The Indian sage Patañjali is perhaps best known for being the author (or, more likely, one of many authors) who summarised the ancient, oral knowledge and history of yoga in a text called Yoga Sūtras. These records contain the most common definition of yoga as well as describing all aspects of the human condition that we must understand throughout our practice. The Yoga Sūtras describe the theory and practice of yoga which can be classified into eight components or limbs, collectively known ashtanga yoga (not to be confused with ashtanga vinyasa).
In order from the most external to the most internal components of ourselves and practice, the eight limbs are:
Yama (Social disciplines)
Niyama (Personal conduct/discipline)
Āsana (Postures)
Prānāyāma (breathing techniques)
Pratyāhāra (withdrawal from the 5 senses)
Dhāraṇā (meditation with effort)
Dhyāna (effortless meditation)
Samādhi (enlightenment)
Yama and niyama are social and individual disciplines, respectively; how we act towards others and how to act towards ourselves. There are five of each and there are many ways they can be incorporated into our yoga practice. The five yamas are ahiṃsā (non-violence), satya (truthfulness, like the blog!), asteya (non-stealing), brahmacharya (chastity), and aparigraha (non-possessiveness). The five niyamas are śauca (purity), saṃtoṣa (contentment), tapas (austerity), svādhyāya (self-study) and īśvarapraṇidhāna (devotion to the supreme being). In future posts, we’ll go more in depth with each, providing some āsanas, pranayama practices, mantras and mudras that support and develop each discipline.
Going a bit deeper, the next limb is āsana (posture). When many people think of the practice of yoga, the first thing that comes to mind might be going into a pretzel or balancing on one toe. But as you can see, the āsanas are just the tip of the iceberg. In fact, āsana actually means ‘mat;’ Patañjali referred to āsanas as movements we take in order to prepare ourselves to practice the remaining limbs, mainly meditation, and these āsanas were largely seated poses. Patañjali only refers to poses as being sthira and sukha(steady and comfortable). Āsanas were developed further by Hatha yogis (from around the same time) who observed the flora and fauna and took inspiration for poses from nature. They realised most people couldn’t go straight into prānāyāma, pratyāhāra, etc and sit comfortably and steadily until they reached samadhi without having a good stretch and preparing their bodies for hours of stillness.
Prānāyāma is made up of two words: prānā means “life force” and āyāma means expand. Prānāyāma is often considered synonymous with breath, but it is more accurate to say that the flow of prānā is linked through our breath and the quality of each are interrelated. Āsanas help support the flow and expansion of prānā, but our mind can also create blockages that restrict prānāyāma moving in our body. Prānāyāma can also escape from the body and we work with bandhas to keep it in.
The movement and containment within the body of prānāyāma reflects one’s state of mind. A person with a sthira and sukha āsana practice who can sit for long periods of time and has sufficient movement of prānāyāma may also be able to work towards or even achieve the next limb: pratyāhāra, withdrawal of the senses. If you’ve ever tried to meditate, you know how difficult it is to not react to every thought about what you’ll eat after meditation or itch that arises or car door slamming somewhere in the distance. But if you’ve ever meditated you also know how strong the sensation of withdrawing is, even if it is for a split second.
The ways in which we withdraw our from senses vary. We can do so by focusing on an object, otherwise known as dhāraṇā. In attempting dhāraṇā, we withdraw our senses to focus on an object. Ideally, that object is constant and steady. It should not be one that evokes strong emotions (positive or negative), but it should be enticing enough to be able to hold your attention. Think of a candle flame or the moon. If we are able to withdraw from the senses without focusing on an object, we can attempt dhyāna. The connection made with the object in dhāraṇā dissipates but the withdrawal is maintained.
Finally, we get to all elusive samādhi. If you connect with an object and withdraw in dhāraṇā and dhyāna you withdraw without the object, in samādhi you become one with the object. There’s no difference between you and the candle flame. This is what we are striving for in our yoga practice. As I understand it, it’s more than an intellectual acceptance that there’s no difference between me you and the bee, but a real connection with all of these things.
We practice yoga with samādhi in mind, but also with the humility and acceptance that we might never get there. And that’s really okay! I still get a lot of working towards dhāraṇā even if my mind is largely not on the object but with my senses, and love my āsana practice even though it’s rarely sthira and at a certain point stops being sukha. But, hey, maybe one day!
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