YOGA IS ESSENTIALLY CONCERNED with teaching us to perceive and respond to reality in such a way that we can transform our perceptions and responses so that the experience of suffering is resolved. While this process may lead to asking legitimate philosophical, psychological, and religious questions, such questions are of secondary concern. The aim of the yoga path is to recognize suffering in its various manifestations and conditions and to cultivate the skills necessary to bring suffering to an end. As Pattabhi Jois emphatically explained in his description of the enemies in the heart, there are five factors that contribute to the experience of suffering and stress, namely, not being with things as they are (avidyā), attachment (raga), aversion (dveṣa), the stories of “I, me, and mine” (asmitā), and the fear of letting go (abhiniveśa).
One of the best ways of seeing how the contributing causes of suffering operate is through a contemplation of the mind-body, and one of the best ways of approaching the mind-body is through the lens of the five kośas. The five kośas are a kind of magnifying glass or prism through which we can better understand the workings and interaction of perception, consciousness, feeling, breathing, and physiology. In addition, the kośas become a meditative tool through which we can undo the habits of the five kleṣas. On the surface, the kośas describe the layers of mind and body and how they interact. On a deeper level, when one practices the last four limbs of meditation, the kośas become a set of strategies for how one should focus one’s attention and where, a kind of sequential logic for meditative practice.
Some Hatha Yoga teachers, such as B.K.S. Iyengar, use the kośas as a way of demonstrating how the various layers of mind and body not only interpenetrate but also operate consciously or unconsciously depending on where our awareness is. Iyengar uses detailed mechanical and metaphorical instructions as meditation techniques that assist the practitioner in sensing the various factors that comprise mind and body. This helps get the mind focused on the gross and subtle aspects of a yoga posture and all of the layers in between. Describing what constitutes the mind and body, B.K.S. Iyengar writes that mind and body as a whole “consist of five inter-penetrating and inter-dependent sheaths.”1
The Paingala Upaniṣad describes the koṣas clearly:
The five sheaths are made of vital air, mind, understanding and bliss. What is brought into being only by the essence of food, what grows only by food, that which finds rest in earth full of the essence of food, that is the sheath made of food, annamaya kośa. That alone is the gross body. The five vital airs, along with the organs of action, constitute the sheath made of the vital principle, prāṇamaya kośa. Mind, along with the organs of perception, is the sheath made of mind, manomaya kośa. The understanding, along with the organs of perception, is the sheath made of intelligence, vij̃ñanamaya kośa. These three sheaths (of life, mind, and intelligence) form the subtle body. The knowledge of one’s own form is of the sheath made of bliss, ānandamaya kośa. That is also the causal body.
There are several different sheaths that constitute what we call the mind-body. When we practice yoga postures, meditation, and prāṇāyāma, we are consciously or unconsciously working with these various sheaths, depending on the quality and place of attention. Our attention can move among the dense and obvious aspects of the body, including anything from self-image to the feeling of bone and skin. We can also attend to the temperature of the body, the movement of breath within the body, feelings, and even subtle energetic movements. The mind-body is much like the layers of an onion; each layer of an onion can be seen as a pattern seemingly separate from the other layers, yet on closer inspection, the sheaths of an onion interpenetrate one another, each one contingent and provisional. The kośas represent the interconnection of mind, body, emotion, thought, and stillness—aspects of human experience that cannot ultimately be separated from one another.
Any type of stress, whether it’s physical, mental, or emotional, causes tension in our bodies that accumulates from static, repetitive, or sustained posture. Posture can include physiological holding patterns, but according to the theory of the kośas, any postural holding pattern is both physiological and psychological.
The term kośa means “sheath,” “cover,” “subtle body,” “treasury,” or “lexicon,” and comes from the root kus, meaning “to enfold.” The sheaths are of five layers or frames that fold into one another. They consist of (1) annamaya kośa, the anatomical sheath, made up of bones, tendons, muscle groups, and other gross or dense masses; (2) prāṇamaya kośa, the physiological sheath, made up of the circulatory system including the respiratory, nervous, lymphatic, and immune systems; (3) manomaya kośa, the psychological sheath, which includes the mind, feelings, and the processes that organize experience; (4) vij̃ñanamaya kośa, the frame responsible for intellect and wisdom; and (5) ānandamaya kośa, the aspect of the body where everything is as it should be, often described either as a sense in the body of everything being OK, or referred to as the sense of the body when one feels that the body is simply a form of energy or impersonal flow.
One cannot talk about one sheath without talking about the ways in which it is contingent upon other sheaths, because they all work together as a whole, an interdependent life cycle. When the breath draws in through the nostrils and my respiratory diaphragm descends, I feel the breath in terms of sensation, my mind conceives of the breath in terms of an image, name, or form, and if I am somewhat focused, I may also have thoughts about the breath, memories, or feelings associated with the simple activity of in-breathing. All of the sheaths work together, like a lexicon or matrix, and the theory of the kośas describes that interconnection.
The five kośas offer a prism through which we can observe, feel, and investigate the mind-body working as a whole. This is something that was described in great detail and in a different language by Sigmund Freud at the turn of twentieth century. Sometimes we forget that Freud was originally a physician, and that almost all of his first patients came to him with physical symptoms. Freud would have them lie down on a long couch with their eyes closed and describe with language what they were feeling in their bodies. He would sit in a chair behind his patients so as not to infringe on their psychic space. His startling discovery, in what would become the “talking cure,” was that physical symptoms always had a psychological counterpart. As people would talk about their physical symptoms, the symptoms would move and, in some instances, pass away all together. Talking, or the psychological recognition of what was being felt in the body, brought mind and body together in a way that was healing.
To say that these symptoms were purely physiological would be incorrect, because through language, and what Freud later called free association, those symptoms changed. And to say that these holding patterns are purely psychological, or to go further and say that these patterns are all in the minds of those patients, would be incorrect, if only because the physical symptoms they presented were undeniable. In other words, no deep holding pattern in the mind-body is exclusively physical or exclusively psychological, but rather a combination of both.
What this means to the yoga practitioner is that one is always working both with mind and body, and to conceive of a yoga practice as purely a physiological form of exercise is to miss the internal and subtle aspects of yoga, which includes the psychological. So if we choose a particular aspect of the body, such as the myofascial system or the emotions or the nervous system or the breath, we see it against and within the backdrop of the other sheaths of the mind-body.
The annamaya and prāṇamaya kośas are the simplest layers to get a feel for. You can think of these sheaths as a three-dimensional matrix that connects every cell to every other cell within our entire body of bones, muscles, organs, and skin, all animated by the breath. Perhaps the most important quality of this sheath is that it records all physical, mental, emotional, and cognitive activity.
An example of how these two sheaths interconnect can be seen within the myofascial system, which is composed of collagen and elastin fibers, which provide flexibility and support for the entire musculoskeletal system, connecting all structures to other structures, forming a protective conduit to keep external pressure off the neurovascular system, and holding memory. All sheaths hold memory. It is of course not just the mind that maintains memory but the unconscious, which is normally associated with our psychology and exists primarily in the body.
What is most compelling about the kośas is that they offer us a paradigm through which we can feel and investigate the interpermeating nature of the mind, body, breath, and energy as it manifests in the here and now. I have found the kośas a transformational tool because they show how the interconnections between different organizing principles of human experience work together. The breath links up with changes in the mind, and the mind in turn affects our perception of the body in time and space, and our habitual patterns of movement influence and are influenced by all these other links in the chain. Posture affects perception, and perception affects posture. Furthermore these links are much more than separate knots or ties, because they are made up of one another. The mind and body are made up of magnitudes and dimensions, connections that are interwoven and inseparable.
This gets at the heart of yoga, namely insight into the very union, ecology, and interplay of life as it manifests in human form. Whether it’s a strong sensation in the stomach or a daydream during a breathing practice, every aspect of human experience contains lines that tie back into one another. How can we posit any form of duality and separateness once we see just how fundamental are these interconnections?
I have always been so impressed by the teachings of B.K.S. Iyengar when he pulls together the striking connections between breathing, movement, and the mind. Very few yoga teachers have been able to move so thoroughly and deliberately through the precise techniques of yoga postures and breathing where suddenly the limb of āsana opens up to the other limbs. Practicing yoga postures with precision of attention cuts through any polarities in our thinking because the mind gets so focused on immediate experience that the experience opens into a wider dimension of interconnection.
The kind of attention subtle āsana practice requires focuses the mind on process rather than structure, change rather than stability, and flow rather than discrete movements. This opens up the mind to the present moment, the feeling of spontaneity, change, and chance, pulling the mind out of the duality of subject and object, mind and matter, submission or dominion, because yoga postures offer insight into the value of all forms of human experience, be they physical, mental, emotional, or perceptual. As we go deep into the matter of our bones we find not building blocks or pieces in conversation but rather a complicated web of relations between various parts of the whole. Yoga is synonymous with that whole. The universe of even one breath cycle is completely whole and unbroken. When the mind breaks things up into parts and pieces belonging to a “me,” that whole is turned into fragmented experience. Yoga refers to the undivided wholeness and intimate interconnection of reality.
The body and mind that at first appear to the practitioner as solid structure eventually reveal themselves as constantly changing process, because any structure is, at base, process. Yoga is the practice of attending to this process. Another way of thinking about the interconnectedness of the mind and body, and of the kośas in particular, is through the myth of Indra’s Net.
This Indian myth occurs in both Hinduism and Chinese Mahayana Buddhism. It conceives of the abode of Indra, the Hindu god of space, in which there is a net that stretches infinitely in all directions. At every intersection of the net there is a jewel so highly polished and perfect that it reflects every other jewel in the net. Each and every jewel in the web is intimately connected with every other jewel so that any change of pattern in the web is replicated throughout every sector and layer of its system. The entire net is interconnected and interdependent. When any jewel in the net is touched, all other jewels in any node are affected. This speaks to the hidden interconnectedness and interdependency of everything and everyone in the universe.
Returning to the example of fascia in the annamaya sheath, the collagen and elastin fibers make the sheath of fascia flexible and strong. In addition, the elastin gives muscles elasticity and flexibility, while the collagen provides stability. Whether in body or mind, we always find elasticity and structure, pliability and inertia. In the body and mind, we find dynamic stability, which refers to the way these five sheaths create a sense of structure yet are constantly in motion as well as states of regeneration. At one level something seems fixed in a pattern, and if you look a little deeper, you will find motion. Keep looking into motion and you will again find form. We are always dancing between form and impermanence. As an example, collagen, which is a moving aspect of the fascia, also supports the musculoskeletal structure. Efficiency and function of all body systems and movements, including the relationship between the connective tissue and muscle, depends on the balance within the myofascial system. And of course the myofascial system is also in a state of balance with the emotional body that is also interdependent with the nervous system, immune system, and mind. In other words, we see in the theory of the five sheaths an ecology of interdependence. This ecological, physiological, and psychological approach to the mind-body allows us to see contingency at work. Parts work together, and within parts we find subcycles supported by other subcycles ad infinitum.
Like the net of Indra, the theory of the kośas shoots holes in the assumption or imputation of a solid and fixed universe “out there.” The capacity of one jewel to reflect the light of another jewel from the other edge of infinity is something that is difficult for the linear mind to comprehend. The fact that all nodes are simply reflections indicates that there is no particular single source point from whence it all arises. Our experience of body occurs through feeling, mind, and perception, and the ability to perceive rests on a body and sense organs that act as media through which the data of perception flows.
Furthermore, the fact that all nodes are simply a reflection of all others implies the illusory nature of all appearances. Appearances are thus not reality but a reflection of reality. If all the kośas are like threads of a web, and the unique patterns within each aspect of a human being weaves within the kośas, one cannot continue to practice even the physical aspects of yoga postures without at the same time recognizing the psychological and relational aspects of practice as well.
Even mind and consciousness, as categorized in the third kośa, manomaya kośa, the psychological sheath, which includes the mind, feelings, and the processes that organize experience as well as the fourth kośa, vij̃ñanamaya kośa, the frame responsible for intellect and wisdom, are interconnected.
The final layer of the mind-body is the kośa of ānanda. Ānanda is the felt sense in mind and body that everything is OK just the way it is. Ānanda is the embodiment, even momentarily, of contentment. It’s much like the feeling of tuning into the breath, even if it is stirred up, and feeling that one part of the breath that is completely relaxed, no matter how small. The term ānanda comes from the verbal root nand, which means “to rejoice.” Ānandamaya kośa is the sheath that represents the joy in stillness. Unlike the outer sheaths of muscles or the inner sheaths of emotional patterns and thought, the innermost sheath of ānandamaya kośa is the sheath of perfection. It is similar to the Tantric descriptions of the middle axis of the body—suṣumnā nāḍī, which is empty and stainless, like the blue flute played by Kṛṣṇa at Vṛndivan.
Ānandamaya kośa describes the nature of pure awareness, which is empty and without the substance of self. It is the selfless self. It is clear and unpolluted, free from avarice and cultural impressions. It can’t even be recognized as a thing unto itself. Much like the experience of mūla bandha or insight into emptiness, it is untouched. It is free from binding and coming apart, gaining and losing, coming and going. It is interdependent with the other sheaths and always demonstrates the point of stillness around which the other sheaths vibrate. It is the experience of simple awareness uncluttered by the fluctuations of the mind, even though it is part of that which fluctuates (prakṛti).
Ānandamaya kośa is the experience of awareness free of grasping. It is the mind and body without artifice. Without any special techniques, one can feel this standing still. The posture samstitihi literally means “to stand with equal balance.” It refers to the balanced interrelation of the five kośas. The emotional body, nervous system, breath, mind, and heart are all in balance with one another.
The tendency of restriction in one sheath to transmit dysfunction to other parts is accounted for by the ways in which the kośas interpenetrate one another. You can also talk about the replication of patterns within the body as a characteristic of fascia and the nature of the whole fascial system.
As long as we are breathing, as long as our fluids are circulating, old structure is being demolished and removed while new material is being imported and built into new body parts. The body is not perfectly still; it is always in dynamic motion. The mind is a changing process as well. But the motion has a sense of stability to it when the sheaths are in balance. Our electrical and chemical systems are constantly informing one another of, and responding to, the latest developments and needs. In addition to these routine processes of renewal and repair there are exceptional items that need taking care of from time to time. Some of these exceptional items we will be aware of, such as a minor cut, a sensitive hamstring, or an insect bite. Others will escape our attention provided we are healthy. One of the qualities of good health is the ability of our self-healing mechanism to take care of an endless list of minor imbalances and repairs without the need to divert our attention. Provided we don’t overload our systems, we have the flexibility to accommodate a whole variety of stressors. It is only when our system loses flexibility that we start running the risk of deteriorating health, when problems that should be temporary tend to hang on or become chronic, or we may become very sensitive to substances or energetic influences that would not trouble a healthy person.
Think about inflexibility in psychological terms as well. When the mind is unable to hold several viewpoints simultaneously, when it is impossible to listen in a conversation, or when we find ourselves clinging to one perspective, we are caught in inflexibility. It is not just the body that becomes more flexible in yoga postures, but the mind as well. And when the mind is inflexible, those mental states are usually accompanied by or give rise to strong emotions. In moments of anger, jealousy, greed, or envy, we find ourselves clinging to a singular viewpoint at the expense of any other perspective. The mind moves in grooves with qualities similar to those of a stiff arm bone in a shoulder socket—tightness, discomfort, and stress.
The kośas operate within a global ecosystem of mind/body/ecology. In the larger system of the mind-body, what sorts of things happen to us that reduce our flexibility to renew and repair routinely? In the contemporary science of systems theory, it is said that a healthy system is one that knows how to repair itself. This is called “robustness.” Robustness refers not just to the strength of a system but also to its ability to repair itself. In interdependence, the kośas influence and account for all of our bodily processes. If one part of the body loses its flexibility, it tends to break down often. A system that breaks down often educates itself by becoming stronger through flexibility. This is where the qualities and functions of the fascial system really start to account for themselves. Fascia has great flexibility and is fundamentally influential in all of our bodily processes. If a fascia in one part of the body loses its flexibility due to mechanical inhibition or a toxic or malnourished environment, it may affect any other part or system. Similarly, kośa restriction can be of an emotional nature as well. Thus, the five kośas account for the web or matrix that keeps all of the systems of the body communicating with one another.
Deepen the breath, with immediate attention, and stay with the breath for a little longer, and all sorts of movements may start. Emotion may start to surface, and held-in emotion is yet another cause of reduced flexibility. Even the mere alteration of thought or attention can facilitate flexible movement. Attitude and intention of the practitioner create an atmosphere where a holding pattern feels secure enough to risk the possibility of letting go. As the breath moves, the mind moves; as the mind moves, the nervous system moves; and you cannot separate the movements of mind, breath, and body any more than you can take the essence “onion” out of any layer of an onion. Yoga is the node where at least two things meet, and we find such nodes wherever the sheaths come together. But the sheaths are always together, and that is the great paradox: mind and body are always working with breath in the same way that the present moment is always occurring whether you are there for it or not.
The elastic nature of the kośas enables them to carry the memory or intelligence of exactly how the body would like to be arranged to enjoy the greatest ease. Every symptom is an attempt at arranging the sheaths of the mind-body in such a way that balance can be regained. Sheaths of the body under tension are always trying to pull the body back to this state of greatest ease. All psychological symptoms, whether anxiety, depression, or even emotional pain, are the psyche’s attempt to balance the sheaths of the mind-body process. Although many symptoms do not at first seem to have a purpose, they are almost always attempts at balance, no matter how perverted. The breath and the body know in full detail and with total accuracy exactly what they need to do, and what assistance they need in order to return to a state of ease.
The kośas teach us that the systems of the human mind and body, like the larger systems in ecology, are open to, and interact with, their environments, and that they can acquire qualitatively new properties throughout their life cycle, resulting in continual evolution. In other words, we are extremely elastic, and what appears on the surface as fixed and closed is actually an impermanent and flexible process. Rather than reducing an entity such as the human mind or body to the properties of its parts or elements (for example, organs or cells), kośa theory focuses on the arrangement of and relations between the parts, which connect them into a whole. In the Vedas, the relationships between the kośas are not just considered in terms of layers but are also thought of as food for one another. The kośas nourish one another.
We are so used to categorizing the body into parts or looking at our psychological symptoms as somehow separate from the rest of our life. Or we practice the physically demanding practices of Hatha Yoga without opening up to the way these practices affect other aspects of our lives. But whatever we are engaged in is part of a larger system. This is the teaching of Indra’s Net. The nature of the mind-body is a whole system and so, just like an economy, a family, a company, a community, and many other things, can be looked at as interdependent systems.
Yoga challenges us to take a view that would include all the factors involved in any given situation and examine how they relate to one another as well as how they work as a whole. This requires flexibility of perspective and focused attention. To deal with a whole system, we can’t leave anything out as irrelevant.
The systems of the body are dynamic; they change, move, and develop. Frozen pictures of how things are supposed to be do us no good; we need to deal with live systems, whatever surprising directions that might take us in. This is what we call “beginner’s mind.”
The attitude of a beginner allows us to pay attention to the interactivity of not only the subtle elements of the body or the breath in a movement but also to all eight limbs of practice. Nonviolence, for example, begins in your own breath and extends out through your body and into relationship with the interdependent system of which you are only a part.