It’s been nine months since the last post in this series about the eight limbs of yoga (Ashtanga yoga) ¹ and in that time my yoga journey’s come to include regular meditation: at least once a week, but often more frequently. Writing about that experience is a challenge, not least because it’s subjective and private, not in a “I don’t want to say” way, but more like “I don’t know how to explain it”. Nevertheless, I’ll try to share something from nearly a year of meditation practice.

Thanks to my yoga teacher Ruth for facilitating my practice, and the yogis, image and content creators who’ve furthered my understanding.

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The previous instalment in this series explored the fifth limb of Ashtanga Yoga: introspection (pratyahara), and compared our conscious experience to a stream of loosely connected and often repetitive thoughts. Dharana (dhyāna), the sixth limb considers how to deal with that torrent and focus awareness elsewhere. According to Patanjali there is a great deal to accessing and exploring consciousness, and after a year, I wouldn’t disagree.

To improve our yoga postures (asanas) we practice balance, extensions and flows that train and condition our bodies. Similarly our minds need to be developed. But how so? How to coral and calm the “butterfly mind”? Changing our inner mental experience is not something we’re typically taught or trained: we don’t practice falling asleep by telling ourselves that we should, and trying to go to sleep often has the opposite effect (since when did counting sheep ever work?). More often we learn by doing, which begs the question of what’s to be done when we turn inwards.

Ujjayi breathing has been my way into dharana. Also known as ocean or victorious breath, it involves slowing down respiration and slightly constricting the throat on the exhalation to sound a little like Darth Vader on a good day ;). It is a bodily sensation that helps to return the mind to a thoughtless state when attention starts to wander. Just as an anchor allows a boat to be taken by the waves before gently pulling it back on station, so thoughts can be let out of consciousness as easily as they come in. Additionally, when the sensation of breathing is the object of attention, the capacity to think is diminished. Perhaps a key aspect of early efforts is to cultivate an objective or “meta” position where one is aware of the mind’s fluctuations, whilst also being detached from them.

Something that’s been surprising during meditation is sensing more acutely: the flow of air in the airway, the sound of birdsong and the tinkle of the bottle bank outside, are more vividly perceived whilst at the same time being less distracting. Sensations are briefly apparent but it’s the things that endure which are more relevant like the rhythm of the breath.

Vetter and Bronkhorst further note that dhyāna is not limited to single-pointed concentration, which seems to be described in the first jhāna, but develops into equanimity and mindfulness…Wynne notes that one is then no longer absorbed in concentration, but is mindfully aware of objects while being indifferent to them…

Wikipedia

There are other techniques for focusing besides breathing (pranayama) e.g. gazing at a point such as a flame (drishti), and chanting. But whatever works, practice and repetition inevitably create and reinforce associations. Now when I sit in half lotus, a single breath is enough to change both my mental and physical state. Similarly achieving focus and stability in a balancing asana like “tree” or “dancer” raises the question of what was all the wobbling about.

Practice with mental forms seems just as important as the asanas. Whilst it’s tempting to think serenity and calm can come from just sitting down with a cup of tea, IMO going deeper into consciousness is a tough skill to master. Consider how long it takes to learn a musical instrument, often with the help of a course or tutor; it shouldn’t be surprising then that changing our profoundly personal and mysterious consciousness with no such support takes significant discipline and effort. I find there are days when meditation is better or worse, easier or harder, and even a good session has bumpy patches. Your boat will be pulled off station countless times, but returning it becomes easier.

Interestingly, whilst there’s no obvious reason to not meditate alone, it seems easier with a regular commitment and others. Facilitating a post yoga meditation session this year has been motivating and valuable, even when I’ve been the only one to stay on. That’s another learning: Ashtanga yoga is not for everyone, most people just look for a weekly session on the mat.

Yoga is the journey of the self through the self to the self
(already quoted in this series but especially relevant here)

Bhagavad Gita 6:20

From being born in the early sixties, I remember life before the Internet and mobile phones when there was a lot of downtime, and just three TV channels which only broadcast at lunchtimes and in the evenings. It sounds cliched, but without on demand infotainment we entertained ourselves more with hobbies that took time and focus. Perhaps as a consequence mental organisation and concentration were more practised; it’s hard to say, but there were surely more books than screens, and time seemed to pass more slowly and less anxiously. Wouldn’t it be interesting to know more about how human consciousness and thought processes changed over time?

Regular meditation has tangibly affected my mental state. Though hard to describe, I feel less bothered about things that had previously seemed important and more relaxed in the face of life’s ‘swings and roundabouts’. My focus seems to have unconsciously moved away from an ego driven agenda, toward how to be with whatever the universe serves up. And then there’re the stories and memories that have been defining, but which which now seem less relevant. Life generally feels more relaxed and generous, more positive and encouraging. But perhaps the most curious development has been a feeling of connectedness. Whether this points to a change in consciousness is hard to say and again it’s hard to find words to convey how sitting still and in silence leads to a more cosmic perspective, how being detached from, yet acutely aware of one’s surroundings somehow contracts thirty minutes into what seems like ten. But after a year I can say yoga has programmed or maybe reprogrammed me so that now I have a mirror that reflects things previously unseen and a new window upon what’s beyond.

In other words, through yogic meditation I’ve found serenity and clarity, an ability to rest in a state of self collected peace without bering swept and caught up in the activity of the mind, body or worldly matters.

The Eight Limbs of Yoga: A Handbook for Living Yoga Philosophy

References and credits: –

Ekhartyoga.com – Ujjai breathing
Everything you need to know about Dharana, the sixth limb of Ashtanga Yoga
DNA of Hinduism

1. “The word Ashtanga is comprised of two Sanskrit words, “Ashta” and “Anga.” “Ashta” refers to the number eight, while “Anga” means limb or body part. Therefore, Ashtanga is the union of the eight limbs of yoga, into one complete, holistic system. These eight-limbs of yoga represent the various branches of the philosophy of the yoga sutras that form the foundation in the Ashtanga Yoga School. The Ashtanga philosophy is to integrate all of the eight limbs of yoga, which include: Yama (moral codes), Niyama (self-discipline), Asana (posture), Pranayama (breath control), Pratyahara (sense withdrawal), Dharana (concentration), Dhyana (meditation), and Samadhi (oneness with the self).
   Ashtanga is a very dynamic and athletic form of hatha yoga, made up of six series or levels, with a fixed order of postures. It is rooted in vinyasa, the flowing movements between postures, with a focus on energy and breath. While it is a very physical practice, it also promotes mental clarity and inner peace.”
   https://www.yogabasics.com/learn/ashtanga-yoga/ ↩︎