state of euphoria or the peak of sexual pleasure, but there is a passage in the scriptures wherein samadhi is said to have about a trillion times the intensity of sexual pleasure.4 In other words, it is far beyond anything you can imagine in normal experience. Because he existed continually in this state of absolute freedom, Patanjali described a path that could lead all of us to it. He asked himself, Which state immediately precedes divine ecstasy? The answer was meditation (dhyana). Samadhi is our true nature, but we cannot receive it if our minds are too busy to listen, he reasoned; therefore, the path to samadhi lies in quieting the mind, which is accomplished when one achieves the state of relaxed openness that occurs in meditation.
Patanjali then asked himself, Which state immediately precedes dhyana? The answer was concentration (dharana). Concentration is the state that enables one to stay in meditation (or in any other state, for that matter). Many people achieve a spontaneous meditative state for split seconds only. The goal is to perpetuate that state, and that is made possible by dharana.
What does one need for concentration to arise? One needs inward focus (pratyahara), answered Patanjali; concentration is destroyed by outward distractions.
Patanjali then inquired, What state is the prerequisite for inward focus? The answer was easy. Since the mind goes wherever the breath or its subtle equivalent, prana, goes, one needs breath regulation (pranayama) to achieve inward focus.
Which state is necessary for one to practice breath regulation? asked Patanjali finally. Since breath and prana are dispersed in an unhealthy body, and health is produced by the practice of postures, the answer was asana.
Patanjali saw that these six steps had to be placed on a foundation of ethical guidelines governing one’s inner and outer life. On this basis he stipulated the first two limbs, the restraints (yamas) and observances (niyamas). Without these limbs as the foundation for the others, all the benefit accrued by practicing the other six limbs would likely be lost.
Although Patanjali conceived of the eight limbs from the top down, we must practice them from the bottom up, starting with the ethical precepts of yama and niyama.
The Russian-Doll Model of the Eight Limbs
Patanjali portrayed the eight limbs of yoga as sequential in nature, which can be understood through the following metaphor: Conditioned existence was likened to confinement in a prison tower, with yoga as the means of escape; practicing the first limb was like dangling a silken thread from the tower, practicing the second like tying a thicker cotton thread to the silken one, practicing the third like following the cotton thread with a cord, and so on until the strong rope of the seventh limb allowed you to descend. In this metaphor, which I introduced in Ashtanga Yoga: Practice and Philosophy, the limbs of yoga are introduced sequentially and shown to work one after the other. This is a workable model, but it has its limitations; in particular, it insinuates that each limb of yoga is abandoned once the next one is achieved. But one cannot abandon any of the limbs until one has achieved all of them and is about to enter objectless samadhi, the highest form of samadhi. Those of us who haven’t yet achieved objectless samadhi need to practice the lower limbs as we progress through the higher ones.
A useful way to understand this aspect of the limbs is to think of the limbs as a set of Matryoshka dolls. These Russian nesting dolls are usually painted wooden figures, each of which can be pulled apart to reveal another, smaller figure of the same sort inside. When the outermost doll is opened, we find another doll in it; that second doll opens to reveal another inside it; and so on. If we think of yoga’s eight limbs as similar to these Russian dolls, the outermost doll would be the first limb, yama, and the last, innermost one would be the concluding limb, samadhi. Each successive doll is contained within the dolls outside it, just as each successive limb is supported by the already perfected limbs that lead to it. As you progress in your practice, each new limb brings you further along your path only if you adhere to it within the context of the earlier limbs or stages.
The Importance of Asana
Modern (and particularly modern Western) practitioners of yoga can easily jump to the conclusion that yoga postures are mere gymnastic exercises, without spiritual or philosophical significance. One purpose of this book is to correct this misconception, to make it very clear that the asanas are part of a spiritual culture that aims at nothing short of bringing practitioners to a state of complete and absolute freedom in which they realize their innermost divine potential.
For the majority of modern people, mere sitting in meditation is not sufficient to achieve any lasting spiritual progress or transformation. If you practice only sitting meditation or self-inquiry or the study of scripture, you can easily fool yourself about your state of attainment. True knowledge is not something that occurs in one’s mind alone; it has a physical dimension as well. The Armenian mystic George I. Gurdjieff expressed this in the words, “True knowledge is of a chemical nature.”5 What he meant is that authentic knowledge has a biochemical and bioelectrical component; it has substance. This component is what traditional yogis called siddhi, which is sometimes translated as “supernatural power” or “proof.” Asana lays the groundwork for achieving the biochemical and bioelectrical changes in our bodies that are necessary for gaining true knowledge.
Sitting in meditation is sufficient only for those fit to practice Jnana Yoga. The term Jnana Yoga is more closely investigated in chapter 1, but in a nutshell it refers to gaining freedom by the mere contemplation of the fact that one’s true self is identical with the infinite, pure consciousness, without resorting to any other techniques. Jnana Yoga and the associated seated meditation (that is, sitting upright with the head, neck, and spine in one line) can be practiced only if one’s intelligence is completely freed from the stains of rajas (frenzies) and tamas (dullness).6 If you are not tainted by these states, go right ahead and try to achieve samadhi through sitting. If, however, your intellect oscillates, as mine does, between frenzy and dullness (with some bright moments in between), then the practice of asana will be useful for you.7
Richard Freeman, in his collection of discourses called Yoga Matrix, likened the practice of postures to going through your body with a fine-tooth comb. Thoughts and emotions that are powered by rajas or tamas leave imprints in your bodily tissue that make it more likely that rajasic or tamasic states will be repeated. These imprints are released through posture practice, thus forming the bedrock for higher yogic technique.
Putting Technique in the Proper Context
Those who practice Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga (or any of the many other forms of Karma Yoga, a term that is explained in chapter 1) face a certain danger: becoming attached to technique. They can get comfortable with repeating techniques that they have already mastered without ever relating them to the ultimate purpose of the techniques, which is to allow the practitioner to abide in infinite consciousness. The yogic techniques become empty of meaning and an end in themselves. In modern Ashtanga Vinyasa practitioners, this may surface as a one-sided emphasis on asana practice and a refusal to invest any time or energy in the higher limbs. It is unlikely that this is what Patanjali wanted to see in students when he compiled the Yoga Sutra.
Ironically, it is often those yogis who have become very proficient at what they do who are most strongly attached to their techniques. Their breathtakingly athletic skill
