yoga sutra 1.2

yoga cittavttinirodha

Yoga is directing and containing the activities of the mind

The second sūtra defines the term yoga as used in the Yoga Sūtra. This sūtra has a special name: the lakaa sūtra,¹ so called because it states the essential characteristic of Patañjali's system. It is a technical definition of yoga that informs the text. There may be disagreement about what the word yoga means within a greater context (as we have explored in Chapter 1), but here there is little scope for debate once the definition is understood.

Yoga is defined as a state of mind: the term citta means “mind” and in a state of yoga its nature is vtti nirodha. The word vtti comes from a root meaning “to turn” and indicates that all mental processes are in a constant state of flux. This includes perceptions and our responses to them, thoughts, feelings, memories and so on. Anything that arises in our psychological and emotional arena can be described as citta vtti. Nirodha is a particular state of the citta vtti. In his commentary to the Yoga Sūtra, Vyāsa describes five basic states of mind, two of which are fundamental to yoga. Confusion about these levels has led to a lot of misunderstanding about the practice of yoga, and so we shall explore them below.

Of the two levels of citta vtti that are relevant to yoga, the first (and more accessible) Vyāsa calls ekāgra (one-pointedness). Here the mind is focused in a chosen direction for a period of time: it is a practice. The second level of nirodha (actually called niruddha by Vyāsa) cannot be practiced in the ordinary sense; it may or may not arise. In niruddha, the containment of the mind is total and the vtti are said to be absent in that the mind appears to be completely still and clear. This state may arise in very deep meditation, but exerting effort “to stop the mind” will not help to bring it about. It is very important to understand that the route to quieting the mind is to focus it, not to suppress it.

The word “yoga” revisited

Although the word yoga is more commonly said to be derived from the Sanskrit root yuj (as discussed in Chapter 1), there is an alternative root, yuja, which means “to meditate” or “focus on.” Vyāsa explicitly states that “Yoga is samādhi” (a deep state of complete meditative absorption), thereby indicating that yuja is the preferred root in this context. Therefore this should be taken as the root of the term “yoga” as defined by Patañjali and is completely consistent with his definition of yoga as citta vtti nirodha. So why did we present the root of yoga as yuj in the first chapter? Our answer is that although yuja is the specific primary root applicable in Patañjali's very particular definition here, an exploration of yoga as “linking” is fundamental to our discussion, and yuj yoga is therefore also relevant. Often in Sanskrit, a word can be derived from more than one root. The author or commentator may use a primary root to emphasize a specific meaning, but the other meanings (and therefore other roots) may also be important. Thus the primary meaning of yoga in YS 1.2 is samādhi, “to meditate deeply on something”; while the secondary meaning is “a link to allow the mind to come into relationship with a chosen object” so that the citta vtti become ekāgra, or one-pointed.

Citta, citta vtti and the nature of mind

Most of us spend a tremendous amount of time thinking. But not so many of us spend a lot of time thinking about thinking. What is thought? Where does it come from? What is its relationship to us? In the second sūtra, the lakaa sūtra, Patañjali defines yoga as a specific state of our citta, where citta is understood as “mind.” Therefore, yoga is a state of mind.

The term citta is a very important word both in yoga and Indian philosophy generally. When we translate citta using an English word such as “mind” we must be careful. Do we mean the same thing? Do our culturally specific associations with the word “mind” add to or detract from the original? In this particular case, we should be clear that citta does not just refer to mind and cognition; it includes all psychological phenomena such as our emotions, feelings, perceptions, imagination, memories, reflections and, of course, thinking. Anything that arises within the field of our experience is part of citta, or to be more precise, citta vtti.

As already stated, vtti comes from a root meaning “to turn” and so citta vtti are movements or turnings of the mind. Ideas, thoughts and memories arise, exist for some time and then slip away or transform into something else (another thought, feeling, or memory). Vtti captures the dynamic nature of our psychological content and furthermore it reflects the cyclical nature of thoughts and emotions. They revolve into and out of consciousness as we endlessly “turn over” ideas in our minds.

There is a tendency in the West to create a division between head and heart, between thoughts and emotions. We might say “they are all in their head,” or “they work from their heart,” and we instinctively know the difference. Embedded in our language and culture is a division between thinking and emotional processes, as if they occur in different locations or are divorced from one another. This division is not present in the term citta—it includes all aspects of our experience. Yoga is sometimes misunderstood as concerning itself only with our cognition in a kind of dry, unemotional way, whereas in reality it includes the whole gamut of feelings, from happiness and joy to existential fear, desire, and even hatred.

Citta has a number of functions. It is a storehouse for memories, tendencies, and habitual patterns, and it is the instrument through which we perceive and digest information from the senses. It is also the cauldron in which we process our fantasies and anxieties. Citta is often described as the medium through which our consciousness operates, and what arises in the way of thoughts, feelings, emotions and memories can be seen as movements of the citta, rather like waves or ocean currents. The ocean is citta and the waves or currents, citta vtti. However, we shouldn't forget that the citta vtti are not fundamentally different from the citta itself, just as waves and currents are not fundamentally different from the ocean. Waves are movements on the surface of the ocean and clearly visible to the observer; currents are movements largely below the surface and harder to observe. In a similar way, there are citta vtti that we are conscious of (like the waves) and others we are not normally conscious of, like currents under water.

The Yoga Sūtra (and the philosophy of yoga generally) proposes a range of different terms and concepts to describe the contents of the mind and its forces and mechanisms. Although yoga is often thought of as a system of working with the body, the Yoga Sūtra is essentially a psychological treatise, fundamentally concerned with our mind. We may work with the body and emphasize the primary role of the breath, but ultimately it is all to affect our state of mind. If there is no change in our mental state when we practice, there has been no yoga, no matter how beautiful or elaborate our postures.

Citta vtti and suffering

Traditional Indian philosophy addresses a central concern: the experience of human suffering and the means to reduce it. Yoga is no exception. It is important here to differentiate between physical pain and our experience of it, and the distress it causes. Similarly, when we consider anything that happens to or around us that causes us anxiety or distress, we must differentiate between what happens and the responses we have to it. Our experience of distress and suffering is often our response to our anxieties about, or anticipation of, distressing situations. In Sanskrit, this is called dukha. Dukha is conventionally translated as “suffering,” which is fine as long as we appreciate that we are referring to our psychological and emotional response to a situation (or imagined situation) and not the situation itself, which is frequently beyond our control.²

Yoga recognizes that much of our suffering is a response to change on some level, either dissatisfaction with the past, an emotional response to what is happening in the present or anxiety about the future. The very process of dissatisfaction implies movement in the mind, in other words citta vtti. We respond to and evaluate perception, consider the potential implications of things, or simply turn over thoughts and worries in our head. “Turning” perfectly describes what happens when we become worried about something; the “anxiety track” is stuck on repeat. Our experience of suffering is inextricably linked to the process of change and movement in our minds.

By contrast, when the mind is focused and stable, particularly when the direction or object of focus is supportive (i.e., not a source of worry), then we are not suffering. We are simply focused on something that is not a cause for distress. The vtti that might be concerned with dissatisfaction, fear, anxiety and so on are absent during such moments of focus. It would be a mistake to think that vtti are not present at such times, as the mind is still active, but during this state all the vtti in the mind are focused on the supporting object, and disturbing vtti are temporarily absent. It's as if we have some time off for good behavior—here our “good behavior” is temporarily stabilizing the mind on a good support. There could be many directions of focus that can act as a support, but in this approach, the prime example is the breath.

If stabilizing our minds on a good support can temporarily relieve our experience of suffering, what happens afterwards? Are we back to square one? Anyone who has done an effective yoga practice, even in a basic class, knows the answer to this: no! We do not return to the place we started from. Even if nothing appears to have changed, we generally feel in a place of renewed strength as if we have had respite from our suffering. Often, we feel as though the situation that has been bothering us has reduced in size and the disturbing vtti similarly diminished. This “perspective reset” allows situations that may have grown out of all proportion to return to their proper place and consequently we feel more at ease.

The Yoga Sūtra explains this process.³ It identifies five fundamental forces that cause us problems, called kleśa⁴ (literally “that which afflicts”). All are said to come from a fundamental misunderstanding about the nature of ourselves, and particularly our minds, and an inability to accept the reality of our situation. The kleśa exist in us like dormant seeds, becoming active only when circumstances trigger their growth—something or someone “pushes our buttons.” Then they grow like shoots. While small, they may be manageable, but they can get stronger until they overwhelm us. When fully aroused, they are almost impossible to overcome until they begin to subside. However, most of the time we experience distress in varying levels of intensity, which we can work with. The practice of settling the mind on something else gives both a relief from the disturbance and an opportunity for the kleśa to settle so they return to a manageable level.

When we are really bothered about something it can be difficult to reorient the mind, and in such circumstances our attempts to focus on our practice can feel frustrating. Fortunately, it is not an all-or-nothing process. Making the attempt, however incompletely, does make a difference and usually, by the end of the practice, there is some shift of perspective. Thus, another useful definition of yoga here is “reaching a new state” or “effecting positive change.” As long as we feel we have made some shift in our state of mind, we have practiced yoga. With this sūtra Patañjali clearly indicated the arena of change in yoga: it is our state of mind that is important and not necessarily our state of body (although obviously the two are often linked). According to this definition, stretching our hamstrings or strengthening our back, without positively changing our state of mind in the process, is not yoga.

Nirodha: The fundamental goal

Understanding the principle of nirodha is essential in order to fully appreciate the Yoga Sūtra. However, nirodha can be confusing for yoga students as it has a variety of different meanings within the text. The word comes from the Sanskrit root rudh, which means “to obstruct,” “arrest,” “restrain” or “cover.” This has led to many translations of YS 1.2 that are unhelpful. Fortunately, the principal commentator, Vyāsa, clarifies matters in his commentary to both sūtras 1.1 and 1.2. In YS 1.1, as we have noted, Vyāsa defines yoga as samādhi, a state of meditative absorption. He suggests that we can classify our state of mind into five categories, each of which has the potential for a type of samādhi. The first three can generate types of absorption that are obsessively active (kipta), dull and stuck (mūha), and clear but unstable (vikipta). These are not yogic states since they are not accompanied by both clarity and stability. The last two states, one-pointed (ekāgra) and “arrested” (niruddha—a variation of the word nirodha) both have a high degree of clarity (sattva gua). Vyāsa further points out in his commentary to YS 1.2 that both of these are included in Patañjali's definition of yoga as citta vtti nirodha.

In the ekāgra state, the mind is focused in a chosen direction. All vtti reflect this direction, like the waves on the ocean moving together. Any vtti contrary to this direction are restrained and this is the essential meaning of nirodha here. Therefore, we could describe nirodha as “channeling the activities of the mind towards the chosen area of focus.” The language used here needs to be understood carefully. There is definitely an act of will involved in maintaining the mind in a chosen direction, but brute force does not help! As any meditator will tell you, trying too hard is a surefire way to fail. It is necessary to “take support.” The first step is to create the right intention, and reapply our intention countless times as the mind wanders. However, this process of stabilizing the mind is subtle and requires the attention to be “held” by the object or direction of focus, so that the nirodha (or boundaries that determine what is active and what is restrained) is increasingly a product of the process rather than an imposition of will. The Yoga Sūtra provides us with more details about how this state may be cultivated in practice.

The final state of mind indicated by Vyāsa (niruddha) is one of deep meditation in which the mind has become very clear, subtle and quiet. Niruddha may arise from the practice of the previous state (ekāgra) with increasingly subtle levels of focus until all mental activity in the normal sense of the word has been temporarily suspended. From a practical point of view it is not something that we need to unduly concern ourselves with, as it is not something that can be easily “practiced”⁵ and is well beyond the scope of this book. However, it is worth mentioning, if only to clear up a common mistake: students often conflate these two levels of nirodha and adopt as their guiding principle the aim to somehow “stop their minds.” This is extremely unhelpful. The level of nirodha that we are seeking from our practice is ekāgra, where we are increasingly engaged, focused and absorbed.

Citta vtti nirodha offers the space to connect with ourselves

yoga sutra 1.3

tadā drau sva-rūpe avasthānam

Then (in a state of yoga) there is space for what is profound in us to appear

Whereas the second sūtra gives us the fundamental definition of yoga, the third describes the fruit of achieving such a state. We shall explore the philosophical worldview of yoga in more depth in Chapter 7, but for now we simply need to appreciate that yoga proposes an enduring spiritual principle within all of us. This is separate from the material part of ourselves, which is seen as ever-changing, and thus subject to growth and eventual decay. This spiritual principle, our true Self, is given various names in the Yoga Sūtra but here is described as dra,⁶ “the one who sees.” It, rather than the mind, is the source of our consciousness or seeing.⁷ Crucially, the mind is understood as material in nature because it is always in flux, as we all well know! This is extremely important to understand: according to yoga “we” are not fundamentally our minds, but something beyond. The mind is seen as an instrument and possession of our true Self. It is the means through which we perceive and is also at the service of our true Self (just as a possession is owned and is at the service of its owner). Another name for this Self is cit (“pure awareness”), which is distinguished from the mind, citta (“that which relates to or is subservient to cit”).

A very common theme in the Indian spiritual tradition is that although the mind and senses are at the service of the true Self, it requires great discipline and insight to maintain this relationship. In normal circumstances the mind and senses are frequently in control, driving us helplessly through a world of sensual experience and mental projection. Yoga is a journey to return the mind and the senses to their proper places (as servants or instruments of the Self). This restores our fundamental autonomy and freedom. Because the Self (cit) is unchanging, yoga is not about “spiritual growth”—since spirit cannot and does not grow! Instead, it is about transforming what can be changed—our material nature, including our minds (citta), so that the Seer—our true Self—can manifest. According to this sūtra, when the mind becomes “still” (or channelled appropriately), there is the space for the Seer to become more clearly present. This is reflected in the clarity of the mind. When the ripples on the surface of a pond settle we can see the bottom clearly. In a similar way when the mind becomes less disturbed and more stable, we have the possibility of seeing into the depths of our being.

We have already discussed the two primary levels of the state of nirodha. Here Patañjali is presenting the second state, niruddha, and so this sūtra is concerned with very profound states of meditation that we may never achieve. However, what is remarkable about the Yoga Sūtra is that although many of its verses refer to deep states of meditative experience or esoteric philosophical ideas, many also relate to ordinary experiences. This is particularly true of this sūtra. At a very practical level, by creating a feeling of spaciousness and lightness, it is common to feel more intimately connected with ourselves, as even new yoga students will confirm. Such experiences, however fleeting, are valuable and should be cultivated. They are a catalyst for change that can begin to reorient our attitudes and values.

Traditional translations of the Yoga Sūtra describe the essential journey as inwards towards the ultimate realization of the true Self. The third sūtra addresses the question: “When the mind is completely still in the highest level of nirodha, what is the state of the true Self, the Seer?” And the answer is: “Then the Seer stands in its own true form.” Without any distortion from the citta vtti, the Seer is just as it is. Although very close to the mind and dependent on it for perception, here the Seer simply stands in its own true form—distinct from the mind, whose activities have temporarily ceased. This is part of the fundamental metaphysics of the Yoga Sūtra: it is how Patañjali sees the nature of the world and the nature of existence.

Although the “highest level” of nirodha is elusive, we have all experienced moments when the mind's activities slow and settle—even if they do not cease entirely. These moments can leave us feeling deeply touched and reconnected to the most essential part of ourselves and to the greater process of Life, of which we are a part. As yoga teachers, we have observed this phenomenon of deep connection on many occasions: the atmosphere in the room changes, as if the space is being restructured in some way. Appearances can subtly change too so that people are no longer defined by their current state—young, old, woman, man, tired, tense, happy, sad. It is as if something timeless, beyond form, becomes present.

Cultivating space is another of our guiding principles. But what do we mean by “space” and how do we cultivate it? Space here represents the quality of sattva gua.⁸ Sattva is characterized by lightness and luminosity (connected to clarity of perception), and contrasted to principles of density and obscuration (tamas) on the one hand, and movement and stimulation (rajas) on the other. Thus, when we feel light (not heavy and dull) and clear (not preoccupied or over-stimulated), we have the space to connect to what is essentially most profound in us. The word “essentially” here is significant—it indicates both what is essence (at the heart of our being), and what is essential. Without its presence, we would be without life, because in the yoga tradition it is the presence of the spiritual principle that animates our material nature with prāa, the energy of Life. Cultivating space is therefore a vital part of our yoga project and an important indicator that the practice has been effective.

It is common in yoga to focus on the various postures or techniques as if they have an intrinsic value in themselves, rather than being the means to refining ourselves. Focusing on the outcomes we are seeking gives a better indication of progress than, for example, mastery of a specific posture. Do we feel more spacious and therefore more connected to ourselves? This opens the door to innovation: if we have some ideas about what we are seeking then potentially anything that takes us in that direction could be considered yoga. The tension between tradition and innovation is a tricky path to negotiate. New schools of yoga spring up like mushrooms, each offering a new slant on the practice or a new fusion between traditional yoga and other ideas. But by using principles that have stood the test of time, we can characterize the yoga experience simply (e.g., “the cultivation of space to deeply connect with ourselves”) and thereby negotiate this minefield of “too many possibilities.”⁹

Identifying with our minds is an endless source of suffering

yoga sutra 1.4

vtti-sārūpyam itaratra

At other times, we identify with the contents of our minds

The last word of this sūtra, itaratra, means “at other times”—when we are not in a state of citta vttinirodha. This is our usual state of mind: vtti constantly appear and there is little containment or direction of them. The tendency is then to identify with the activity and content of our minds—we get “lost in thought” and our thoughts define who we think we are. When thoughts and feelings become very strong or entrenched, it seems that there is no separation between us and our minds. We are at the mercy of anxieties, neuroses and imagined ideas about how the world is, what it means, and our place within it. It is one thing to understand this intellectually, but another to stay true to that realization at moments of high emotion. Our minds are very powerful and the vtti can easily become overwhelming.

This sūtra describes the spiritual Self (cit, purua or dra) when the mind is active and not in a state of nirodha. The previous sūtra addressed its presence when the mind is still, and informed us that then the dra simply “rests in its natural state.” Sūtra 1.4 says that at other times (when the vtti are active), its form (sārūpyam—where the “it” is the dra) is the vtti. This leads us to a difficult metaphysical conundrum that needs some explaining. Fortunately, as with the previous sūtra, there is a very practical and understandable version that we will also present.

As we have stated, purua,¹⁰ the spiritual principle, is said to be unchanging and enduring, in contrast to the materiality of the world around us, our bodies, and, most importantly, our minds. If purua is unchanging then it must be the same regardless of whether the citta vtti are active or subdued in the state of nirodha. However, sūtra 1.3 tells us that in nirodha the purua simply “rests in its own form,” and in sūtra 1.4 we understand its form is the vtti. We have an apparent contradiction: something that is unchanging and in its true form, cannot, by definition, become other than that. Its form cannot suddenly become that of the vtti. This has led to some differences of opinion even among traditional commentators, but the answer seems both straightforward and yet raises more questions that are not ever fully answered. In most philosophical systems and scientific theories that attempt to explain the complexities of reality using conceptual language, there usually comes a point where the logic breaks down and either we are left with an essential mystery, or the system is accepted as an approximation of the reality that it describes.

Vyāsa provides an explanation. During normal consciousness, although the purua does not change, it appears as if it changes its form with the vtti. In fact, because all we can be aware of are the vtti, we can do little else but assume that they reflect who we truly are, since we do not experience anything else. In other words, all experience is in the mind. Even when we observe our minds in meditation, noticing the arising and passing of thoughts and feelings, the noticing itself is nothing other than another vtti, another perception in the mind. The mind is all we have in terms of generating experience no matter how subtle it may become.

Does this mean we are doomed, in an endless spiral of vtti with no escape from the matrix of our minds? Not exactly: even insights arising in our own mind, about the nature of other vtti in the same mind (as when observing our thoughts and feelings), give us insight into the way our mind works. This enables us to identify with it less completely. Insight into the way things are has the possibility of changing what actually happens. In truth, it is actually the mind that adopts the form of the vtti, not the purua, and it is the continuity of this experience in the mind that gives rise to our conventional sense of identity. So, we might interpret YS 1.4 as stating that “at other times, when the mind is active, the mind assumes the form of thoughts, feelings, memories and perceptions that are arising and, because we fundamentally misunderstand the relationship between our true Self and the mind, we identify with that.” In short, we identify with the projections of our own mind.

Let us return to our working definition of YS 1.4 above, “at other times, we tend to identify with the contents of our minds.” This is the bottom line, even if the metaphysics seems impenetrable. The identification with the citta vtti is problematic because they can easily become overwhelming or self-perpetuating, and lead to experiences of suffering and distress. Much of our mental content is, in fact, a projection or distortion of the reality of ourselves and the world around us, and our anxieties about the future or memories of the past can prevent us from being really present. So, who on earth would want a mind, if it is the cause of so much distortion and distress?

The role of the mind and the citta vtti in causing suffering is only half the story. Indian philosophy is sometimes accused of being overly negative, but this is only because it focuses on the causes of suffering and how to address them. We should also appreciate what a remarkable instrument the mind is. Without it we would have no experience, no faculties of perception, no positive human qualities such as love and compassion, and no means to navigate life's journey. When it is clear and focused, and the internal projections and distortions of reality are minimised, it enables acute perception, reasoning and creativity. These qualities free us from the tyrannies of habit, dullness and agitation. We will explore such states of clarity in Chapter 15 where the process of meditation and the potential results are discussed in more detail.

Sādhana: Nirodha is both method and goal

The definition of yoga as citta vtti nirodha defines the goal of the practice: to achieve a state of nirodha. However, it also defines the method. It is common in the Yoga Sūtra for definitions of states also to give us the principles to reach those states. For example, āsana is defined by the qualities of stability (sthira) and comfort (sukha). This gives us a clue to its methodology: the active cultivation of sthira and sukha.¹¹ In a similar way, employing nirodha as method is the means to cultivate the goal.

Nirodha as method is the process of focusing, channeling and containing. The yoga tradition has always acknowledged and worked with the relationship between body, breath and mind. We can apply the principles of nirodha to these three domains, so we can work with kāya nirodha (nirodha of the body), prāa nirodha (nirodha of the breath or vital energy), and citta vtti nirodha (nirodha of the mind). These are interdependent: nirodha of the body and breath support nirodha of the mind.

In Chapter 1, we discussed an important aspect of kāya nirodha: “learning to be still.” Being still is a literal nirodha of the body and provides an opportunity for the energy of the system to settle. It also provides a stable backdrop to cultivating our inner awareness. But the scope of kāya nirodha is far wider within our āsana practice. Nirodha as channeling or containing also applies to the dynamic aspects of the practice, i.e., how we move into and out of āsana. When working dynamically we cultivate smooth, even movements within a prescribed set of steps (vinyāsa krama).¹² The form of the movement into and out of an āsana is prescribed; it is not random and should not be embellished with either artistic flourishes or unconscious twitches. It is channelled and contained within the vinyāsa krama. There is a simple and direct quality in our movement.

Dynamic work in āsana and in āsana sequences,¹³ where we link several postures together in a flow, can be very engaging. We need to add a note of caution here, however. Flowing sequences can be hypnotic, so we need to be vigilant to remain present. It is easy to lose oneself within flowing sequences, as if switching off and trancing out when you dance. This can give some relief from the constant dialogue in the mind, but is contrary to the principle in yoga of being present with focus and clarity (the characteristics of sattva gua). Trancelike states may be dominated by the dull absorption typical of tamas or the energetic passion of rajas. Performed with care and attention, sequences can be great for engaging our energy when we need to wake the body up, or need somewhere to channel a build-up of energy in the body—as long as they encourage us to stay present rather than switch off.

Static āsana are a literal nirodha of the body in that they further contain the body. Generally, there is a progression from more movement towards more stillness, both over the course of a single practice and as a development of practice over the longer term. Breath work is most intensely focused in static postures and, consequently, they provide the ideal arena for directing the mind. Kāya nirodha finds its ultimate expression in the ability to sit for a long time without disturbance from the body, so that we can engage in static practices such as prāāyāma and meditation.

Prāa nirodha, channeling and containing the movement of the breath, uses similar principles. Because there is movement during inhalation and exhalation, they are like the dynamic aspect of āsana. In prāāyāma, or indeed in the way that we breathe in āsana, the first step is to regulate the inhalation and exhalation to make the breath long, smooth and even. This is the channeling aspect of nirodha applied to the breath. The breath is linked to movement in dynamic āsana and directed more precisely in static āsana. In prāāyāma, the flow of the breath is then channelled and directed further by the posture, which is specifically structured for this purpose.

Although prāa can sometimes be understood to mean the breath, it also refers to the vital energy which underpins all our movement—physical, breathing or even activity in the mind. Yoga acknowledges the intimate relationship between our breath and prāa so that in using the term prāa we are often referring to both the breath and the vital energy to which it is so intimately linked. Working with the breath directly influences our prāa, and changes in the state of our prāa are reflected in the breath. The final link in the chain is the mind (citta). As a famous verse from the Haha Yoga Pradīpikā states, “When prāa moves, the mind moves; when prāa is still, the mind is still” (HYP 2.2). So working with the breath is a means to directly influence our prāa and therefore our mind. Simply stand in samasthiti, take a few long smooth breaths in ujjāyī,¹⁴ and the mind feels calmer; the effect is very direct. New students can be surprised when they first discover ujjāyī. Taking long, smooth, regulated breaths, they often immediately experience a lighter, more spacious feeling. Krishnamacharya said, “Haha Yoga is prāāyāma,” and here we might go further: Haha Yoga is prāa nirodha and it directly creates the conditions for citta vtti nirodha.

“Breath work is most intensely focused in static postures and, consequently, they provide the ideal arena for directing the mind.”

Pausing at the end of the inhale or exhale (kumbhaka) is like static āsana in that it reflects the principle of nirodha as absolute containment or cessation most directly. Although requiring care in its application, the principle of kumbhaka (where the breath is suspended or paused in āsana and prāāyāma) opens up a space for the most profound experiences of stillness. Because of the direct link between breath, prāa and citta, kumbhaka can cultivate profound moments of citta vtti nirodha directly. This has been explored to its limits within the Haha Yoga tradition.¹⁵

In practice, kāya nirodha and prāa nirodha support citta vtti nirodha, and many of the practical elements of the methodology in this approach can be understood in terms of the principle of nirodha—it is like a master key that explains why we practice the way we do. However, citta vtti nirodha is also an element that must be brought directly into the practice and not just considered as a consequence of the other levels.

This requires us to focus our minds and engage deeply and consistently with the practice. Often it is maintaining our focus that is the greatest challenge. A number of elements in the practice are direct supports for our attention, such as the feeling of ujjāyī in the throat and many of the postural cues that encourage us to pay close attention to our bodies during āsana. However, we need to be active and diligent in making the effort to link and stay with them. Bhāvana¹⁶ are specific elements to focus on. They are designed to engage the mind by cultivating a feeling or image, thereby channeling and directing the vtti. The most effective bhāvana draw us into subtle and deep levels of focused experience.

Nirodha is therefore the underlying principle of all yoga practice. When you next step onto the mat, consider all the elements of the practice that encourage nirodha at the three levels of body, breath and mind. In the final analysis, yoga is citta vtti nirodha, so don't just be a passenger: make a conscious intention and effort to focus and link with all the supportive elements of the practice, and seek to maintain this throughout. This can be demanding irrespective of the physical effort of performing difficult postures and is precisely why the simplest of practices can produce the most profound results if approached with the right attitude. This is real yoga.