Things That Darken the Heart by Desikachar
An excerpt taken from T.K.S. Desikachar's book titled: THE HEART OF YOGA.
Why do we set out on this journey at all? Because we sense that we do not always do what might be best for ourselves or others. Because we notice we often do not recognize the things around us and in us clearly enough. And why does this happen? Because the veil of avidyā clouds our perceptions. We can, in any given moment, be right or wrong in our assessment of a situation, but this is something we cannot tell at the time. If our view of a situation is false, then avidyā is present and the ensuing action will be clouded by it. In this way avidyā influences both our action and the results of our action, which we will sooner or later have to confront. We have already talked about the fact that from the yogic point of view everything is real and there is no illusion. Even avidyā, the source of so many problems, has a value and is real. Everything we see and experience is accepted. This concept is called satvāda. Yoga also claims that everything is in a state of change and flux. We will not see things tomorrow in the same way that we saw them today. This concept is called parināmavāda.
If we follow yogic thinking further, we find that there is something that can perceive this constant change in things because it is itself not subject to change. This is purusa, something deep within us that is really able to see and recognize the true nature of all things, including the fact that they are in a state of constant change. But purusa is also cloaked with the same veil of avidyā that covers the mind.
I have already described how avidyā is expressed and experienced in four different ways. One way is asmitā, the ego: “I am right”; “I am sad”; “I am a yoga teacher.” These are statements of asmitā. We identify completely with something that might possibly change, and may no longer belong to us tomorrow. Another form of avidyā is rāga, the desire to have something whether we need it or not. A third form is dvesa, which manifests as refusing things and having feelings of hatred. And finally there is abhiniveśa or fear – afraid of death, we cling to life with all our might. These are the four possible ways in which avidyā is expressed.
The essential purpose of yoga practice is to reduce avidyā so that understanding can gradually come to the surface. But how can we know whether we have seen and understood things clearly? When we see the truth, when we reach a level that is higher than our normal everyday understanding, something deep within us is very quiet and peaceful. Then there is a contentment that nothing can take from us. It is not the kind of satisfaction derived from gazing at a beautiful object. It is much more than this. It is a satisfaction deep within us that is free from feeling and judgment. The center of this contentment is the purusa.
Yoga is both the movement toward and the arrival at a point. The yoga that we are practicing and in which, through practice, we can make progress is called kriyā yoga. The Yoga Sūtra defines kriyā yoga as being made up of three components: tapas, svādhyāya, and īśvaraprandihānā. Tapas does not mean penance or castigation, but is something we do in order to keep us physically and mentally healthy. It is a process of inner cleansing: we remove things that we do not need. Svādhyāya is the process of gradually finding out where we are, who we are, what we are, and so forth. Our asana practice begins with precisely these questions. We take the first step by observing the breath and body. We do this over and over again, hoping that we will with time develop a deeper understanding of ourselves and our current state. In this way, we also learn to recognize what our next steps will be. If we follow the Yoga Sūtra, this close connection with svādhyāya holds true for every kind of yoga practice. The literal meaning of īśvaraprandihānā is “to yield humbly to god.” In kriyā yoga there exists the free choice of accepting god or not. [Therefore,] the meaning is īśvaraprandihānā in the context of kriyā yoga relates much more to a special kind of attention to action: we place value on the quality of the action, not on the fruits that can develop out of it.
Our normal course of action is first to decide on a goal and then, bearing it in mind, start working toward it. But it can easily happen that our goal changes or even disappears. For instance, someone thinks it necessary to make a million dollars and spends two or three years working toward this end. Suddenly this person discovers that this goal is really of no use; the goal loses its meaning and is replaced by another quite different goal that is much more important. We should remain flexible so that we are still able to react to changes in our expectations and old ideas. The more distanced we are from the fruits of our labors, the better we area able to do this. And if we concentrate more on the quality of our steps along the way than on the goal itself, then we also avoid being disappointed if we perhaps cannot attain the exact goal that we had set for ourselves. Paying more attention to the spirit in which we act and looking less to the results of our action maybe bring us the meaning is īśvaraprandihānā in kriyā yoga.
Avidyā changes according to whether it is manifested as asmitā, rāga, dvesa, or abhiniveśa. Sometimes it will manifest itself as anxiety; other times it will appear as attachment, rejection, avarice, and so forth. The four aspects of avidyā are not always present in the same proportion. Although they are normal all there, generally one or two are dominant and the others are lurking in the background.
If we feel modest for a while it does not mean that we have overcome our self-seeking tendencies. We never know when a particular form of avidyā will appear even more clearly. It is like sowing seeds; as soon as they receive water, fertilizer, and air they begin to grow. Every seed grows best under different conditions and at different times. So it can happen that a desire (raga) drives us to do something that our pride, or ego (asmitā), has forbidden. Or our desire to be noticed (asmitā) may become so great that it overcomes our anxiety (abhiniveśa) because we have to prove what great heroes we are.
We should never sit back smugly when it seems as though we are free of avidyā. Because the four faces of avidyā do not always appear on the surface we must remain aware of the fact that their power and intensity can go on changing. Sometimes avidyā is scarcely visible in any of its forms and sometimes it overwhelms us. Because there are so many levels of avidyā we must remain watchful and alert in our actions, and maintain our efforts to lessen its influence on us. If somebody enjoys a clear mind and spirit for years on end, that certainly shows great progress. But suddenly avidyā can hit him or her again like an earthquake. That is why we emphasize that our practice of yoga, the striving for deeper understanding, must go on until avidyā is reduced to a minimum.
A few days’ yoga practice and contemplation may help for a short time, but the benefits will not last forever. We have to place one stone on another; it is a gradual process. We have to engage in these practices constantly because although we may be further on today than yesterday, tomorrow we may slip back a step. We are required to be constantly active until the seeds of avidyā are burned and cannot germinate any more. As long as the seed is there we can never know if it will sprout or not. The practice of yoga helps to prevent these seeds from germinating and growing again. Avidyā is as closely related to nonaction – even nonaction has consequences.[sic] The Yoga Sūtra claims that whether our actions have positive or negative effects is determined by the degree of influence avidyā has over them.
The Yoga sutra makes a distinction between two kinds of action: action that reduces avidyā and brings true understanding, and action that increases avidyā. We increase avidyā by feeding it and reduce avidyā by starving it; our actions encourage or discourage the growth of avidyā. Everything we do in yoga – whether it is āsana practice, prānāyāma, or meditation, whether it is attentive observation, self-searching, or the examination of a particular question – all have as their goal the reduction of avidyā.
There are many definitions of yoga and I have already mentioned some of them:
- yoga as the movement from one point to another, higher one
- yoga as the bringing together, the unifying of two things
- yoga as action with undivided, uninterrupted attention
These definitions of yoga have one thing in common: the idea that something changes. This change must bring us to point where we have never been before. That is to say, that which was impossible becomes possible; that which was unattainable becomes attainable; that which was invisible can be seen. One of the basic reasons many people take up yoga is to change something about themselves: to be able to think more clearly, to feel better, and to be able to act better today than they did yesterday in all areas of life. In these endeavors yoga can be of great help, and it requires no prerequisites that must be fulfilled before we set out on this path. Just because yoga originated in India does not mean that we must be a Hindu order to practice it. On the contrary, it is not even expected of a Hindu that he or she practice yoga. Yoga does not require a particular belief system and if we already have one, it is not challenged by yoga. Everyone can begin, and the point at which we start is very personal and individual, depending on where we are at the time.
Why do we set out on this journey at all? Because we sense that we do not always do what might be best for ourselves or others. Because we notice we often do not recognize the things around us and in us clearly enough. And why does this happen? Because the veil of avidyā clouds our perceptions. We can, in any given moment, be right or wrong in our assessment of a situation, but this is something we cannot tell at the time. If our view of a situation is false, then avidyā is present and the ensuing action will be clouded by it. In this way avidyā influences both our action and the results of our action, which we will sooner or later have to confront. We have already talked about the fact that from the yogic point of view everything is real and there is no illusion. Even avidyā, the source of so many problems, has a value and is real. Everything we see and experience is accepted. This concept is called satvāda. Yoga also claims that everything is in a state of change and flux. We will not see things tomorrow in the same way that we saw them today. This concept is called parināmavāda.
If we follow yogic thinking further, we find that there is something that can perceive this constant change in things because it is itself not subject to change. This is purusa, something deep within us that is really able to see and recognize the true nature of all things, including the fact that they are in a state of constant change. But purusa is also cloaked with the same veil of avidyā that covers the mind.
I have already described how avidyā is expressed and experienced in four different ways. One way is asmitā, the ego: “I am right”; “I am sad”; “I am a yoga teacher.” These are statements of asmitā. We identify completely with something that might possibly change, and may no longer belong to us tomorrow. Another form of avidyā is rāga, the desire to have something whether we need it or not. A third form is dvesa, which manifests as refusing things and having feelings of hatred. And finally there is abhiniveśa or fear – afraid of death, we cling to life with all our might. These are the four possible ways in which avidyā is expressed.
The essential purpose of yoga practice is to reduce avidyā so that understanding can gradually come to the surface. But how can we know whether we have seen and understood things clearly? When we see the truth, when we reach a level that is higher than our normal everyday understanding, something deep within us is very quiet and peaceful. Then there is a contentment that nothing can take from us. It is not the kind of satisfaction derived from gazing at a beautiful object. It is much more than this. It is a satisfaction deep within us that is free from feeling and judgment. The center of this contentment is the purusa.
Yoga is both the movement toward and the arrival at a point. The yoga that we are practicing and in which, through practice, we can make progress is called kriyā yoga. The Yoga Sūtra defines kriyā yoga as being made up of three components: tapas, svādhyāya, and īśvaraprandihānā. Tapas does not mean penance or castigation, but is something we do in order to keep us physically and mentally healthy. It is a process of inner cleansing: we remove things that we do not need. Svādhyāya is the process of gradually finding out where we are, who we are, what we are, and so forth. Our asana practice begins with precisely these questions. We take the first step by observing the breath and body. We do this over and over again, hoping that we will with time develop a deeper understanding of ourselves and our current state. In this way, we also learn to recognize what our next steps will be. If we follow the Yoga Sūtra, this close connection with svādhyāya holds true for every kind of yoga practice. The literal meaning of īśvaraprandihānā is “to yield humbly to god.” In kriyā yoga there exists the free choice of accepting god or not. [Therefore,] the meaning is īśvaraprandihānā in the context of kriyā yoga relates much more to a special kind of attention to action: we place value on the quality of the action, not on the fruits that can develop out of it.
Our normal course of action is first to decide on a goal and then, bearing it in mind, start working toward it. But it can easily happen that our goal changes or even disappears. For instance, someone thinks it necessary to make a million dollars and spends two or three years working toward this end. Suddenly this person discovers that this goal is really of no use; the goal loses its meaning and is replaced by another quite different goal that is much more important. We should remain flexible so that we are still able to react to changes in our expectations and old ideas. The more distanced we are from the fruits of our labors, the better we area able to do this. And if we concentrate more on the quality of our steps along the way than on the goal itself, then we also avoid being disappointed if we perhaps cannot attain the exact goal that we had set for ourselves. Paying more attention to the spirit in which we act and looking less to the results of our action maybe bring us the meaning is īśvaraprandihānā in kriyā yoga.
Avidyā changes according to whether it is manifested as asmitā, rāga, dvesa, or abhiniveśa. Sometimes it will manifest itself as anxiety; other times it will appear as attachment, rejection, avarice, and so forth. The four aspects of avidyā are not always present in the same proportion. Although they are normal all there, generally one or two are dominant and the others are lurking in the background.
If we feel modest for a while it does not mean that we have overcome our self-seeking tendencies. We never know when a particular form of avidyā will appear even more clearly. It is like sowing seeds; as soon as they receive water, fertilizer, and air they begin to grow. Every seed grows best under different conditions and at different times. So it can happen that a desire (raga) drives us to do something that our pride, or ego (asmitā), has forbidden. Or our desire to be noticed (asmitā) may become so great that it overcomes our anxiety (abhiniveśa) because we have to prove what great heroes we are.
We should never sit back smugly when it seems as though we are free of avidyā. Because the four faces of avidyā do not always appear on the surface we must remain aware of the fact that their power and intensity can go on changing. Sometimes avidyā is scarcely visible in any of its forms and sometimes it overwhelms us. Because there are so many levels of avidyā we must remain watchful and alert in our actions, and maintain our efforts to lessen its influence on us. If somebody enjoys a clear mind and spirit for years on end, that certainly shows great progress. But suddenly avidyā can hit him or her again like an earthquake. That is why we emphasize that our practice of yoga, the striving for deeper understanding, must go on until avidyā is reduced to a minimum.
A few days’ yoga practice and contemplation may help for a short time, but the benefits will not last forever. We have to place one stone on another; it is a gradual process. We have to engage in these practices constantly because although we may be further on today than yesterday, tomorrow we may slip back a step. We are required to be constantly active until the seeds of avidyā are burned and cannot germinate any more. As long as the seed is there we can never know if it will sprout or not. The practice of yoga helps to prevent these seeds from germinating and growing again. Avidyā is as closely related to nonaction – even nonaction has consequences.[sic] The Yoga Sūtra claims that whether our actions have positive or negative effects is determined by the degree of influence avidyā has over them.
The Yoga sutra makes a distinction between two kinds of action: action that reduces avidyā and brings true understanding, and action that increases avidyā. We increase avidyā by feeding it and reduce avidyā by starving it; our actions encourage or discourage the growth of avidyā. Everything we do in yoga – whether it is āsana practice, prānāyāma, or meditation, whether it is attentive observation, self-searching, or the examination of a particular question – all have as their goal the reduction of avidyā.
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