. Perhaps this choice of word is a reminder that the process of practice is not for the faint hearted.

Patanjali may be describing three different types of people who are all working in their own ways towards samadhi or possibly the stages of practice are being described. Maybe we all start by finding solace in Prakṛti, then we turn our attention inwards towards faith and learning to discern the real form the unreal. This sutra reminds us not to get delayed by our navel gazing but to remain focused and intense in our passion for  puruṣa.