Rooms of Awakening
A Creative Journey Through the Eight Limbs of Yoga
written in November 2024
Patañjali outlined the eight limbs in the Yoga Sutras to illustrate how yoga is approachable from different places.
Let me show you how I found my way:
Atha, here I am in the waiting room of life. For decades I’ve waited for someone to invite me into one of the eight rooms. Finally, I approach the first door. I knock gently and it opens from within. I enter with curiosity.
The first room holds an armored suit just my size called Yamas. It is magically made with ethical social responsibilities. When I put it on, I notice the chest piece is made with loving-kindness, ahiṃsā, promising non-violence towards myself and others. The shoulder pieces are made with truthfulness, satya, giving me the confidence to be my authentic self. The gloves glow with non-stealing, asteya, the ability to be satisfied with things exactly as they are. The waistpiece is made with moderation, brahmacharya, empowering me with self-regulation. The helmet is made with aparigrahā, non-coveting, which clarifies what I truly need. I smile when I realize I’m embarking on a journey of self-realization.
I rap on door number two. Inside I see a contract labeled Niyamas, personal rules to live by. Śaucha (cleanliness), santoṣha (contentment), tapas (self-discipline), svādhyāya (self-study), and īsvara praṇidhānā (the acceptance of my limitations). As my eyes scan the page, I notice something inside me tighten. I remember all the years self-discipline meant restriction as I struggled with disordered eating habits. I wonder how it might be different this time, if I balance this practice in light of everything else that’s here, especially loving-kindness. Slowly, I sign my name in ink and tuck the contract into my suit.
I enter the third room, āsana, where I practice postures that open my heart and lengthen my spine. I twist and fold, digesting stories from my past. I strengthen and sweat. I cry. Eventually, sitting with my legs folded, I experience a shift and a smile returns to my face. A voice from within says, “It’s time.”
The fourth door is Prāṇāyāma, a room full of breath and air. I take my easy seat and practice controlling my breath. I pause as a wave of emotion crashes over me. The sound of oceanic breath reminds me of my dad’s lung cancer and the memories flood. I retreat to the āsana room, where the emotion drips out of me with each twist and fold. I return to Niyamas to journal and ponder non-attachment. Then in Yamas, hand to my heart, I recite words of loving-kindness. I return to Prāṇāyāma and feel a complete shift, prana buzzing through my body as I master my breath.
Door number five is Pratyāhāra, withdrawal of the senses. It is a room without sound or sensation. I feel the inward pull of withdrawal, a feeling that exists outside of words. I set foot on the threshold of contemplation.
Behind the sixth door is Dhāraṇā, a room of concentration, a sea of choices. In my easy seat, I close my eyes and choose to place my attention on the blue light that swirls on the backs of my eyelids. My thoughts clear for brief moments at a time, but still some thoughts hook me. Again and again, I choose to return my concentration to the dance of blue light.
The seventh room is Dhyāna, a place of total focus. I stay here, focused deeply on the blue light I see in my mind’s eye. I stay with it for long periods of time. As the light dances, my entire being pulses, and I connect with something greater than I.
In the last room, Samādhi, I discover total integration. The eight rooms merge into one. The armor I was wearing and the body that carried it fall away. The mind that holds memories is released from suffering. I remember who I am. How could I have ever forgotten? The blue light becomes the iris of the eye of God, Greater Consciousness, Puruṣa. As I gaze into it, we merge, and I am liberated.