edition no. 13, 2.22

February greetings
Welcome to the doldrums of winter—more cold, snow and ice! What do you do to fuel your spirit? Plan a vacation? Dream of something special for your day off, courtesy of our old presidents? Try bird-watching for satisfying eye candy? We are finding ways to make it to another spring. 

We know that winter is a time of stillness, hunkering down and waiting.  Waiting for the resurgence of light, warmth and growth: life! At this time of year we anticipate things yet to come. Outside, we can see evidence of rebirth. There is plenty going on: buds forming on bushes and trees, snowmelt, icicles, owls calling and woodpeckers drilling. On this -20º windchill morning, I am buoyed by knowing that February can also have 60º+ days!

We may also find that our yoga practice, as ever, keeps us sane, grounded, interested and content. Abhyāsa, vairāgya, saṇtoṣa: persistent practice without attachment to results yields contentment, enabling us to faithfully persevere. Living these concepts tempers our impatience for change.

The other day, I read a quote in the StarTribune op-ed section that seems particularly apt for this time: “Want what you have. Do what you can. Be yourself."

 

William Channing’s poem “My Symphony” epitomizes saṇtoṣa: 

 

To live content with small means,
To seek elegance rather than luxury,
  and refinement rather than fashion.
To be worthy not respectable,
  and wealthy not rich.
To study hard, think quietly, talk gently, 
  act frankly, to listen to stars, birds, babes, 
  and sages with open heart, to bear all cheerfully, 
  do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never.
In a word, to let the spiritual,
  unbidden and unconscious,
  grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony.

 

May you enjoy February’s beautiful changes.

 

Nancy Marcy,

IYAUM President

 

Dawn Talbert

Home:  St. Paul, MN

Years with Iyengar Yoga:  23

Fun fact:  I’ve traveled to 36 countries. Should be 37. Darn COVID!

How can the IYAUM community be more welcoming? 

Like many others, I’d like to see our community gain younger and more diverse members.

I must admit, Iyengar Yoga snuck up on me. In 1999, my friend Suzanne and I decided to take a beginner yoga class through St. Paul Community Education at 8:00 am on Saturday mornings. We followed our class with a scrumptious breakfast at Shish, the restaurant across the street. For years, this was the drill. We were told we could move to the Intermediate class, and we consistently declined…we’d miss breakfast, and that was the driving factor! But at some point, I can’t pinpoint exactly when, yoga became more important than breakfast. (But we still love Shish and go there whenever we can!)

One of the many gifts of yoga is being able to practice in so many places and with so many different people. It’s amazing to know that wherever I am, I could probably find an Iyengar Yoga class. What a testament to the Iyengars in expanding this great practice around the world! I’ve taken yoga workshops in Istanbul and London. I’ve attended a retreat with Joy Laine’s late sister and brother-in-law in southern Turkey, and probably best of all, took a three-week course in Dehredun, India with the Chanchannis. That course had students from over 10 different countries, all practicing at a site in the foothills of the Himalayas. Toward the end of the course, one of the students told me that 10 years had fallen off my face since I was there. Wow, what a testament to yoga. 

I took that statement to heart and reflected on my job and what it was doing to my health, as well as yoga and what it was doing to my health! Shortly thereafter, I quit my high-stress job in the banking industry and spent two years (2012-2014) as a Peace Corps volunteer in Ukraine. While my main focus was to help a local nonprofit be more sustainable, I was able to recruit my co-workers and a few of their friends to practice yoga (and Russian) with me each week. We’d all roll out our mats, and I would learn my body parts and directions to lead us through our poses. “Right leg down. Good! = Правая нога вниз. Хорошо! It was a great way for me to connect when my language skills failed me! I was evacuated from Ukraine days before Putin invaded Crimea in 2014. When I returned to the states, I found a job in the health and wellbeing industry and built myself a home studio in my basement. Life is soooooo much better than before!

As your new IYAUM Treasurer, I’m looking forward to serving this wonderful community, getting to know more of you and sharing this wonderful practice. Namaste. 

 

 

 By Karine Watne, CIYT

Viparīta Karaṇi (Viparīta = inverted, Karaṇi = doing or making)

 

In November 2021, I received a medical diagnosis of a life-threatening illness. Surgery of the abdomen was scheduled immediately, followed by multiple rounds of lab work, plus many CT scans, MRIs & ultrasounds. Chemotherapy started December 17 and will continue until June. I responded first with tears, followed by weakness, racing mind and a depressed mood. I knew that these emotions had to be expressed and that my yoga practice must continue. Drawing from the library of options that Iyengar Yoga provides us, I soon found my way back to my practice, which was transformed overnight.

I am so grateful that the positive yogic seeds from past and present lift me up every day. The urgency of the now drops deeper. The sky is bluer. Breathing is more healing and gratitude more present. When both body and mind are in pain, our intelligence first retreats in order to avoid adding oil to the existing fires, then it wakes up to provide help. At the confluence of these three entities, I have found a peaceful place that has its own latent vibrancy independent of other externalities. Could this be the place of stillness we seek from our yoga practice?

For me, this peaceful place is particularly present in Viparīta Karaṇi. Viparīta means inverted or reversed, just like my life feels completely upside down right now. Karaṇi has many meanings, including “doing”, “making” or “in action”. This energy of “doing” is letting gravity do its work, and not our mind or body.

The potent release of the legs into the hip bone, the stillness of the abdomen and slight arch of the back onto the floor all contribute to pacifying the body and the brain. Imagine the energy methodically and slowly descending from heels to shins and on to the thighs. The femur settling slightly snugger into the hip bone with every breath and delivering a comprehensive relief to the pelvis and its content. The soft, yet strong “waterfall” from the legs creating a pool of calmness in the abdomen. The muscles and nerves release their grip from the membranes of the gut, allowing this “second brain” to perform its natural functions more effectively.

From this calm pool, the breath follows the direction of the spine along the soft arches of the back as it descends towards the floor. This breath expands into the chest and finishes its journey by the collar bones, like a wave merging into the sand at the end of its course.

 

Instructions (from B.K.S. Iyengar and Geeta Iyengar, as well as personal practice)

 

Mental preparation:

  1. Let Viparīta Karaṇi do the pose to you. Let gravity do the work.
  2. Bring your awareness to the calmness created by the pose from the top of the feet to the collar bones.
  3. Let the pose make the abdomen so still that the body’s intelligence can see clearly all the way to the bottom without distortion, and let that clarity be healing.

 

Positioning the body:

  1. Place a bolster horizontally near the wall. Leave a space between the wall and the bolster to make room for the buttocks to drop down.
  2. Sit on the edge of the bolster with your left shoulder at the wall.
  3. Using your hands for support, lower your trunk towards the floor while keeping your buttocks on the bolster. Bend your knees slightly and swing your legs up the wall. OR summersault onto the bolster, coming to rest with your sacrum on the top.
  4. Position the bolster so that the sway of your lower back follows the roundness of the bolster. Your buttocks will slide naturally in the space between the bolster and the wall. Be careful not to overdo or underdo this action. You are looking for a feeling of levelness in the abdomen.
  5. Rest your upper back onto the floor. Turn your upper arms externally to open the front chest and bring the shoulder blades in. Your sternum should feel a natural and soft lift.
  6. Release the back of the neck and the back of the head towards the support.
     

Completely let go and let Viparīta Karaṇi teach you.

 

References

B.K.S. Iyengar, Light on Yoga. Schocken, 1979.
Geeta Iyengar, Yoga in Action:  Preliminary Course I. YOG, 2000.

 

Empty Words

By Joy Laine, CIYT

 

śabda-jñāñānupātī vastu-śūnyo vikalpaḥ (I.9)

Imagination consists of the usage of words that are devoid of an actual object.

(Bryant p. 39)

 

Mind, language and reality: overview

 

Because language comes so easily to most of us, it is easy to take it for granted. Yet we should be curious about how it is that complex meanings can be conveyed through sound and/or gesture. Words enable us to talk about the world and to share our thoughts with each other. Words are often performative in nature, playing a central role in most human social practices—praying, joking, praising, consoling, encouraging, describing—to name just a few. Since language is so central to human life and cognition, philosophers and psychologists have long sought to understand how language connects us to the world and to each other, and the role it plays in knowledge acquisition.

 

Like all powerful tools, however, language can be misused. Human beings have the power to use words to humiliate, harass and bully others. We sometimes use words insincerely, to tell lies and mislead others. Insincere utterances are referred to as “empty words,” yielding expressions such as “empty promises.” This is just one way that words can be thought of as empty. A second way that words are considered empty is when they are used to talk about non-existent things—a unicorn, a round square, the present King of France, for example.

 

Language can also fail us in more nuanced ways. Beyond the deliberate misuse of language by human beings, language sceptics argue that language itself is a distorting structure that throws a veil between us and reality. Buddhist philosophers in classical India, for example, argued that language is a distorting medium because reality itself is made up of unique and momentary particulars, whereas the words of our language suggest generalization and stability. According to the Buddhists, language imposes a stability and permanence onto phenomena whose nature is one of constant change. Others argued the opposite, that many of our linguistic concepts and structures mirror the nature of reality, thereby deepening our knowledge of that reality. Vikalpa, the third category of cittavṛtti, takes us to the heart of these important questions regarding the relationship between mind, language and reality.

 

 

Vikalpa in the Yoga Sūtras

 

Vikalpa is equated with words that are empty (śūnya) of objects (vastu) and is variously translated as “imagination,” “fancy,” “conceptualization,” and “verbal delusion.” This would seem to indicate a fairly wide range of interpretation regarding the scope of vikalpa. Vikalpa can be viewed in the following ways:

 

(i) Vikalpa as imagination

Classical commentator Vijñānabhikṣu offers the expressions “hare’s horn” and “sky flower” as standard examples of vikalpa. These expressions demonstrate the possibility of using language to talk about things that don’t exist in reality (this is one aspect of what is meant by the Sanskrit expression vastu-śūnya—empty of object). Philosophers have long puzzled about how we can seemingly talk about things that don’t exist. What is it that we are referring to in such cases? Although there is no such thing as a hare’s horn, the expression “hare’s horn” seems to be meaningful, so it must be about something!          

 

One explanation is that the expression or concept of a hare’s horn is rooted in our experiences of phenomena that do exist. We are able to talk about non-existent objects because they represent a juxtaposition of elements that do exist in reality, just not in the combination suggested by the expression. Thus, if we have actually experienced a horn and a hare, we can bring these two elements together in both our imagination and our linguistic expressions. Further analysis thus reveals an element of real experience in these fictional worlds. In some cases though, an expression might depict an impossible object, “round square,” for example. Unlike the hare’s horn, a round square is something we can’t imagine or conceptualize because it is an impossible object, even though we can combine the words into one expression. One question to reflect on is how these imaginative uses of language help us understand the world in which we live. Imagined worlds of fictional discourse can sometimes bring us great insight into the nature of the real world, as in science fiction, and more broadly, the extensive use of metaphor in our language.  

 

(ii) Vikalpa as conceptualization The idea of vikalpa, however, goes beyond expressions such as the ones considered above, which are clearly imaginative and understood to be so. As was the case with viparyaya, the category of vikalpa is more nuanced and pervasive than the stock examples of “sky flower”and “hare’s horn” might suggest.  

 

In his discussion of vikalpa, commentator Vyāsa offers the statement “caitanyam puruṣasya svarūpam iti” (Consciousness is the essence of puruṣa) as an example of vikalpa. This statement exemplifies how we can use language to think about things that perhaps we have not yet fully grasped or experienced. We may not have directly achieved Self-realization but, because we have a word for the Self (puruṣa), we can form some concept of puruṣa to guide us in our practice and thinking. The statement above informs me that puruṣa is in some way connected to consciousness and hence I learn something about puruṣa from this statement. Yet, as Vyāsa points out, the very structure of our language here is misleading. Like many other languages, Sanskrit is structured around a distinction between subject and predicate, which leads us to conceptualize objects as being separate from and possessing their properties. In this example then, we may be led to think of puruṣa as being a thing that possesses but is different from consciousness. This way of characterizing the relationship, however, is misleading, since there is no separation between the two in reality. It would be like trying to separate a triangle from its three sides.

 

Here we have a case where language gives us some knowledge regarding puruṣa, yet the knowledge gained is not quite accurate. While language can help us extend our knowledge and support our thinking about things beyond our current experience, it can lead us to shaky ground. We have to treat such verbal knowledge with circumspection.

 

Vikalpa and knowledge (jñāna)

 

Whereas viparyaya (perceptual error) was characterized as mithyājñāna (wrong knowledge), vikalpa is characterized as śabda-jñāna (verbal knowledge). Wrong knowledge seems like an oxymoron, not knowledge at all, whereas verbal knowledge constitutes a form of knowledge. In his commentary, Swāmi Hariharānada Āraṇya states that, “viparyaya has no usefulness but vikalpa or vague notion always serves a purpose.” (p.30 )

 

Vikalpa is therefore not the same as the category of error. If I see a rope as a snake, then I am obviously in error and my error will either be corrected by those around me or by my own further investigations. In the case of vikalpa, we are not obviously committing an error. Linguistic practices characterized as vikalpa may give us some conceptual understanding of the topic at hand and are often shared by other speakers. In his commentary, Vyāsa situates a vikalpa such as, “Consciousness is the nature of puruṣa” as falling between error and pramāṇa, an instrument of knowledge. Patañjali is warning us in the case of vikalpa that language can be misleading. As teachers and students, we do best when our knowledge is anchored in direct experience, yet language can be instrumental in helping us reach that point. B.K.S. Iyengar observes that for vikalpas to rise to the status of full knowledge, we must embark on a process of analysis, trial, error and discrimination.

    

Vikalpa and samādhi

 

We can gain a better idea of how Patañjali understands the place of linguistic knowledge by looking at how he understands yogic states of consciousness, collectively known as samādhi. According to Patañjali, it is through such states that we gradually come to Self-realization and free ourselves from suffering.  

 

Patañjali broadly divides samādhi states into two categories, those that have objective content (sabīja) and those that do not (nirbīja). The ultimate samādhi state, nirbīja samādhi, is one in which consciousness is entirely divorced from any conceptual and objective content. The ascent towards Self-realization thus consists of a progression through a hierarchy of samādhi states in which the practitioner experiences a shedding of the conceptual and linguistic structures of the mind.   

 

In our everyday perception of objects in the world, our perception is saturated with the influence of the words we use and the concepts associated with the words. When we see a cow in a field, to take a stock example used by Indian philosophers, it is hard for us not to think of it as a cow. Patañjali envisages a way of knowing the cow that is direct and free from the mind’s linguistic/conceptual influences.

 

This is a difficult process and Patañjali’s classification of samādhi states shows that this transcendence of language is gradual. In I.42, for example, Patañjali describes a particular type of samādhi state (referred to here as samāpatti) in which language is still present as an active influence:

 

I.42 tatra śabda-artha-jñāna-vikalpaiḥ saṅkīrṇā savitarkā-samāpattiḥ

In this stage, savitarkā samāpatti, “samādhi absorption with physical awareness,” is intermixed with the notion of word, meaning and idea. (Bryant p. 144)

 

Vyāsa, in his commentary on this sūtra, distinguishes between three things (i) the word itself (śabda), (ii) the object in itself (artha), and (iii) the idea that goes with the word (jñāna). Normally we run these three things together, but Vyāsa states that when we analyze the situation, we will see that these are three distinct entities. Even in this state of samādhi, where the mind is held still and is totally absorbed into the object of meditation, the presence of the word and the concept are mixed in with the yogi’s experience of the object that is the focus of the meditation—let us say the cow from our example. Although the yogi’s perception of the cow may be free of the afflictions of normal perception (ego, desire etc.), it is not absolutely free of conceptual limitations. In subsequent samādhi experiences, the yogi’s absorption is free of these word/concept associations. Nothing stands between the yogi and the object of meditation, so the object is able to shine forth in its own right. Patañjali compares the mind in this state to a crystal that perfectly assumes the form of objects placed near it. Bringing the mind to this state of clarity is a necessary step towards the liberating knowledge of puruṣa.

 

Ultimately, according to Patañjali, puruṣa cannot be known (in the sense of a liberating knowledge) on the basis of language. The path towards Self-realization takes us on a journey in which language is transcended. Knowing oneself as puruṣa, according to Patañjali, will liberate us from our suffering, but knowing about puruṣa only on the basis of linguistic descriptions, rather than direct intuition, is not sufficient for liberation. Although the practice of yoga makes room for intellectual study (svadhyāya) and although language is central for the transmission of knowledge from teacher to student, mere verbal knowledge of puruṣa will fall short.

 

Concluding thoughts

 

In summary, the idea of vikalpa prompts us to think about the kind of knowledge that language makes available to us. Language enables us to think about the world in ways that go beyond our actual direct experience of the world. Many of us who work with words value the power of language as a means of understanding the world in which we live. The paradox of the yogic path is that, on the one hand, language is key for learning about the practice. Great teachers of yoga, such as B.K.S. Iyengar, lead their students deeper into the practice with their skillful and poetic use of language. On the other hand, the path to Self-realization and liberation from suffering is a journey towards states of consciousness that are empty of words and concepts.     

 

 

Joy Laine taught philosophy at Macalester College for over thirty years and teaches Iyengar Yoga around the Twin Cities.

 

References

B.K.S. Iyengar, Light on the Yoga Sūtras. Aquarian Press, 1993.

Edwin Bryant, The Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali. North Point Press, 2009.

Rama Prasāda, The Yoga Darśana of Patañjali. Logos Press, 2005.

Swāmi Hariharānanda Āraṇya, Yoga Philosophy of Patañjali. SUNY, 1985.

 

2021 IYAUM Board of Directors

President: Nancy Marcy

Vice President: Nancy Footner

Treasurer: Dawn Talbert

Secretary: Katharine Wood

Membership: Bethany Valentini

Media & Communications: Shannyn Joy Potter

IYAUM Liaison to IYNAUS: Susan Johnson

Contact:  iyengaryogaaum@gmail.com

 

IYAUM Committee Newsletter

Editor: Irene Alderson

Visuals: Shannyn Joy Potter

Contact: news@iyaum.org

 

Iyengar Yoga Association of the Upper Midwest

P.O. Box 582381 Minneapolis, Minnesota 55458

IYAUM.ORG