"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." Oliver Wendall Holmes
How do you bring yourself back to now?
Recently I was listening to a news report about changes in the fitness industry. The beginning of the story surprised me. The reporter began by stating that yoga teachers don’t get stressed out, describing them as people who are always calm and collected. Surprised, I wondered, just who are these yoga teachers who stay calm and collected? Perhaps they could tell me how they avoid being stressed? I, like most of my fellow yoga teachers, experience stress just like everyone else. Life regularly throws me off balance. I get caught up in my mental chatter, allowing simple thoughts to grow into big, imaginary problems. Teaching yoga doesn’t imbue me with any superpower. I’m human, susceptible to fretting about the past and worrying about the future. Perhaps the difference is that yoga teachers have easier access to the tools yoga offers to help settle our thoughts before they spin out of control. The more we—teachers and students alike—practice these techniques, the less time we spend in that spin and the faster we bring ourselves back to now.
In the Yoga Sutras, Patanjali seeks to answer the question, “What is yoga?”. At the start of the Sutras he states the purpose of yoga to be “chitta vritti nirodaha” –that is, “to still the fluctuations of the mind”. Patanjali understood that to be human was to suffer from the endless churning of our thoughts. In the Sutras he offers us practices, systematically outlined in his Eight Limbed (sometimes referred to as Eightfold) Path, to help end the suffering that comes when we get caught up in our attachments, desires, and fears. Patanjali reminds us that the only place in which we can touch and experience our true essence is in the present moment. The Eight Limbed Path guides us through steps that, with regular practice, help us notice when these attachments have taken hold and then offers a path to bring us back to now. It is here where we find a sense of clarity, wholeness, and balanced awareness.
Last week we explored Pratyahara, which is the withdrawal of the senses. This week we’ll look at Dharana, which in Sanskrit translates to concentration, and Dhyana, or mediation. It is interesting that Patanjali provides guidance on how to practice the first four limbs of a yoga but is somewhat vague when discussing meditation. This is puzzling, as many newcomers to meditation are quick to experience the frustration of a racing mind and will struggle with endless distractions. It is surprising how hard it can be to sit and do nothing. Meditation is not effortless, nor is it romantic. Importantly, it is not a panacea that provides immunity to stress, keeping us in an eternal blissed out state. The last limbs on the Eightfold Path are simple, but they are far from easy. Perhaps Patanjali does not offer detailed instructions because there aren’t really any to give. We learn to meditate by showing up, staying present, and then coming back when we get carried away—over and over again.
The concentration of Dharana is different from the focus applied to a detailed task, such as the laser sharp attention of a surgeon performing a delicate procedure, or the effort we direct toward solving a problem. This type of focused concentration is directed toward a specific outcome, which creates tension and tends to drain our energy. Dharana is a meditative concentration, one in which we rest our attention on a single object, applying a gentle, relaxed focus for no other purpose than to be present. To steady our focus, we rest our attention on the breath, the sound of a mantra, or a pleasant image such as the ocean, a flower, or a deity. These objects serve as an anchor for the mind when it starts to wander. As you become distracted, you gently direct your attention back to the object of your concentration.
Many people believe they cannot meditate because they think too much. They mistakenly assume that meditation is the practice of turning off our thoughts. Quite the contrary. Meditation is the act of noticing when we are thinking and then bringing ourselves back to the here and now, over and over again. The only difference between experienced meditators and novices is not the existence of thoughts, but how quickly the distractions are noticed and concentration is restored. Even experienced meditators face the frustration of being relaxed and tranquil one minute only to shift in the next minute to an internal debate about whether to put peppers or onions on their pizza. The power of our desires and attachments, as well as their ability to sweep us out of the present moment is at the very heart of every meditation practice. We tame these attractions through the continued practice of Dharana.
Non-attachment is a practice that strengthens our ability to sustain meditative concentration. When distractions arise in meditation, non-attachment reminds us to let them pass without re-energizing them with our attention. Our thoughts, wishes, and desires get stronger only if we follow them and get tangled up in their emotional charge. Neuroscience tells us that weighty thoughts have a lifespan of about 90 seconds, provided we don’t engage with them. If we simply observe the thought without giving it unnecessary attention, the emotions associated with the thought will rise, crest, and dissipate naturally. With non-attachment, we interrupt the conversations we tend to have with our thoughts. We notice them, acknowledging their presence without engaging. Doing so causes them to lose their power and dissipate, allowing us to refocus our attention.
Non-attachment works best when it is infused with curiosity. We can learn quite a bit about ourselves when we watch our thoughts with detached openness. Our tendency in meditation is to flick our thoughts away the moment they appear. This is especially true for thoughts that are laced with strong emotions such as fear, grief, or shame. Rather than chase them away, curiosity allows them to travel through the mind. Staying open, we can notice how these thoughts give rise to physical sensations such as gripping, tension, and faster breathing. By resting in the present moment, these experiences simply rise and then fade away. We recognize their presence but allow them to pass. Real equanimity is cultivated, not by stopping thoughts, but by staying open to whatever comes up in the moment.
Working with the poses and the breath, the physical practice of yoga can strengthen our ability to concentrate when we come to our practice with the intention of staying present on our mat. Those new to yoga tend to get wrapped up in the mechanics of the poses, so their concentration is typically of the laser-focused variety. As we become more familiar with the poses, we find it easier to rest our attention more openly, staying connected to the breath throughout the practice. For some, a yoga practice may be their first experience of a relaxed, one pointed concentration. Although it is not meditation per se, it sows the seeds for the practice of coming back to the here and now.
Sun salutations, with their rhythmic transitions, offer an opportunity to stay focused on the breath while moving and creating heat. These flows feature repetitive, simple movements which allow our attention to soften and turn inward. Sprinkled between the Sun salutations will be balancing poses. These are the poses that wake us up, snapping us to attention. I invite you to stay mindful when you are in a balancing pose, as our tendency is to slip into a narrow, critical, problem-solving type of concentration. Be aware of these shifts so that you can reconnect with your breath, find a Drishti, and come back to your mat with non-attached and curious awareness.
Meditation does not provide immunity to stress. To be human is to grapple with the limitations of our mind. No matter how skilled a meditator you are, life will always find a way to throw a curveball. The impact of meditation shows up not by blunting our emotions, but in our resilience, and the speed with which we recover. This is why we come to the mat, over and over, to perfect the practice of bringing us back to now.
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