“The words you speak become the house you live in.” - Hafiz (Persian poet)
If we learned anything as a nation over the past four years, it is that words matter. We have seen how toxic words can be and how poisonous they can become when they spread falsehoods. Words have power because, when planted in the right soil, they grow into thoughts, and from thoughts bloom actions. Words are the stepping stones to our destiny, so it should come as no surprise that a statement containing just three words-- “Stop the steal” --fomented deadly violence, creating a deep and dangerous fissure in our society.
Satya, or truthfulness, is the second yama in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. As discussed last week, yamas are the first limb on the Eight Limbed Path. They are referred to as “restraints” and are intended to be used as guides to our behavior toward others. Ahimsa, or nonharming, is the first yama, and is the most important of all the restraints. The other four yamas, although important, serve primarily to illuminate and support our practice of ahimsa.
Most spiritual traditions consider ignorance as one of the root causes of suffering. Our minds get clouded by our egos, which leads to false perceptions, beliefs, and opinions. These thoughts not only cause us to suffer personally, but when we perpetuate these falsehoods in our interactions with others we create harm, even if our intentions are good. As a restraint, Satya encourages us to pause before we communicate, asking, “Is this true?”. By doing so, we bring awareness to the ways in which we distort reality in our expressions and actions which can help prevent us from spreading these falsehoods to others.
Most of us don’t intentionally lie, but we aren’t always truthful. We might repeat something we heard without verifying if it is true or get caught up in telling a story, stretching the truth by embellishing and exaggerating. Sometimes we simply recall events in a different way from what actually happened. We are emotional beings with unreliable memories, so speaking the truth is hard to do. Rumi, a well-known 13th century Sufi poet, understood this challenge. He proposed the Three Gates of Speech as a way of evaluating the potential impact of our words. His poem explains these gates:
Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates.
At the first gate ask yourself, Is it true?
At the second gate, ask yourself, Is it necessary?
At the third gate, ask yourself, Is it kind?
The first gate is by far the hardest one to pass through, for how do we know what is true? Most of our thoughts contain elements of the truth, but they are laced with our impressions and emotions. We find the truth by separating thoughts that are judgments from those that are purely observations. Judgments are statements that are expressed in a way that sound like facts but are really opinions. Observations are just that—descriptions of what you or anyone else would see or experience. For example, you walk into your teenager’s room and observe heaping piles of clothes, shoes, books, and used food containers. You are observing the condition of the room, but you react in exasperation, shouting, “This room is a mess!”. You believe you are speaking the truth when you are really expressing your opinion, as your teenager may believe that his room is quite organized—after all, he knows where everything is. He may look at you blankly, unsure of what the fuss is about. Words such as “mess” are judgments that express your experience of reality, not necessarily the truth, and when spoken, create tension in our relationships. As such, this statement, although it feels true, would not pass through the first gate of speech.
If something is true, are we compelled to say it? This is the test of the second gate, "Is it necessary?", which asks us to consider the purpose of our speech. Satya tells us that we should always follow and speak the truth, unless doing so would cause greater harm. An oncologist may know that her cancer patient has a 90% chance of dying in 12 months. But she also knows that some--10%--have lived beyond that, some for several years. How will these facts impact her patient? One patient may be devastated and give up hope, rejecting all treatment, whereas another may fight to be one of the 10%. Clearly Satya guides the doctor to share this prognosis when she is asked directly about the survival rate. But what if the patient doesn’t ask? Would she create more harm by offering this grim data? The second gate asks us to stop before speaking to consider our intention: what is the purpose of what I am going to say? Do I need to say it? Ignorance is not bliss, and the truth does not always set us free. If stating the truth serves no benefit or creates harm, then it should not pass through the second gate.
Maya Angelou once said that people don’t always remember what you say but they will remember how you make them feel. Such is the intention of the final gate of speech, “Is it kind?”, which encourages us to speak the truth with compassion and show respect for how our speech impacts others. Frequently, words fly from our mouths without much consideration of how they reverberate. Our statements can land on others like missiles, causing considerable harm and inflicting damage, even when they are true. Sometimes we justify blatant statements with an attitude that the truth “hurts”. Satya reminds us that our speech, even when it is true, should never cause harm. We must honor ahimsa by delivering the truth in a way that softens its hard edges.
How do we practice truthfulness in our lives and on our mat? Finding and accepting the truth is not easy. It can be uncomfortable, if not painful, to look objectively at our lives and accept what is, and even harder to change deeply held beliefs and opinions. Satya demands courage, so to practice this yama we need the strength of a spiritual warrior, cultivating the courage to look at all sides of a situation, remaining unattached to the pull of the ego and ready to face our falsehoods. We can find inspiration in Virabhadrasana, the fierce warrior who, according to Hindu mythology, fought to destroy ignorance, the enemy within all of us. Virabhadrasana is described as tireless in his determination to stay centered in the truth while courageously battling the forces that keep us locked in ignorance.
In our practice, Warrior poses reflect the battle fought by Virabhadrasana. There are numerous variations of Warrior poses, but they all have one thing in common: the pelvis stays neutral while the legs and feet are held in opposing positions. All the Warrior poses help to cultivate pelvic neutrality, strengthen the muscles of the legs, and increase flexibility in the hips and ankles. They also strengthen our powers of observation as the legs, ankles, and feet are positioned asymmetrically, which generates sensations related to balance and stability. And we are all too familiar with how these poses challenge our resolve as they create a burning sensation that longs for release when they are held for an extended period of time.
Even if you are not ready for battle, you can still practice in the spirit of satya by listening to your inner conversations as you move through your practice. Find the courage to observe your words, asking, “Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind?” Consider how your choice of words influences your actions, remembering that what we say to ourselves and what we speak in the world eventually becomes our reality. As you practice, place your speech in front of Rumi’s Three Gates, allowing only what is true, necessary, and kind, to pass through. The quote from Hafiz reminds us that words become the place in which we live. Satya asks us, do you want to live there?
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