1. Concentration (dharana) is holding the mind within a centre of spiritual consciousness in the body, or fixing it on some divine form, either within the body or outside it.
The first five ‘limbs’ of yoga have been discussed in the preceding chapter. Three remain: concentration (dharana), meditation (dhyana) and absorption (samadhi).
The centres of spiritual consciousness here referred to are the seven lotuses (chapter 2, aphorisms 49-50). In order to concentrate, you must first fix your mind upon the Inner Light within one of these lotuses, as your teacher directs. Or you may concentrate upon the form of your Chosen Ideal, trying to visualize that form either within a lotus or outside your own body altogether.
2. Meditation (dhyana) is an unbroken flow of thought toward the object of concentration.
In other words, meditation is prolonged concentration. The process of meditation is often compared to the pouring of oil from one vessel to another, in a steady, unbroken stream. We have seen (chapter 1, aphorism 2) that Patanjali defines thought as a wave (vritti) in the mind. Ordinarily a thought-wave arises, remains in the mind for a moment, and then subsides, to be succeeded by another wave. In the practice of meditation, a succession of identical waves are raised in the mind; and this is done so quickly that no one wave is allowed to subside before another rises to take its place. The effect is therefore one of perfect continuity. If you shoot a hundred feet of film without moving your camera or your object, and then project the result on a screen, your audience might just as well be looking at a single still photograph. The many identical images are fused into one.
It will be seen from this definition that Patanjali’s dhyana does not exactly correspond to our usual understanding of the word ‘meditation.’ By ‘meditation’ we commonly mean a more or less discursive operation of the mind around a central idea. If, for example, we say that we have been meditating on Christ, we are apt to mean that we have not only tried to fix our minds on Christ’s ideal form but have also been thinking about his teachings, his miracles, his disciples, his crucifixion, and so on. All this is very good, but it is a mere preliminary to what may properly be called dharana and dhyana.
3. When, in meditation, the true nature of the object shines forth, not distorted by the mind of the perceiver, that is absorption (samadhi).
Ordinary sense-perception is distorted and coloured by the imagination of the perceiver. We decide in advance what it is we think we are going to see, and this preconception interferes with our vision. Great painters have often been violently attacked because they painted scenery as it actually looked, not as people thought it ought to look.
It is only in the supersensuous perception of samadhi that we see an object in the truth of its own nature, absolutely free from the distortions of our imagination. Samadhi is, in fact, much more than perception; it is direct knowledge. When Sri Ramakrishna told Vivekananda, ‘I see God more real than I see you,’ he was speaking the literal truth. For Ramakrishna meant that he saw God in samadhi, while he saw Vivekananda with the eyes of his ordinary sense-perception which must necessarily retain a measure of distortion.
4. When these three—concentration, meditation and absorption—are brought to bear upon one subject, they are called samyama.
Samyama is simply a convenient technical term which describes the three-fold process by which the true nature of an object is known.
5. Through mastery of samyama comes the light of knowledge.
6. It must be applied stage by stage.
Patanjali warns us not to go too fast. It is no use attempting meditation before we have mastered concentration. It is no use trying to concentrate upon subtle objects until we are able to concentrate upon gross ones. Any attempt to take a short cut to knowledge of this kind is exceedingly dangerous. One may, for example, obtain certain psychic experiences while under the influence of drugs. But such experiences, so obtained, can bring no lasting spiritual benefits. On the contrary, they are generally followed by a relapse into complete agnosticism and despair.
The Vishnu Purana, one of the Hindu scriptures, teaches the practice of meditation by stages, beginning with the worship of God with form and culminating in the realization of the oneness of Atman and Brahman:
Meditate on Vishnu, the Dweller in the hearts of all beings, seated on a lotus within the rays of the sun, his body luminous, adorned with diadem, necklace, earrings, and bracelets of great lustre, and holding conch shell and mace in his hands.
Then the wise man should meditate upon the luminous, benign form of the Lord, without the conch shell and mace, but adorned with ornaments.
As the mind becomes concentrated on the form, he must then keep his mind on the form without ornaments.
Then he must meditate upon his oneness with the luminous form of the Lord.
Lastly, he must let the form vanish and meditate upon the Atman.
7. These three are more direct aids to experience than the five limbs previously described.
That is to say, the first five limbs of yoga are only a form of training for the aspirant, to prepare him for the practice of samyama (concentration-meditation-absorption). The mind and senses have to be purified by the cultivation of ethical virtues and the whole organism has to be strengthened in order that it may be able to undergo the tremendous experiences that await it. But this is just the beginning. Even the perfection of samyama is just the beginning. For, whenever we are inclined to feel proud of some tiny indication of spiritual growth in ourselves, we shall do well to remember Brahmananda’s amazing and sobering words: ‘Spiritual life begins after samadhi.’
8. But even these are not direct aids to the seedless samadhi.
The practice of samyama leads to the lower samadhi. But the ‘seedless’ samadhi (nirvikalpa) demands a further and even more intense spiritual effort. (See chapter 1, aphorism 51. Nearly everything Patanjali says here on the subject is simply recapitulation.) Patanjali now speaks of nirvikalpa:
9. When the vision of the lower samadhi is suppressed by an act of conscious control, so that there are no longer any thoughts or visions in the mind, that is the achievement of control of the thought-waves of the mind.
10. When this suppression of thought-waves becomes continuous, the mind’s flow is calm.
11. When all mental distractions disappear and the mind becomes one-pointed, it enters the state called samadhi.
12. The mind becomes one-pointed when similar . thought-waves arise in succession without any gaps between them.
It has been said that if the mind can be made to flow uninterruptedly toward the same object for twelve seconds, this may be called concentration. If the mind can continue in that concentration for twelve times twelve seconds (i.e. two minutes and twenty-four seconds), this may be called meditation. If the mind can continue in that meditation for twelve times two minutes and twenty-four seconds (i.e. twenty-eight minutes and forty-eight seconds), this will be the lower samadhi. And if the lower samadhi can be maintained for twelve times - that period (i.e. five hours, forty-five minutes and- thirty-six seconds), this will lead to nirvikalpa samadhi.
13. In this state, it passes beyond the three kinds of changes which take place in subtle or gross matter, and in the organs: change of form, change of time and change of condition.
Vivekananda takes, as an example, a lump of gold. Change of form occurs when the gold is made first into a bracelet and then into an earring. Change of time occurs as it gets older. Change, of condition occurs when the bright gold becomes dull, or wears thin. Similar’ changes occur in subtle matter and in the thought-waves of the mind. The thought-waves may be of different kinds, may refer to different periods of time, and may vary in intensity. But the mind, in the state of samadhi, is beyond all three kinds of changes.
14. A compound object has attributes and is subject to change, either past, present or yet to be manifested.
15. The succession of these changes is the cause of manifold evolution.
Every object within the realm of differentiated matter has attributes and is a compound object, since it is made of the three gunas in varying combinations. As has already been explained in chapter 1, the attributes of an object vary and change according to the action of the gunas and the constitution of the samskaras. Any object can change into any other object. Therefore, the enlightened yogi sees no essential difference between a piece of gold and a lump of mud. Hence, he acquires complete dispassion toward the objects, of the phenomenal world.
16. By making samyama on the three kinds of changes, one obtains knowledge of the past and the future.
Patanjali now begins to describe the various occult powers and the methods by which they are acquired. All authorities, including Patanjali himself, regard occult powers as the greatest stumbling-blocks in the path to truth. ‘Heaps of rubbish,’ Sri Ramakrishna calls them. Buddha told his disciples very definitely never to put their faith in miracles but to see truth in the eternal principles. Christ spoke sharply against those who ‘seek for a sign,’ and it is unfortunate that his strictures were not taken more seriously to heart by his followers.
Occult powers do, however, exist, and Patanjali, in his comprehensive treatise on yoga psychology, obviously cannot ignore them. We translate the aphorisms which follow for the sake of completeness, but we do so with a minimum of technical explanation. The sincere spiritual aspirant can have very little concern with such matters.
In the West, .these powers are seldom exhibited, and are therefore the object of a good deal of scepticism. Yet they are all within each one of us and could be developed through constant practice. Western man has made a different choice. He has preferred to concentrate on the production of mechanical rather than psychological powers; and so, instead of telepathy we have the telephone, instead of levitation we have the helicopter, and instead of clairvoyance we have television. We may regret the materialism that is expressed by such a choice; but perhaps it is the lesser of two evils. A community of degenerated yogis, using psychic powers for business and political ends, would be even more unpleasant to live in than our own atom-wielding world. So let us stop hankering after the psychic powers and turn back to the true path toward spiritual growth, remembering Patanjali’s warning: ‘They are powers in the worldly state, but they are obstacles to samadhi.’
17. By making samyama on the sound of a word, one’s perception of its meaning, and one’s reaction to it—three things which are ordinarily confused--one obtains understanding of all sounds uttered by living beings.
Ordinarily, we are aware of no distinction between hearing the sound of a word, understanding what it means, and reacting, in one way or another, to the information it contains. If someone shouts ‘fire’ we jump to our feet in an instant. But the yogi is able to separate these three functions. By making this samyama, he can understand foreign languages and the sounds made by all kinds of animals.
18. By making samyama on previous thought-waves, one obtains knowledge of one’s past lives.
When a thought-wave subsides, it remains within the mind, in a minute, subtle form. Therefore it can be revived as memory. And this memory can be made to extend backward into previous incarnations.
19. By making samyama on the distinguishing marks of another man’s body, one obtains knowledge of the nature of his mind.
20. But not of its contents, because that is not the object of the samyama.
In order to know the contents of another man’s mind, the yogi would have to make a second samyama on the heart (aphorism 35 of this chapter).
21. If one. makes samyama on the form of one’s body, obstructing its perceptibility and separating its power of manifestation from the eyes of the beholder, then one’s body becomes invisible.
22. Thus, also, its sounds cease to be heard.
In other words, it is possible for the yogi, while remaining present in a room, to obstruct the outward manifestation of his body in such a way that the senses of other people will be unable to detect it. The reality behind the outward manifestation will remain, but, since this reality cannot be detected by the gross sense-organs of others, the yogi will become unseen, unheard, unfelt, and so on.
23. By making samyama on two kinds of karma—that which will soon bear fruit and that which will not bear fruit until later—or by recognizing the portents of death, a yogi may know the exact time of his separation from the body.
Portents of death include various physical and psychical phenomena, together with visions of supernatural beings. (It is better not to be too explicit here, lest the reader should alarm himself unduly!) Hindus believe that it is very important to know the exact hour of one’s death in advance, because the thoughts one is thinking at that moment will to some degree determine the nature of one’s afterlife.
24. By making samyama on friendliness, compassion, etc., one develops the powers of these qualities.
The reference here is to aphorism 33 of chapter 1: ‘friendliness toward the happy, compassion for the unhappy, delight in the virtuous.’ The yogi who masters this samyama has the power of giving joy to everyone he meets, and relieving him from pain and care.
25. By making samyama on any kind of strength, such as that of the elephant, one obtains that strength.
26. By making samyama on the Inner Light, one obtains knowledge of what is subtle, hidden or far distant.
The Inner Light is the light of the lotus within the heart, referred to in aphorism 36 of chapter 1.
27. By making samyama on the sun, one gains knowledge of the cosmic spaces.
28. By making samyama on the moon, one gains knowledge of the arrangement of the stars.
29. By making samyama on the polestar, one gains knowledge of the motions of the stars.
It has already been remarked that there is a strong resemblance between the cosmology of Patanjali and the theories of modern atomic physics. Yet the ancient Hindus had, as far as we know, practically no scientific apparatus of any accuracy. This fact alone would seem to offer some proof of the validity of the psychic powers. For how else, could these sageshave formed such a correct and comprehensive picture of the nature of the universe? Their knowledge cannot have been based, .as. ours is, simply upon sense-perception assisted by instruments.
30. By making samyama on the navel, one gains knowledge of the constitution of the body.
31. By making samyama on the hollow of the throat, one stills hunger and thirst.
32. By making samyama on the tube within the chest, one acquires absolute motionlessness.
The motionlessness, for example, of the snake or the lizard. This enables the yogi to meditate undisturbed by the involuntary movements of his body.
33. By making samyama on the radiance within the back of the head, one becomes able to see the celestial beings.
The radiance within the back of the head is not to be confused with the radiance of the seventh lotus, the highest centre of spiritual consciousness, which is situated at the top of the head (see chapter 2, aphorism 50).
34. All these powers of knowledge may also come to one whose mind is spontaneously enlightened through purity.
When the mind has reached a very high state of purification, the psychic powers may come to it spontaneously and unbidden, without the making of any samyama.
35. By making samyama on the heart, one gains knowledge of the contents of the mind.
36. The power of enjoyment arises from a failure to discriminate between the Atman and the sattwa guna, which are totally different. The sattwa guna is merely the agent of the Atman, which is independent, existing only for its own sake. By making samyama on the independence of the Atman, one gains knowledge of the Atman.
In the ordinary state of consciousness, the highest enjoyment we can know is the joy inspired by the guna of sattwa. This seems to us, in our ignorance, to be identical with the joy of the pure Atman; but it is not. Sattwa, even in its purest state, is still a guna; and sattwic joy still contains a measure of egotism. What we have to understand is that the gunas are only agents of the Atman, and that sattwic joy is only a pale reflection of the joy of the Atman, which is without egotism and entirely independent of the gunas. By making this samyama and discriminating between Atman and sattwa, the yogi passes beyond earthly enjoyment into the joy of the Atman itself.
37. Hence one gains the knowledge due to spontaneous enlightenment, and obtains supernatural powers of hearing, touch, sight, taste and smell.
38. They are powers in the worldly state, but they are obstacles to samadhi.
39. When the bonds of the mind caused by karma have been loosened, the yogi can enter into the body of another by knowledge of the operation of its nerve-currents.
‘The yogi,’ says Vivekananda, ‘can enter a dead body and make it get up and move, even while he himself is working in another body. Or he can enter a living body, and hold that man’s mind and organs in check, and for the time being act through the body of that man.’
This recalls a story that is told about Shankara, the great philosopher and saint. When Shankara was still a boy in his teens, there was a philosopher named Mandan Misra who held that the life of the householder was far superior to that of the monk; an opinion which was widely shared throughout India. Shankara determined to hold a debate with Misra, knowing that if he could convert him he could also convert Misra’s many disciples. After considerable difficulties, he succeeded in making Misra agree to this. It was understood that Shankara, if he lost, should become a householder, and that Misra, if he lost, should become a monk. At Shankara’s suggestion, Misra’s wife Bharati, herself a famous scholar, acted as umpire.
After a debate of several days, Misra was ready to admit total defeat. But Bharati said to Shankara: ‘Wait. Husband and wife are one person. You have only defeated half of us. Now you must debate with me. You may know all about philosophy, but I choose another subject. I choose sex. It is a great science. Before you can claim either of us as your disciple, you will have to debate with me and defeat me on that.’
For the moment Shankara was baffled. As a monk and a mere boy, he knew nothing whatever about sex. However, a plan: occurred to him. He asked for a month’s delay; and this Bharati granted.
At this time, it so happened that a king named Amaraka lay dying. Shankara told his disciples to hide his own body in a safe place and take great care of it. Then, by yoga power, he left his body and entered the newly dead body of the king. Amaraka apparently revived, and continued to rule the kingdom under the guidance of Shankara.
Shankara-Amaraka proved to be a brilliant and just ruler, winning the admiration of all.’But Amaraka’s two wives soon realized that something extraordinary had happened. For the new Amaraka not only showed astonishingly youthful energy; he seemed as ignorant of sexual love as a baby. Meanwhile, the preoccupations of kingship and domestic life began to cloud Shankara’s mind. He began to forget what he had done, why he had done it, and who he was. He began to believe that he really was Amaraka, and not Shankara.
Shankara’s disciples-learned of this. Since monks were not admitted to the court, they disguised themselves as wandering musicians and so came into his presence. Then they began to sing the poem called ‘Moha Mudgaram,’ ‘The Shattering of Delusion,’ which Shankara himself had composed:
Beloved, strange are the world’s ways and vast thy ignorance.
Who is thy wife, and who thy son? Whose art thou? From what place come hence?
Ponder this in thy heart and bow to God in reverence.
The words recalled Shankara to awareness of his own identity. The body of King Amaraka fell dead to the ground as Shankara left it and returned to his own body.
Later, when Shankara appeared at Misra’s house, Bharati knew at once what it was that he had done, for she also possessed yoga powers, and she admitted defeat without further debate.
40. By controlling the nerve-currents that govern the lungs and the upper part of the body, the yogi can walk on water and swamps, or on thorns and similar objects, and he can die at will.
41. By controlling the force which governs the prana, he can surround himself with a blaze of light.
This is the force which regulates the various functions of the vital energy (prana). One of the brother-disciples of Sri Ramakrishna actually had this power; and it is recorded that he once used it to light the path for Ramakrishna on a dark night. However, Ramakrishna later found it necessary to take the power away from him because it was making him dangerously egotistic.
42. By making samyama on the relation between the ear and the ether, one obtains supernatural powers of hearing.
43. By making samyama on the relation between the body and the ether, or by acquiring through meditation the lightness of cotton fibre, the yogi can fly through the air.
44. By making samyama on the thought-waves of the mind when it is separated from the body—the state known as the Great Disincarnation—all coverings can be removed from the light of knowledge.
Like aphorism 39, this refers to the yoga power of withdrawing the mind from one’s own body in order to make it pass into the body of another. In this state of withdrawal, the ‘Great Disincarnation,’ the mental coverings composed of rajas and tamas dwindle away and the light of sattwa is revealed.
45. By making samyama on the gross and subtle forms of the elements, on their essential characteristics and the inherence of the gunas in them, and on the experiences they provide for the individual, one gains mastery of the elements.
46. Hence one gains the power of becoming as tiny as an atom and all similar powers; also perfection of the body, which is .no longer subject to the obstructions of the elements.
Not only can the yogi become as tiny as an atom but as huge as a mountain, as heavy as lead, or as light as air. And the elements cease to obstruct him. He can pass through rock. He can hold his hand in the fire, unburned. He can walk through water, unwetted. He can stand firm against a hurricane.
47. Perfection of the body includes beauty, grace, strength and the hardness of a thunderbolt.
48. By making samyama on the transformation that the sense-organs undergo when they contact objects, on the power of illumination of the sense-organs, on the ego-sense, on the gunas which constitute the organs, and on the experiences they provide for the individual, one gains mastery of the organs.
49. Hence the body gains the power of movement as rapid as that of the mind, the power of using the sense-organs outside the confines of the body, and the mastery of Prakriti.
Aphorism 48 describes a progressive samyama on all the separate phases of an act of cognition.
The power of using the sense-organs outside the confines of the body, mentioned in aphorism 49, enables one to exercise clairvoyance and clairaudience. Mastery of Prakriti, the primal cause, gives the yogi control of all the effects evolved from Prakriti—in other words, control of Nature.
50. By making samyama on the discrimination between the sattwa guna and the Atman, one gains omnipotence and omniscience.
This discrimination has already been discussed (aphorism 36 of this chapter).
51. By giving up even these powers, the seed of evil is destroyed and liberation follows.
The ‘seed of evil’ is ignorance. Because of ignorance, man forgets that he is the Atman and creates for himself the illusion of a private, separate ego-personality. This ego-personality is intent upon satisfying its desires, and acquiring possessions and powers over external nature. Of all powers, the psychic powers are, from the standpoint of the ego, the most desirable; and, of the psychic powers, omnipotence and omniscience (to which Patanjali has referred in the previous aphorism) are obviously the greatest. The yogi who has held even these powers within his grasp and nevertheless renounced them, has rejected the ultimate temptation of the ego. Henceforth, he is freed from bondage. (For example, Christ rejected the psychic powers offered to him by Satan in the wilderness.)
52. When tempted by the invisible beings in high places, let the yogi feel neither allured nor flattered: for he is in danger of being caught once more by ignorance.
‘The invisible beings in high places’ are the fallen yogis already referred to (chapter 1, aphorism 19) who have reached the state of disincarnate gods or become merged in the forces of Nature. Such beings have failed to find liberation precisely because they yielded to the temptations of the psychic powers. Therefore, it is said, they are jealous of those who seem about to overcome these temptations, and they try to drag them back into ignorance. In the commentary on Patanjali’s aphorisms which is attributed to Vyasa, the allurements offered to the yogi by ‘those in high places’ are described, quaintly but forcefully, as follows: ‘Sir, will you seat yourself here? Will you rest here? You might enjoy this pleasure. You might find this maiden attractive. This elixir will banish old age and death. In this chariot you can fly through the air. Over there are trees which grant all wishes. That heavenly stream will give you happiness. Those sages know everything. These nymphs are peerlessly beautiful, and you will not find them cold. Your eyes and ears will become supernaturally keen, your body will shine like a diamond. In consequence of your distinguished virtues, honoured Sir, you are entitled to all these rewards. Please enter into this heaven which is unfailing, ageless, deathless, and dear to the gods.’
Thus tempted, the yogi is advised to reply as follows: ‘I have been baked on the dreadful coals of reincarnation. I have writhed in the darkness of rebirth and death. Now at last I have found the lamp of yoga which dispels the shadows of ignorance. How then can I, who have seen its light, be led astray once more by sensual things?’
The great Hindu teachers all believed that a yogi’s spiritual development might be interfered with by external forces—by the disincarnate gods, by beings on the psychic or subtle plane of matter, or by earthbound spirits. And this belief is symbolized in the traditional Hindu ritualistic worship, which begins as follows:
First, the worshipper must try to feel the presence of God everywhere, as the all-pervading Existence. Then he must feel that the doors of his senses are locked and that he has entered into the shrine of his own heart, where God dwells. He must say: ‘As a man with eyes wide open sees the sky before him, so the seers see always the supreme truth of God.’ Trying to imagine that he has already gained this power of spiritual sight, he now opens his eyes, repeating his mantram as he does so. He must look about him, trying to see the presence of God in everything he sees and to know that by the power of the mantram the obstacles created by the disincarnate gods are being removed.
Next he must throw a spoonful of water straight up into the air, as if into the psychic realm, invoking the protective power of God to remove all psychic obstacles.
Finally, he must take some rice between his right thumb and forefinger, and scatter it in a circle, saying: ‘May the earth-bound spirits and the spirits that create obstacles be dissolved by the will of the Lord Shiva.’ The earthbound spirits are said to be the spirits of those who have committed suicide. They are earthbound because they still have to work out the karma which they have tried to reject by their act. The worshipper is praying that they may be released from their present form and thus set free to develop toward liberation. Sometimes, a food offering is given to the earthbound spirits to propitiate them, and they are told either to leave the place or to remain and watch the worship without interfering, from a respectful distance.
It is only after performing these preliminary ceremonies that the worshipper can proceed to the direct ritualistic worship of his Chosen Deity.
Up to a certain point, temptation increases with spiritual growth. As the aspirant ceases to be a mere beginner and gains some mystical experience, his personality becomes magnetic. He finds that he can exert psychological power over others, and also sexual attraction. At the same time, his own senses grow keener and more capable of enjoyment. It is therefore easy for him to become involved in power- and sex-relationships which will make him forget his original purpose. The very people who are drawn to him because of the god-like quality they see in his nature may be the ones who are most responsible for his gradual alienation from God. But, as Sri Krishna tells us, ‘no one who seeks Brahman ever comes to an evil end.’ And so, even when such a lapse takes place, we may believe that the spiritual aspirant will eventually find his way back to the path, and that those who tempted him from it will also, to some extent, have gained spiritual benefit from their association with him.
53. By making samyama on single moments and on their sequence in time, one gains discriminative knowledge.
By a ‘moment’ is meant an indivisible unit, the smallest imaginable instant. A moment is regarded by Patanjali as an object. It belongs to the order of external phenomena, like a dog, a diamond or a tree. But a sequence of moments—that is to say, what we call ‘time’—is not an object; it is only a structure created by our minds, an idea.
By making samyama on single moments and on their sequence in time, the yogi comes to realize that the entire universe, passes through a change within every single moment. Hence, he understands that the nature of the universe is transitory. This understanding is what is meant by discriminative knowledge. Because the yogi’s mind is not subject to the illusion of ‘time,’ he can understand the real nature of his experiences. The rest of us, who think in terms of time-sequences, are constantly generalizing our sensations, mentally carrying over the sensations of one moment into the next-and the next. We say, ‘I was sad the whole afternoon,’ when, in fact, we were only sad at 2.15, 2.37, 3.01, and so forth. Thus we not only deceive ourselves but suffer much imaginary pain. There is a Zen Buddhist technique for enduring torture by breaking up the time-sequence, and concentrating only upon what is happening in each moment of the immediate present. In this way, suffering can be robbed of its continuity and made much more tolerable. For suffering is largely composed of our memory of past pain and our fear of repeated pain in the future, and this memory and this fear are dependent on our consciousness of a time-sequence.
54. Thus one is able to distinguish between two exactly similar objects, which cannot be distinguished by their species, characteristic marks or positions in space.
Suppose you took two exactly similar, newly minted coins, showed first one, then the other; then changed them behind your back and showed them again. The yogi who had made this samyama would, according to Patanjali, be able to tell you correctly which one you had showed him first.
The spiritual value of this power of discrimination lies, of course, in one’s ability to distinguish always between the Atman and the non-Atman, the outward appearance, however deceptive the latter may be.
55. This discriminative knowledge delivers a man from the bondage of ignorance. It comprehends all objects simultaneously, at every moment of their existence and in all their modifications.
Ordinary knowledge based on sense-perception is a sequence. We learn one fact about a given object, then another fact, then more and more facts. But the yogi who possesses discriminative knowledge understands objects totally and immediately. If, for example, he meets another human being, he knows him at once in all his past and future modifications, as a baby, a youth, an adult and an old man. Such knowledge is infinite; it is within eternity, not time. It delivers a man from the bondage of karma and ignorance.
56. Perfection is attained when the mind becomes as pure as the Atman itself.
When all the thought-waves in the mind have been stilled, the mind holds nothing but pure, undifferentiated consciousness. In this state, it is one with the Atman. Sri Ramakrishna used to say: ‘The pure mind and the Atman are the same.’