Maui Sugar © David Ulrich 2010-2013

“Clad in black robes
I should have no attractions to
The shapes and scents of this world:
But how can I keep my vows
Gazing at today’s crimson maple leaves?”
-Otagaki Rengetsu

Several years ago, I spent time in Southern Thailand conducting research at a Buddhist monastery that specializes in drug rehabilitation. My intention was to look at how a contemplative practice and philosophy could positively impact substance abuse rehabilitation. Western psychotherapy has long proclaimed addiction to fall under the heading of mental disease or disorder, whereas Eastern religions and philosophies consider attachment and desire (and therefore addiction) to be a hallmark of all human life— the scope of attachment depends on the individual. With this in mind, it was difficult for me to not ask certain questions of myself as compared to the addicted population I was studying: How are we similar, and aren’t we all in some way addicted to something? One who is considered an addict by contemporary standards does indeed need to engage in active and intense renunciation of whatever substance he or she is addicted to. Addictions of this magnitude endanger the user and those whom the user is in close relationship with. While we, the average person, may not be a danger to ourselves or others per se, we have indulgences that are of similar origin as those dealing with substance abuse— the addiction to thoughts, feelings and physical sensations. Often we are addicted to all three.

Yoga approaches the issue of attachment from a similar vantage point, and traditional yoga holds the practice of tapah, or renunciation as one of its foundations. While renunciation may seem antiquated, or even extreme in our postmodern world, in actuality practicing non-attachment has become exceedingly more important for us in the midst of technology, e-commerce, and commodified and modified lifestyles.

Patanjali identifies three types of practitioners based on their level of ardor: mild, medium, and intense. The level of ardor determines the expediency of one’s spiritual practice. This brings the topic of tapah to the fore. Tapah, the second of the niyamas in the Yoga Sutra, stands out like a beacon amongst the others because it works as a corequisite of the other observances: cleanliness, contentment, devotion to God, and study of sacred texts. Translated as “to burn” or “to cook,” tapah governs the level of intensity that fuels the fire behind a practice that incorporates sacrifice and renunciation. Agni, the god of fire, opens the Vedas and has been said to symbolize the power that animates our existence. This fire manifests itself as rajas, energy in life. Sri Anirvan likens rajas to the smoke created with the lighting of a match. Yet, as aspirants, we want little to do with the smoke and long to feel the warmth and light emulated from the burning. This process— from darkness, to smoke, to illumination— comprises the continuum upon which our spiritual and material lives take form. Will the rubbing of two sticks smoke and eventually catch fire? Or will that fire create ash and return back to the darkness of forms?

For us to understand the movement of energies from their densest to their most subtle forms, we consider the material with which we practice (our inner state) and the conditions of practice (our outer circumstances). The basic question at this stage is: What am I working with? This is especially so as we progress from a mild to intermediate practice involving longer hours of study and more introspection. Just like wet sticks need to dry before catching smoke, our inner being needs to be prepared for more intensive work. We work steadily, moderately and intelligently to prepare the landscape of self to endure the fires of purification.

Building a fire in a rainstorm yields poor results, and attempting to engage in serious work without support does as well. This renders the need for a sangha, or spiritual support system. This is especially important in the modern world, where relationships quickly decline into the superficial via technology and mass media. If we are not supported by our families, friends, and loved ones on our quest, it is imperative to find such support in an alternate, appropriate group setting.

In past satangs, we experimented with renunciation, however it is important to understand from whence this drive for renunciation derives and toward what does it move. We must keep in line with our original intention of self-perfection while keeping a close check on our impulses to ensure that our egos do not appropriate spiritual renunciation, using that practice to fuel its own survival. If this happens, renunciations and inner work devolve into a practice comprised mostly of self-improvement, becoming just another form of self-indulgence.

This raises the fundamental question of “who am I?” and “which self is running the show?” Spiritual practice must be seen as an ongoing practice, not an action that takes one from point A to point B. This attempts to formulate inner work into a code, making the immaterial, material, and the formless, manifest. While this is a natural tendency of the human mind, this debases spiritual practice to a much lower level. Functioning from a lower level, one might choose renunciations based solely on their extrinsic value. For instance, a practice of fasting is meant to illustrate where we are stuck and to familiarize ourselves with the many forms of nourishment available to us. Any form of renunciation can open to us to our own basic drive for creation and perfection. What is done with that energy determines the outcome— an awakening to experience and fullness of inner being or the continuation of the neurosis that perpetuates our dependence on outward forms of stimulation like food, sex, technology, power, etcetera. Therefore, a misidentification with the lower level self would engage with a practice of fasting for the sake of self-improvement, self-aggrandizement, and personal power. Identification with the higher self becomes self-sacrificial in nature. We learn to let go of ourselves, our attachments, and our manifestations. As this practice becomes stronger and the stronghold of the ego is weakened, we become disengaged with the multitude of selves that unconsciously dominates our daily existence. Whatever is real in us has an opportunity to experience itself and express itself in the world, forging connections both inwardly and outwardly to cultivate faith, hope, love, and compassion.

I’ve often asked, what is it that we are all looking for? Why are we all so addicted to one thing or another? And if we had what we really longed for, would the world be in such as state as it is in today? In essence, the main question is: What drives addiction and attachment? Krishnamurti has surmised that the problem is primarily one of relationship. We are in a paradoxical relationship with ourselves and with the world that poses an irreconcilable problem— we long for deeper connections and greater intimacy within our own being and with each other, yet we approach this longing and desire with a strong sense of self righteousness. We want to feel good through our deeper connections, but, without any serious work, we lack the ability to self-reflect and make inward connections. Our relationships, then, are completely extrinsic in nature. We relate with the world by taking what we perceive to be ours in order to fill a perceptual void. This is not a merging with the infinite as we have intended, but an depletion of energy and resources, which drives the ongoing need to refill our ever emptying coffers.

Renunciations are a form of conscious suffering, and when we are able to engage in a renunciation from a place of authenticity we see and suffer our own lower nature, our own darkness, and our own manifestations. This is the beginning of compassion. By seeing and suffering myself, I can recognize a similar struggle in another. Over time I see how connected we are through our common humanity, and over time it becomes difficult if not impossible to subject others to harsh and unfair judgements and criticisms, because I see that indeed we are one.

Focusing on non-attachment, however, always keeps us in the realm of attachment, thinking about our desires and the things we want. After too many nights laying awake thinking about my attachments, the one thing that helps me sleep is imagining what life might be like after the attachment— what life might feel like when I am able to comprehend the notion of real freedom. There are moments in life, cultivated through practice and through sitting, when something is unbound, where I no longer need to grasp endlessly and aimlessly, when I become receptive to something that can never be owned, kept or taken. My fantasy, both for myself and for the world, is that perhaps when we are able to let go of everything that can be let go of, all of life is illuminated, and that every moment can be one of freedom.

Please join me this Sunday, May 12 at 5:00 PM for our monthly satsang held at Purple Yoga. This month’s topics will revolve around the ideas of desire, energy, attachment and freedom. Please bring your questions, ideas and responses for this open forum on inner life. Attendance is by donation.

“Out beyond ideas of right doing and wrong doing there is a field. I’ll meet you there.”

~Rumi

My interest in yoga began more than 15 years ago, when yoga was beginning to get quite popular. Bikram Chodhury had already hit the scene, but had yet to gain international acclaim. Yoga Journal had a wide readership, but ads for Chopard diamonds and Sutter Home wines had yet to grace its pages. Culturally, it seemed like the sweet spot of American yoga. The age-old discipline was popular enough to garner support from healthcare professionals and celebrities alike, but still obscure enough for it to occupy a sacred, personal space in one’s life and spiritual landscape.

Today, there’s much more going on. Riding on the coattails of yoga’s freakish popularity are disciplines like zazen, vipassana, and mindfulness. The other day in a yoga publication, I noticed an advertisement for meditation supplies. The tagline read, “Don’t just do something, sit there!” Tongue in cheek, yes, but good marketing nonetheless. Truckloads of yoga DVDs, books, clothing and accessories are sold everyday. Spirituality is big business and a multimillion-dollar industry. In a recent news spot covering controversies with the hot yoga “guru” himself, Bikram Chodhury takes us on a tour of his Rolls Royce collection in his home in Beverly Hills. It’s apparent that Bikram has no qualms about life in the material world. Yet, before quickly condemning his rampant self-indulgence, we would do well to realize that to a certain extent his excesses and contradictions mirror some of our own.

Engaging in a spiritual practice places the practitioner midway between spirit and matter, the sacred and profane, and the Seer  and the seen world. The sutras explain that one’s inability to rectify this paradox is the fundamental cause of unintentional suffering. At the onset of an authentic spiritual discipline, the practitioner soon notices the inherent dualism within himself and the world within which he resides.

It is common to admonish all that is worldly as inherently negative and proselytize the divine as ultimately positive, however the dichotomization of our human experience into opposing categories deepens the rift between wisdom and ignorance, therefore inhibiting the process of self awareness and self realization. Before attempting to quickly and hastily identify with one opposing end of a dualistic universe, the philosophy provides an exposition of worldly experience, suggesting that our first step toward a holistic understanding of self requires an immediate and ongoing observation of prakriti, the seen world, which includes the witnessing of our thoughts, feelings, and sensations as they exist independently and in reaction to our environment.

One of the five niyamas, or observances in the sutras is svadhyaya, self study and study of the sacred scriptures. Saint Sri Anirvan claims that svadhyaya, along with tapah, austerity, and Isvara pranidhana, surrender to God, are the three most powerful observances in that they have to potential to take even a profoundly flawed sadhaka, practitioner, toward inner freedom. These observances require a progressive, multilayered look at Purusha, consciousness, and prakrii, the seen world to come to a greater understanding of how to relate to these two concepts as they are experienced in daily life and in our inner work.

First, what are purusha and prakriti? When we speak of purusha as being akin to consciousness, how does that differ from the awareness we use on a daily basis? What are the essential elements of prakriti and how does understanding our own primordial being bring us to a deeper awareness of the interrelatedness of all things? Second, can purusha and prakriti be understood as complimentary entities? If they are indeed in relationship to one another, then what is the connectivity between them? How do they interact? And finally, what role do we occupy between these two opposing forces? It has been noted by some that man is essentially prakriti.  Does our experience support this statement? Or are there moments when we feel related and infused with a consciousness that is not purely human? Is it possible that humanity is not one or the other, but both? If we are both, how do we honor each of these parts of our nature, making sure that one part does not impose itself and subjugate the other, so that we may come to a holistic understanding of what it means to be in balance with nature, with ourselves, and with the transcendent.

This month in satsang, we take a short break from our exploration of the sutras and discuss one of the key concepts in yoga: Purusha and prakriti. These two are often translated as the Seer and the seen. Other ways to understand these ideas are found in the dichotomy between the sacred and the profane and between the spiritual and material. This paradox exists in many traditions outside of yoga. It is often said that man in his realized form encompasses both these qualities— sayings such as Tat tvam asi, or “I am That,” make this point. How do we rectify these opposing forces, especially from the standpoint of non-dualism? If positive or negative biases are drawn between these two entities, we see contradiction and conflict wherever we go— between money and spirituality, sex and love, masculine and feminine, body and mind, and thoughts and feelings. Yet, if we are able to understand the spiritual and the mundane holistically we are brought forth to the possible realization of the oneness of all things.

Please join me this Sunday at 5:00 PM at Purple Yoga for our monthly satsang. Feel free to bring any questions you may have to this open forum about yoga on and off the mat. Attendance is by donation.

“If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.” 

—William Blake

Growing up in Hawai‘i is an experience that can’t be compared to growing up in many other places. The weather is mild and balmy nearly all the time, the air is clean, people smile often, and for the majority of my childhood, it was a safe place to live. Local people grow up wearing slippers 365 days of the year, surfing, paddling, hiking, and living a hang loose lifestyle. Yet, interspersed in all of this is tourism. Tourism brings thousands of Japanese, American, and European visitors (and their much needed money) to Hawaiian shores every year. Walking through Waikiki, a manufactured paradise for haole

Vintage Hawaiian Poster

(foreigners), is an interesting blend of truth and falsehood with its coiffed hapa haole (part Hawaiian) hula dancers performing hula auana  (Westernized hula) next to manicured palm trees on artificial beaches. Advertising abbreviates the essence of “paradise” into neat logos and kitschy captions that debase fundamental Hawaiian sentiments like aloha.

These experiences have colored my life, and as a result I see the lines between truth and falsehood blurred most everywhere — in shopping malls, schools, yoga studios, and even within my own being. What does truth mean both outwardly and inwardly? And is it possible to speak and live the truth outwardly without understanding it inwardly?

The concept of truth is applicable from the lowest level to the highest and can be related to basic truth telling and non-lying to the highest truth of clear and accurate perception of both outer and inner worlds. At its highest manifestation, living truthfully is considered to be living without illusion and seeing what is real, especially concerning self-perception. Modern life, however, is geared away from authentic living. Most people live life according to an errant perception of who they are — as such, they dress the part, speak the part, and act the part of something entirely other thwhat is essential in their being.

In the Rg Veda the words satya (truth) and rita (insight) are sometimes used synonymously to indicate higher levels of truth. Rita is defined as the state of consciousness where we see things the way they are; not the way we wish or imagine them to be. Any level beneath this is one of the various levels of avidya (ignorance).

If we investigate the real meaning of insight as it has been discussed by Patanjali, we can review past sutras on samapatti or clear perception. Vyasa describes samapatti as a clear and luminous jewel that reflects things as they are. Commentators of yogic texts use colors, values, and light to describe consciousness. In the case of samapatti, the jewel of consciousness is clear — it has no color value. If a light is shown through such a crystal, it reflects the entire prism of color. Often this explanation is used to talk about the relationship between Purusha (The Seer) and prakriti (the seen world). Purusha is the light, consciousness is the jewel, and what is reflected is prakriti.

How can we cleanse the doors of perception? How do we know the truth within? Sights, sounds, tastes — all of these things inundate our senses and leave impressions — fingerprints upon our consciousness. The mind is malleable like clay, taking the shape and form of the whatever it absorbs: violence, love, desire, hunger, anger, fear, or peace.

What is true, especially in terms of one’s own identity, becomes ambiguous in a place like Hawai‘i. Often, the truth is tinted with a little something extra that one cannot quite put their finger on. Our oceans are blue, but not quite the same electric blue you see in convenience store calendars. Imaginably, a daily does of the juxtaposition between the ancient myths of Hawai‘i, remembered through song and dance, and the modern myths of Hawai‘i, as depicted in hotel lobbies, leaves one with a question about what speaks to higher truth and what is fundamentally insincere. It seems there is a collective hope that paradise still exists beneath the hotels and condominiums that litter our shores.

Kaho`olawe © David Ulrich

On a much higher level the same can be said for the inner search. We hope for and believe in the true paradise within. But, in order to see our true nature, we begin by witnessing falsehood and seeing imaginary selves through awareness. With repeated effort, we are given glimpses of what is true within us. What can be understood as paradise emerges as the ego assumes its proper place in relationship to consciousness — as servant, rather than master. 

 To explore these questions and more, join me this Sunday for our satsang on satya at Purple Yoga at 5:00 PM. Attendance is by donation.

Black Marble Earth, Courtesy NASA

This breathtaking image of the Earth is a compilation of photographs taken by NASA satellites over several cloudless nights. Looking upon what NASA calls the “Black Marble Earth” one is awestruck by the immense beauty of the planet. We instantly see our collective wholeness and interrelatedness. In moments of such great immensity and beauty we find ourselves with a paradoxical response. In Black Marble Earth, we are awed by its beauty, but terrified by our affect upon the fragile planet, evident by the massive amount of electricity and light that consumes our natural resources. Where are we headed as a species and as a planet? This visual paradox shows both life and death.

Black Marble Earth, Courtesy NASA

From afar, we realize how poignant our human condition is as we attempt to hold a delicate balance between our individuality and the needs of the whole of our planetary existence. We fight wars with each other and wreak havoc on the planet in an attempt to preserve what we call peace and stability, but peace is far from our reach. Often we sacrifice the needs of many for the privileges of a few. Looking at the Earth from the vantage point of the witness we see and feel the immediacy of our situation. Caught between alternate extremes of our own human dichotomy, we wonder: Where is the missing peace?

Mohandas K. Gandhi said that nonviolence “is not a coat you can wear today and take off tomorrow,” suggesting that ahimsa, or non-harming, isn’t a guise or a mask to be worn when in certain company—it is an integral part of our yogic discipline that should be practiced inwardly towards ourselves and outwardly in the world. Similarly, ahimsa isn’t something to be practiced with selfish intent or out of convenience. First of the five yama, or ethical restraints, in the Yoga Sutra, ahmisa is the foundation for the other disciplines of truthfulness, non-stealing, non-covetousness, and abstinence. Ahimsa is said to be the soil from which the eight-limbed path of yoga grows from.

Interestingly, Patanjali opted to use the negation of a word — it’s a-himsa, non-violence, not shanti, not “peace.” Why did he choose the negation rather than the absolute? My sense is that embedded in the choice of syntax is the reality of our current state of being — we are violent at times, yet we strive for peace. We are desirous, and in seeing that we aim for equanimity. Likewise, an authentic contemplative practice brings us to grips with the reality of our being — we are a violent, desirous, and fractured species that has been gifted with the potential for real intelligence, compassion, and objective love.

“IT IS IN YOUR SELF-INTEREST TO FIND A WAY TO BE VERY TENDER,” 1983-85, Selection from the Survival Series by Jenny Holzer

It is important to keep in mind at every turn that we are microcosms of the larger universe. Everything we observe in the world, everything we react to, and everything we see externally also exists within us—our culture is nothing more than a reflection of our collective state of being. And everything we observe in ourselves, our contradictions as well as our potential unity, is manifested in the world itself. If we wish to affect a change in the world, to make sense out of the fractured conditions of our collective existence, we must begin with ourselves. If we wish to awaken from the dream that we are, we must refine and transform our experience, and strive toward a state of inner unity and wholeness of being.

If our age is to be healed, we must heal ourselves. It is not enough to simply work through our residual problems, what our mothers or fathers may or may not have done to us when we were young. We must come to know ourselves fully: our strengths, weaknesses, potentials, and our life’s purpose. And we must know ourselves in context, with others, in a culture, and on earth with six billion other beings. In short, the search for consciousness forms the foundation of our discovery of the role we are called to play in the drama of life and guides our enactment of it.

We have within us an inner measure of integrity. When we step off the bridge of alignment with our true Selves and enter into a situation not becoming, in the words of the I Ching, of a “superior” man or woman, we feel remorse of conscience. And this sorrow, this care for ourselves, can eventually create an inner fusion, a solidifying that leads toward a wholeness of being containing hints of the joy and liberation of consciousness. When we see and feel that we are not whole and indivisible, we are on the path of becoming. Like a clay pot, we are fired in the kiln of suffering our inconsistencies and our many conflicting selves into a new level of integration.

Please join me this coming Sunday at 5:00 PM for our monthly satsang at Purple Yoga. This month, we open our discussion on the eight limbs of yoga, beginning with the topic of ahimsa. Attendance is by donation.

Adapted in part from The Slender Thread

            A famous Zen parable tells the story of a visiting professor who comes to the home of a tea master for the tea ceremony. With great attention and care, the master prepares the tea —with a seriousness of intent, reverence of attitude, and a joyful, lightness of action. When the time finally comes to receive the tea, the professor holds out his cup in anxious anticipation; the tea master pours the tea, and continues pouring until it is flowing out of the cup, on to the professor’s lap and down to the floor. The professor protests, and is stopped in mid-sentence by the master, who says calmly: “Like this cup, you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can you possibly learn Zen, without first emptying your cup?”

Just as implied in this parable, the search for truth begins with a lack, with a wish for something more, a larger dimension of existence than ordinary life alone can offer. The first path towards knowledge is the recognition of our own state of ignorance. Seeing and accepting our lack brings about a subtle change in our inner landscape. We are no longer completely identified with our lack—we being to find a perspective, a place from which to see, to observe. Learning to see means at first bearing witness to what we are and where we are right now at this very moment. We need to strive to see our facts soberly and honestly. We must see our condition again and again—suffering our own ignorance.

At the onset of a yoga practice, one suffers tension, the lack of resonant breath, and the lack of coordination between the mind and body. The mind, unable to stay attuned to the body as it is in the present moment, renders us victims to our changing states. In the yoga sutras, the primary misapprehension and cause for suffering is our identification with the content of our thoughts and the seen world.

The heart of the yoga sutras deals with understanding the ever-elusive nature of the mind. The topic of the mind, in particular, is important because it is so very lacking in modern yoga. Yogah cittas vrtti nirodhah (YS 1.2), “Yoga is the cessation of the modifications of the mind,”has become a slogan for the yoga community, which I find unusual since most yoga offered in the contemporary west has very little, if anything, to do with the mind. On the flip side, the late Sri K. Pattabhi Jois is often quoted, saying that yoga is “1% theory and 99% practice.” This is great news for our body-obsessed culture. We can just do lots of asana in the good faith that the modifications of the mind will take care of themselves.

At the very least this is an imbalanced approach to practice. I pose the question—What constitutes “practice?” Does practice only refer to the body, or is it possible to stretch and strengthen the mind as well? How is the mind to be used in relationship to the body? Is not every breath, every moment an opportunity to practice yoga? Can I practice while sitting in a meeting, in conflict with my lover, or while cleaning the toilet? And is it better to practice two hours a day doing asana, or all day while in the midst of the hustle and bustle of daily life?

            The kind of knowledge that is based on words alone and having no intelligible meaning is shabdha-jnana in Sanskrit. Indeed, any yoga or philosophy that exists solely for the sake of the intellect is empty knowledge. Similarly, our culture is one that has debased sacred words and symbols for their easy consumption in the marketplace. Sacred words, symbols and images are used, often thoughtlessly and without understanding of their inner dimension, to represent lower level ideals. Because of this, a serious student of yoga or any discipline must not simply digest what is served, but take upon themselves the task of higher understanding in order to know things as they Really are and as they become manifest in their own consciousness.

Take, for example, the sutra above—Yogah cittas vritti nirodhah. If I take a serious approach to the contemplation and meaning of “yoga is the cessation of the modifications of the mind,” I must first observe my mind. After an in depth examination, what I find is that my mind is ripe with vritti, vacillating to and fro without a moment’s rest. If, however, I approach the same statement with my own preconceived ideas about stillness, all I have done is add more substance and form to my own ideations and preexisting citta vritti. I mistake the concept of peace for the experience of peace. In doing so, I have turned the light of consciousness away from the aspects of myself that are prone to violence, while I turn my focus towards an ahimsa (non-violence) that is purely conceptual. The key here is that by turning away from the unpleasantness within, there is still darkness.

The Atman is often referred to as that which illuminates the mind. Similarly, the Yoga Sutra says that avidya, lack of knowledge or the inability to see what is Real, is what gives rise to the misery that comes from the pitching and tossing of the mind. Avidya is like groping around in a dark room looking for something. We may think we know where to look, but until the light of awareness is lit, we are only using our memory to guide us through the darkness.

When the light of awareness shines, we may see that the room that houses our consciousness is filled with things not needed and strewn about haphazardly, obstructing our vision and freedom of movement. Therefore the first step on our search does not involve finding what we are looking for, but merely seeing what is already there. The simple act of seeing what is present begins the intricate process of psychological transformation. The second step, contrary to contemporary intellectual and materialistic modes of being, is to go through a long process of vairagya, letting go of what is not needed and what does not engender clear perception.

Unlike most other forms of mental practice, yoga asserts that the path to knowledge means clearing a space for spirit and consciousness to take residence and removing the obstacles to illumination. The same sunrise can be seen by a savage or an artist. The image is the same, but the individual consciousness of the viewer results in a vastly different perception of what is seen. Likewise, a person mired in rajas, the desire for power, or in tamas, the preoccupation with preservation the status quo will read a text like The Bible or The Bhagavad-Gita and extract from it nothing, or the means by which to control others. The same text will take on a different color to the jivatman, one who is realized.

The act of seeing itself can bring one incrementally to a new perspective—one that is more free and less identified with what is seen. The Yoga Sutra speaks of the latter stages of this practice of inner attention and offer hope in acknowledging that the seer resides in his own splendor (YS 1.3). With this inner vision, we hope to bring a light into the dark, making conscious what was once unconscious in an effort towards wholeness, integration, and the clarity and luminosity of real wisdom.

Please join me this coming Sunday, January 6, 5:00 PM at Purple Yoga for our monthly satsang on wisdom. We will be exploring the nature of the ignorance, wisdom, and of the mind in sutras 2.17-2.27. Attendance is by donation.

[Adapted in part  from The Alchemical Fire: Yoga & Art, from the Spring 2012 edition of Parabola Magazine, The Burning World.]

Humans collectively fear this level of cathartic transformation. We long for permanence. Our societies and governments are primarily concerned with the preservation of our current standards of living, even if that standard jeopardizes the world we live in. I see this reflected in my own life. I hold on to a known chaos out of fear of the unknown, even if the unknown holds the possibility of peace.

The desire for continuance and the preservation of the status quo

Coming to terms with our literal and figurative death completes the cycle of the klesha, or afflictions in the yoga sutras. Abhinivesha, the last of the five klesha is described as “the automatic tendency for continuity” or “desire for the preservation of the status quo.” The most challenging of all the kleshas, abhinivesha underlies our corporeal existence. Patanjali says that this “overcomes even the wise.” (R. Ravindra)

In attempting to release my own tendencies for continuance and perpetuation of the status quo, I ask myself, what is the status quo? If we rewind to our discussion of the first of the five kleshas, we remember avidya, ignorance of our true nature. Giving rise to the other afflictions, ignorance supports or primordial attachment to the way things are. I have seen that my ignorance prevents me from seeing things as they really are and stands in the way of my own self-understanding.I usually find myself caught in an outward current, which drives me to seek the approval of others. The outer world offers me many mirrors – the media, popular culture, political and religious groups, and my friends and acquaintances. In doing this, I allow the outer world to define who I am. My life, then, lacks any intrinsic value. Life becomes about fitting in while simultaneously trying to be superior. This way of living leaves me with no inner awareness or inner direction. If I go with the outer flow, I go where I am told, do what is expected, and am a slave to what people of think of me and of my own lower nature.

Somewhere in this performance it becomes imperative to question the status quo, what it supports, and what it’s real purpose is. A shallow examination of what’s popular affirms that paths well trodden are the best and that what is popular is good. We all remember high school –how many of us would say that the popular kids were the smartest kids, or the kindest kids, or the ones most prone to altruism? I remember the popular kids as those who were the best looking, the best at fitting in, wearing the right clothes, in the best clubs, and invited to the coolest parties. Sadly, not much changes as we get older. The adult world still values being first in line, and keeping up with the Jones’s.

“the child wants to have, while the adult wants to be.”  

-Jeanne de Salzmann

Perhaps the social order (or disorder) is merely a reflection of my own lack of inner resonance. It’s easy to get confused between holding on and actually being. Jeanne de Salzmann writes, “The child wants to have, while the adult wants to be.”  Out of a fear of not-being I want to hold on. I hold on to things, people, and most prominently my ideas about who I think I am. But in seeing that what I hold on to is exactly what causes me the most suffering, why do I hold on? How and when do I learn to let go, or give up?

What’s true isn’t always popular and usually isn’t found in the outer world. 

“Each man had only one genuine vocation – to find the way to himself…. His task was to discover his own destiny – not an arbitrary one – and to live it out wholly and resolutely within himself. Everything else was only a would-be existence, an attempt at evasion, a flight back to the ideals of the masses, conformity and fear of one’s own inwardness.” -Herman Hesse, from The Magister Ludi

One more reason to close the computer and turn off the television. As time passes, I notice that inner silence has nothing to do with clothing or looks or fitting in. Often my inner awareness has arisen in conflicting circumstances. Jesus represented a truth that existed in opposition to what was popular. Whether or not Jesus was human or divine cannot be determined, but we can say with assurance that he was one heck of a revolutionary. Even so, Jesus had 12 apostles (sans Judas Iscariot), not 100,000. His message of peace and love took a while to spread and, for better or worse, was adapted to fit the needs of subsequent generations and millennia.

Giving up anything is hard, which is exactly why I must do it. Great positive change is born on the backs of those who have had the courage to stand apart from the status quo: Abraham Lincoln, Gandhi, and Martin Luther king Jr. In all of these examples what is common is that the changes that these men underwent occurred in conjunction with great sacrifice and profound suffering. In all of the above cases, they were killed or assassinated. This isn’t to say that we need to face such clear and present danger in the active pursuit of being. But it seems that all transformation involves a death of some kind, and, as with any death, it will not be something willingly endured without proper practice and preparation.

I have seen that life will enact suffering upon me. I cannot escape this. I can suffer actively or passively. I can choose to go with the outward flow, which values popular opinion and a “me first” attitude. Or I can go against the grain in an effort to follow the current that flows inward. This is the tension needed for my work to progess. I don’t struggle against something or someone when I flow with my inner current; rather, I strive for something.

Dying daily 

 “Can I die while I am living? Can I die to all my collections—material, psychological, religious?” –Krishnamurti

 If I go inward enough – beyond my manifestations, beneath my need to be right, first, perfect, and desired—I may one day get a taste of who I really am. When I can begin to see a truer quality of my own being, I can then understand my real place in the world. I can start to understand the meaning and purpose of my existence. Why am I here? What is my dharma? In this way I hope to conquer death, but not by way of my petty self-interested concerns. In fact, such pettiness will hasten the death of my real self. I must work arduously to build a bridge between my inner and outer worlds in order to make a mark upon the world that will in some small way contribute to the prevalence of a more compassionate world for the generations that follow. It is in this way I hope to know eternal life.

Please join me this Sunday, December 2, at Purple Yoga at 5:00 PM for our year-end satsang, which will explore endings and new beginnings as we discuss death and impermanence as a way to prepare the ground for real inner work to begin. Attendance is by donation.

“We obviously cannot confront this tangled world alone…. It takes 
no great insight to realize that we have no choice but to think together, 
ponder together, in groups and communities. The question is how to do this. 
How to come together and think and hear each other in order to touch, 
or be touched by the intelligence we need.”  -Jacob Needleman

©Kanani Daley, 2009

Several years ago, for many consecutive years, I taught yoga to an unusual and special group of people. There was a synergy present in the group that was palpable to us, and noticeable to those who would drop in every now and again. Those who were a part of that group often reminisce, noting the stillness that the communion of the group imparted on their individual practices. Others say that never before and never since had they felt so safe to explore their inner landscape. It was a wide a varied group—doctors, attorneys, housewives, hippies, scientists, students, and retirees. The students were as diverse as they could’ve been – generationally, ethnically, and occupationally—but each person was bound together by their common aims toward inner freedom. As a teacher it’s tempting to take credit for the creation of such a space, but in reality each person present contributed their essential energy to the collective and each person, regardless of who they were in the outer world, struck a balance against another person’s extreme.

When I contemplate satsang and what the impact of coming together might mean for ourselves and for the world, I think of groups such as this. What does it mean to engage in satsang? Regularly we gather together in our yoga and contemplative communities with the aim of exploring our supreme truth. The word sat derives from satya, or truth, and sang comes from sangha, meaning community or gathering. Understanding this, it is noted that not every coming together constitutes satsang. Likewise, simply hanging out with like-minded people isn’t satsang either. Yoga, Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, and most all traditions teach that the highest truth is beyond the truth of the individual, gender, ethnicity, politics and religion. Yet, it is hoped that the truths dictated from the mouths of our ethnic, political, and religious leaders are a reflection of the one objective truth that illuminates all without discrimination.  This month we explore:

(1) What is satsang?

(2) Why engage in satsang? What is its value to us, the community, and perhaps even the world?

The postmodern West has long touted the importance of the individual—and rightly so, since the United States was founded on the tenets of free trade and freedom of religion. Unfortunately, without looking more deeply into how we manage our freedom what we see is that we’ve mistaken freedom, which is everyone’s right, to be our freedom. We often gather together in groups, not in search of objective truth, but in search of being right and asserting our personal will over others. With the elections happening in less than a week, we see how subjectivity and self-righteousness has usurped truth in each of the presidential debates. What would it mean during such a debate if candidates were asked to approach each question from their common goals—democracy, tolerance, freedom and justice?

Because most of us live in a democratic society, it can be useful to use democracy as a model for working, living, and communing with others. Democracy puts power in the hands of its citizens, which also bestows upon us a large responsibility not only for ourselves, but for each other. Satsang can be viewed in the same way, since when we come together in search of the ultimate truth, we as individuals cannot evolve as effectively if not supported by the collective. Satsang is the epitome of the gestalt; the whole is indeed greater than the sum of its parts.

Presently, the outer world supports elitism, rampant materialism, and conflict. Therefore, we would be wise to use satsang as a means to create a nucleus of higher mind and heart with the potential to germinate in the greater world. Yet, all too often we see the opposite. Groups come together with the underlying intention of becoming exclusive. Today, most people understand exclusivity as superiority, but at its root the world exclusive can be defined as that which is limited, controlled, and restricted. In the postmodern yoga community petty arguments over styles, teachers, and studios abound. When conflicts like these arise and continue without mediation, instead of nurturing community, we create a separation between us and within us.

To come together in truth means to place the higher ideals of the collective before the importance of one’s own agenda and need to be right. It also means coming together with those who share those aims, regardless of personal affinities. Physicist David Bohm says in his book On Dialogue that the microcosm of the group is a reflection of the macrocosm. Bohm states, “The group is the microcosm of society, so if the group–or anyone– is cured, it is the beginning of a larger cure.” What we engender in satsang and other forms of communityhas the potential to manifest in the outer world or vice versa.

“The group is the microcosm of society, so if the group–or anyone– is cured, it is the beginning of a larger cure.” –David Bohm

Much of the soul searching we do as individuals helps to bridge the gap between people who we would otherwise share little common ground. When we start to remove the stuff of the ego—our personal preferences (“I like him, but I don’t like her,” etc.), and our attachment to our smaller emotions like fear and anger—we can begin to connect with one another on a whole different level. We can be in satsang with people we don’t like, with people from different socio-economic backgrounds, sexual preferences, and political leanings, and still love the part of them that seeks the truth.

We ask ourselves, what is the value of coming together? And what is the value of connecting with others? Can we bridge the gap between our individual spiritual practices in order to understand the true meaning of yoga and of unification?

Please join me this coming Sunday at 5:00 – 6:15 PM at Purple Yoga for our monthly satsang. This month, we take a break from the sutras to explore what it means to come together in truth. All are welcome to bring their questions, experiences, and comments. Attendance is by donation.

Who makes these changes?
I shoot an arrow right.
It lands left.

I ride after a deer and find myself
chased by a hog.

I plot to get what I want
and end up in prison.

I dig pits to trap others
and fall in.

I should be suspicious
of what I want.

-Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

I often feel under qualified to be addressing the topics I address each month on the blog and in satsang. Similarly, most of the last decade teaching yoga has been plagued with incessant self-questioning as I try to make sense of how a neophyte like myself winds up teaching such a deeply transformative practice when I’ve yet to be fully cooked. On the other hand, if students (or anyone else, for that matter) wants to talk about missteps, falls from grace, attachment, egotism, or feelings of overwhelming vulnerability, then I’m your person— no question!

As much as we are loath to admit it, a large part of a true practice involves seeing our vulnerability and fragility. Many people engage in spiritual practice to seek power—and while, yes, yoga practices have the potential to bestow feelings of heightened awareness and energy upon the practitioner, they also engender greater sensitivity and openness—as well they should, since sensitivity and openness are the keys to unlocking the door to who we really are. At its core, this yoga, this practice, is a practice of letting go—letting go of patterns detrimental to the aim of yoga, eventually leading to the sacrifice of any and all ideas and concepts of who or what we think we are for the realization of the true Self, jivatman.

The key of the above statement is to understand the dynamic of letting go of something lesser in order to open to something greater. A prisoner must first leave their cell before experiencing the fullness and freedom of life beyond bars. Likewise, we turn our attention away from the smoke and mirrors of the world and our egos (the primary force behind the world-as-we-know it) and turn our attention inward toward the light of our true being. The life of the Buddha symbolizes this letting go on many levels: initially leaving the palace as Prince Siddhartha to wander the world; in seeing the horrors of the world, Siddhartha becomes a wandering yogi; and in seeing his entrapment in the extremes of asceticism, he lets go of the final stronghold of his ego before his ultimate realization, thus transforming from Siddhartha (one with the power of attainments) to The Buddha (one who knows).

We begin the second book of the Yoga Sutra, Sadhana Pada, the book on practice, not with a simple how-to guide to enlightenment, but with an introduction to what hinders us from yoga. Patanjali refers to these as simply the klesha, or afflictions, “Avidya, asmita, raga, dvesha, abhinivesha kleshah”—The hindrances to yoga are ignorance, the sense of a separate self, attraction, aversion, and clinging to the status quo. (trans. Ravi Ravindra)

Avidya, popularly translated as ignorance,literally means to “not-see.” We normally understand ignorance as not knowing, or misunderstanding, but the Sanskrit makes a direct correlation between not knowing to the act of not seeing, an act that refers to senses and to the realm of experience more than to the act of thinking. The implication is not that we aren’t thinking (in fact, we’re probably doing more than enough thinking); it’s that we aren’t seeing. Seeing precludes and blends with thought, as do all our senses, and the sutras are clear about how that process works. If our perceptions are errant, what is the outcome of that misperception? Errant perception leads to errant thought, which results in unproductive action. If we cannot see ourselves clearly, how can we engage in any practice and any path of action that can properly address our current situation? Often we engage in practices that reinforce the dominance of the ego rather than the practices that serve the development of the essence of our true Self. Practicing in such a way is like taking cough syrup to cure a fever.

Honolulu, Hawaii – © David Ulrich, 2011

Asmita translates somewhat messily into English as “I-am-ness,” which is an attempt to turn the verbal, active statement of “I am” into a whole practice or entity unto itself, rendering it a noun. The fact that such a word exists in any language is a testament to the fact that we are well practiced in the art of reaffirming who we are, or who we think we are. Here we see the need to strive against the current of Cartesian thought, which dictates, “I think, therefore I am.”

Thoughts left unmanaged spring forth from warped perceptions, resulting in the belief that we are what we think. These thoughts are generated from the outer world—television, internet, magazines, religious and political propoganda—this is what is seen when our vision is turned outward. That perception then blends with our sense of self. We then associate ourselves with things of temporary nature—money, religion, politics, sex, food, clothing, and even the intellect. As these things inevitably change, we suffer and attempt to refill our continuously emptying coffers, thus perpetuating the cycle of samsara.

In coming to know who we are, it is impossible to avoid being faced with who we are not. The test of faith is to continue with the work despite the pain and difficulty of letting go of the smaller self. Over time one comes to see that letting go of our ideas of who we are and old emotional patterns is the hard work that smaller renunciations are preparing us for.

What lies beyond us and above us cannot be fully comprehended by our limited and fractured awareness. Our sadhana is preparing us to see what we can’t yet envision. We are tilling the soil in preparation the seeds of understanding. We let go of fast-food enlightenment in exchange for real nourishment. Letting go of our ego driven desires and appetites, we open to the possibility of true love.

Join me this coming Sunday at Purple Yoga for our monthly satsang. This month’s topic is on the hindrances to yoga: the afflictions, covered in yoga sutra 2.3 – 2.9. If you have a copy of the sutras, feel free to bring a copy for your own personal reference. Also, the time for satsang has changed to 5 pm – 6:15 pm. Donations are greatly appreciated.

Creativity and Yoga | The Slender Thread.

Minor White, left: Tom Murphy, SF, 1948. right: Cypress Grove Trail, Point Lobos, California 1951. © Trustees of Princeton University

Laura and I are currently planning our Creativity and Yoga workshops for later this month atHui No‘eau Visual Arts Center on Maui. And we are asking the question: what serves what? Are we using yoga to stimulate creativity, or are we using creativity to assist in one’s yoga practice. The answer is neither and both. Both disciplines are equal and deserve not to be subservient to each other. Yoga, at its roots, means union and the “bringing together of the fragmented self. And creativity, as a practice, necessitates a deep union with the whole of oneself, delving deeper into one’s body, mind, feelings and intuition in order to allow oneself to become a vehicle for artistic inspiration and expression. And, artistic innovation can take place in any area of our life that we approach with care and attention.

To become an artist of life is an aim worthy of our humanity. Cooking, gardening, relating with others, addressing the challenges of our occupations, teaching, waiting tables, or advancing one’s business can all be creative acts. The specific nature of one’s activities is not nearly as important as how they are approached. Can we approach life itself as a creative challenge, through the medium of whatever it is that we do on a daily basis?

Seeking the wellspring of creativity and approaching the potential inner union available through yoga are not merely compatible actions; rather, they form aspects of the same large aim: the search for the essential self.

What is the connecting thread? The answer lies embedded in the larger dimensions of both yoga and creativity: both ask for an authentic search into the core of one’s being, to seek and cultivate a broader awareness, and to directly meet the many resistances within oneself

Cultivating seeing becomes the bridge between yoga and creativity. We are asked to learn to see what is. In the art studio and on the yoga mat, we noticed that the initial steps for most people involve both the excitement of making new discoveries about oneself and a poignant sense of something missing, a kind of remorse over the absence of a durable connection to the sources of creativity and inner attention that are the aims of both art and yoga. We begin with the recognition that something is possible but presently eludes us – awareness, wholeness, attention, or compassion. Individuals in the classes observed and admitted a fragmentation of mind and body that brought to the forefront many rapidly changing inner conditions that hindered a creative response,

Yet it is in the recognition of our inability and in the sincere effort where illumination can occur. We found in the classes that we have taught in the past that through meeting one’s own fragmentation and staying with it, striving in spite of our lack of wholeness, moments arose where something of our essential being can shine through—and this can take place both on the yoga mat and in the art studio as long as one is willing to encounter oneself. Moments of creative illumination can and do occur in ways that come as a surprise, that reflect something of our innate being, and give rise to a profound, creative interaction simultaneously with the world and with ourselves.

Please join us on Maui if you can.

Following the Creativity and Yoga workshop, I’ll be teaching a two-day photography workshop devoted to discovering your unique vision—your distinctive manner of seeing—and to more fully conveying your artistic intent through creative camera controls and post-processing.

Creativity & Yoga: Exploring the Creative Process with Visiting Artists David Ulrich & Laura Dunn

Through classroom exercises, short yoga sessions (open to all fitness levels), lectures, actual creation of artwork, and sharing of individual experiences, participants will come to a greater understanding of the psychology of creativity and how to access it more deeply in their particular disciplines. The goal of this class is to offer a greater theoretical and practical knowledge of creativity and genuine innovation. A series of proven creative exercises and basic yoga poses and principles will be introduced to assist individuals in accessing their“wellspring of creativity.”
Friday, Sept 28, 10am-4pm

The Photographic Vision: The Next Step with Visiting Artists David Ulrich

This workshop explores ways and means of making photographic images that grow directly from your distinctive manner of seeing, and then digitally editing those images to fully convey your artistic intent. This two-day workshop combines field-work in photography, creative and technical exercises, digital editing of images for expressive results, and critique/response. The goal is to inspire and excite participants towards a creative response to the world—and to learn to make compelling and unique images. Learning to see with a camera will be emphasized. Prerequisite: A basic knowledge of camera use.
Sat?Sun, Sept 29-30, 10am-4pm

Free Public Lecture: 100 Images: Four Decades of Photography

Join us for an evening of spectacular sights! David Ulrich will share photographs from his archives from 1971-2011, including images from his 10 years on Maui.
Thursday, Sept 27, 5:30-6:30pm