Surrender Yoga Quotes

You have the right to work, but for the work's sake only. You have no right to the fruits of work. Desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive in working. Never give way to laziness, either. Perform every action with you heart fixed on the Supreme Lord. Renounce attachment to the fruits. Be even-tempered in success and failure: for it is this evenness of temper which is meant by yoga. Work done with anxiety about results is far inferior to work done without such anxiety, in the calm of self-surrender. Seek refuge in the knowledge of Brahma. They who work selfishly for results are miserable.

Yes, silence is painful, but if you endure it, you will hear the cadence of the entire universe.

I've been accustomed to mysteries, holy and otherwise, since I was a child. Some of us care for orphans, amass fortunes, raise protests or Nielsen ratings; some of us take communion or whiskey or poison. Some of us take lithium and antidepressants, and most everyone believes these pills are fundamentally wrong, a crutch, a sign of moral weakness, the surrender of art and individuality. Bullshit. Such thinking guarantees tradgedy for the bipolar. Without medicine, 20 percent of us, one in five, will commit suicide. Six-gun Russian roulette gives better odds. Denouncing these medicines makes as much sense as denouncing the immorality of motor oil. Without them, sooner or later the bipolar brain will go bang. I know plenty of potheads who sermonize against the pharmaceutical companies; I know plenty of born-again yoga instructors, plenty of missionaries who tell me I'm wrong about lithium. They don't have a clue.

For the sake of the world he married Sati. But once did, he surrendered totally to the union. Immense passion happened between them. The years rolled by, their love making was recorded as the most intense in human history.

Why are we afraid of the silence that ensues after our death? Wasn’t it the same silence we endured before birth? Isn’t it the same silence we revel in when we are completely immersed in the present moment? Let us not be afraid.

If you love God, surrender to God, you can live in the moment, free of anxiety. Without God? You look ahead and see traps and pitfalls, you look behind and you see loss and death.

Do your actions without caring for the result. Do not think that you are the doer. Dedicate the work to God. (p. 236)

We prefer our way into things such as regret, unhappiness, and anxiety.

What is happening is life’s way of telling us what should be happening.

Die wertvollste Reise ist die Reise zu unserem Selbst.

We start living in heaven as soon as we leave life … the hell alone.

Done properly, yoga is the science of channeling all energies upward until they merge together at the highest point—Oneness.

The Best Way To Achieve Success In Any Area Of Life Is To Surrender Yourself To It And You Will Get It.

7:50 a.m. Core Power Yoga Lot, Berkeley. I’m in my Prius finishing up a phone call before class. Suddenly a large black SUV whisks into the space next to me, so achingly close I can no longer open my door. I roll down my window, giggling. “You’re kidding, right?” I say to the girl, pointing at the almost empty lot. “I mean, really? Why here? Why me? Did ya just want to get to know me better?” She looks at me blankly, shrugs her shoulders, gets out of the car, and strolls upstairs. 7:52 a.m. Wow. Wedged behind wheel, momentarily fuming. 7:53 a.m. Wondering: Do I want to be mad and waste the morning with this? Does my body need the assault of even momentary resentment while on the way to yoga of all places? Or . . . do I want to feel compassion, plus a dose of good-humored astonishment, by just rolling with it all? 7:54 a.m. I spend a full minute contemplating how to twist myself like a true yogini over the gear shift to slither out the other door. But then, I have the Life-Changing Realization: I can MOVE THE CAR. 7:55 a.m. I move.

We prefer ourselves into unhappiness.

We make life painful or difficult by wanting … and by preferring.

Therefore, surrender to Yoga … .

Can an atheist practice yoga? Can an agnostic sit in meditation? Absolutely! Belief in God is not a requirement for practice. The only requirement for practice is the willingness to accept that you are not God. To surrender to the possibility that while an all-knowing God may not govern the universe, neither do you.

Tips and Pointers for Building a Spiritual Life from Scratch Pray Meditate Be aware / Stay awake Bow Practice yoga Feel Chant and sing Breathe and smile Relax / Enjoy / Laugh / Play Create / Envision Let go / Forgive / Accept Walk / Exercise / Move Work / Serve / Contribute Listen / Learn / Inquire Consider / Reflect Cultivate oneself / Enhance competencies Cultivate contentment Cultivate flexibility Cultivate friendship and collaboration Open up / Expand / Include Lighten up Dream Celebrate and appreciate Give thanks Evolve Love Share / Give / Receive Walk softly / Live gently Expand / Radiate / Dissolve Simplify Surrender / Trust Be born anew

Each time we come to savasana, we practice dying—we surrender the body to the earth and prepare for our destiny in this life. Facing death and embracing mortality is the key to living. We may fear it, resist it, and spend untold hours dreading it, But our mortality is the place where our human nature comes face to face with our divine nature. In a very real sense, death is our greatest teacher and the one true guru.

Yoga is fundamentally a practice. While there are many texts that can teach you its philosophy, guidelines, and principles, you learn yoga from the laboratory of your own body. Your awareness is the inner guru that will teach you. Your practice is the place where you enter the crucible, heat up your body, and alchemize lead into gold. Through trial and error, effort and surrender, learning and teaching, you gradually discover what yoga is and does. It is through cumulative practice that you learn yoga.

Yoga teaches the immutable law of Karma. Karma says we are the architects of our happiness and our misery. We can hope for new outcomes from old behaviors, or realize that only new behaviors will change our circumstances. It’s our choice. We can continue to suffer, or we can take responsibility for our lives. We can live in our illusions, feeling frustrated and victimized, or we can surrender our egos and see the bigger picture. This means we learn to listen to our hearts, reclaim our power, step up, and take skillful action.

I had a transforming insight. I realised I might not be able to have the meditation I want to have, but I can always have the meditation I am having. Instantly, my approach changed. With the lens of this insight, I saw how much I had been at war with myself and at war with reality. I saw that I had to surrender to what was so, respecting it all as Shiva. The insights of Shaivism had perhaps precipitated this moment. If every thought, every feeling, every sensation, every thing were Shiva, why would you reject something and seek something else? In doing so, you would be dishonouring Shiva, you would be killing Shiva to get to Shiva.

green. His route may be circuitous and difficult, but he can always get home. The one indispensable thing is that he must locate his ball. I started to surrender into each moment in meditation. I told myself ‘Be present, everything is Shiva’. My war-cry became, ‘Be with what is’. I felt that I had to transcend time by entering more fully into the present moment. To do this, I minutely observed my experience in the moment. I saw that while thought might lead me away from being present, feeling was a reliable indicator of presentness, since it could never be of the past or future. When I sat to meditate, I examined feeling within my body. I noticed that it tended to cluster in various chakras, like the navel, the heart and the third eye. From this inquiry the A-Statement developed as a technique for becoming present (I feel sad, I feel glad). Getting

The 64th Siddhi of Illumination and its programming partner the 63rd Siddhi of Truth represent the two wings of tantra and yoga — opposite paths towards the same ultimate reality. These are the higher frequencies of art and science respectively. Whereas yoga is a path of discipline aiming at progressive attainment of higher Truth, tantra is the path of surrender, which deals in sudden leaps in consciousness. Those who manifest the 64th Siddhi are those who teach spontaneously. They will use anything they feel like using as an illustration of what it means to be one with Truth. There is no logic or pattern to such people or their teachings. They may even use logic as a device and then contradict it entirely through their behaviour or words. The tantric path is the easiest path to misunderstand because it cannot be followed with the mind, but only with the heart. It takes a certain degree of madness in a person to follow this path, uncharted as it is. It is the path of the poetic soul — the lover of wildness, of spontaneity, of paradox — the lover of the moment.

You need to continually improve your practice until no more practice is necessary, and you've reached a "no-practice-beingness" level. Improving your practice doesn't mean switching it up. It can be as simple as doing the same practice but with better concentration and surrender, or increasing the amount of time you're practicing, switching up the focal point to something more powerful, or adding a new component like a mudra or a bandha.

The practices presented in the Yoga Sutras fall into the following categories: The physical practices of asana and pranayama Meditation (dharana, dhyana, samadhi) Devotion to God or self-surrender (Ishwara Pranidhana) Understanding and accepting suffering as a help for purification (tapas) Discriminative discernment (viveka) Study (svadhyaya)

Mental pain is usually caused, not by our being pushed by life to where we do not want—or away from where we want—to be, but by the friction caused by our resistance to the push.

Developing the extremely rare attitude of not minding how life is happening is a billion times better than prolonging your life, even if by a trillion years.

Prayer is usually a desperate attempt to wish something into or out of reality.

Our inability or unwillingness to leave life alone often leaves us with the desire to leave life with those who are dying.

Ishvara Pranidhana SURRENDER TO BRAHMAN MEANING Ishvara pranidhana, the last of the niyamas, is described as surrendering to Ishvara, another name for Brahman or the Self (see here). SIGNIFICANCE Yoga can be found when you have humility; thus the ability to surrender to the higher from a place of knowledge is vital for your spiritual growth.

As you surrender to the completing pose, be a yes for openness. Be a yes for being yourself. Be a yes for giving yourself over to something greater, to allowing for something new, to holding nothing back. Be a yes for the rising and falling of your chest with each breath, for that natural ebb and flow of life force in and out of your body.

The idea that the invisible realm is populated with beings (deities = angels) who are somehow relevant to human beings in the visible realm does not necessarily exclude a felt sense that behind all manifestation is just One Being. In monotheism, that Singularity is given a personal face (usually that of the “Creator”). In philosophical nondualism, the same Singularity is understood in abstract terms as an impersonal “It.” Both orientations have coexisted in India since time immemorial. Yoga operates with both a personalist conception of a Supreme Person (be it God or Goddess) and an impersonalist notion of an Absolute (often called brahman). Sometimes, as in the Bhagavad-Gītā (Lord’s Song), an attempt is made to integrate both ideas. Thus some forms of Yoga are more religiously oriented, while others tend to be more philosophical. For example, there are numerous religious elements connected with Bhakti-Yoga, the path of devotional self-surrender to the Higher Reality, whereas Jnāna-Yoga, the path of self-transcending wisdom, tends to be more philosophical or metaphysical. However, Yoga’s growing technology of physical and mental practices came to be associated with a nondualist (advaita) metaphysics. According to the earliest teachings of Hindu nondualism, as contained in the Upanishads, the multifaceted world is an emanation from the singular transcendental Reality called brahman (“that which thrives”).5 Yoga was introduced as a way back to that Singularity (eka). The sages experienced that unitary Reality, which is supraconscious and utterly blissful, as being the core not only of the whole universe but also of the human personality. As the core of the personality it was called “Self,” or ātman. The Sanskrit term yoga was accordingly redefined as the “union” between the lower or embodied self and the transcendental Self (ātman), and this is still the prevalent understanding of the word inside and outside India. However, even Yoga as union includes an element of yoking, for the lower self cannot merge into the higher Self without proper focusing of attention.

All spiritual traditions regard our ordinary human condition as somehow flawed or corrupt, as falling short of the unsurpassable perfection or wholeness of Reality. As a process of transformation, Yoga endeavors to re-form or, in the words of the Christian mystic Meister Eckhart, even “super-form” the spiritual practitioner. The old Adam has to die before the new super-formed being can emerge—the being who is reintegrated with the Whole. Not surprisingly, this transmutation of the human personality is also often couched in terms of self-sacrifice. In gnostic language, the “lower” reality must be surrendered, so that the “higher” or divine Reality can become manifest in our lives. For this to be possible, the spiritual practitioner must somehow locate and emulate that higher Reality. He or she must find the “Heaven” within, whether by experiential communion or mystical union with the Divine or by an act of faith in which a connection with the Divine is simply assumed until this becomes an actual experience. Spiritual discipline (sādhana), then, is a matter of constantly “remembering” the Divine, the transcendental Self, or Buddha nature. There can be no such transformation without catharsis, without shedding all those aspects of one’s being that block our immediate apperception of Reality. Traditions like Yoga and Vedānta can be understood as programs of progressive “detoxification” of the body-mind, which clears the inner eye so that we can see what is always in front of us—the omnipresent Reality, the Divine. So long as our emotional and cognitive system is toxic or impure, that inner eye remains veiled, and all we see is the world of multiplicity devoid of unity. The modern gnostic teacher Mikhaёl Aїvanhov remarked about this: Not so many years ago, when people’s homes were still lit by oil lamps, the glass chimneys had to be cleaned every evening. All combustion produces wastes, and the oil in these lamps deposited a film of soot on the inside of the glass, so that, even if the flame was lit, the lamp gave no light unless the glass was cleaned. The same phenomenon occurs in each one of us, for life is combustion. All our thoughts, feelings and acts, all our manifestations, are the result of combustion. Now it is obvious that in order to produce the flame, the energy which animates us, something has to burn and that burning necessarily entails waste products which then have to be eliminated. Just as the lamp fails to light up the house if its glass is coated with soot . . . similarly, if a man fails to purify himself he will sink deeper and deeper into the cold and dark and end by losing life itself.

We learn to be focused and disciplined while letting go, surrendering the ego while steadying the mind, and all the while remaining tuned in to the complexity of whatever is arising.

Actually, life does not need hard work. You should not be afraid of hard work. But life demands only sincere work.Either you do sincere work or you have a guru and surrender to him completely to do the sincere work for you. Fortunately I had amazing gurus who did extreme sincere work on me.

In the third chapter of this “Song of the Lord,” Krishna instructs Arjuna—and us—in what is called “skillful action.” Krishna argues that activity is an inseparable attribute of finite existence. Nothing that exists in the realm of Nature is, in the last analysis, inactive. The cosmos (prakriti), which is composed of three types of primary qualities (guna), is a perpetual motion machine. If it ceased to move even for a moment, the cosmos would collapse. This view coincides with the findings of modern physics, which has revealed to us a universe that is continually vibrating. Therefore, concludes Krishna, it does not make much sense to want to abstain from action. Mere inactivity is not the answer to our existential problems. It is fine to renounce the world and dedicate one’s life to contemplating the Divine, providing one can really do it. But few people have the necessary stamina for the rigors of such a solitary lifestyle. Besides, argues Krishna, there is a better way to Self-realization (or God-realization) than renunciation. And that is to continue to be active but to act free from egoic attachment. In this way, the continuation of human life is ensured, while at the same time it is being transformed by one’s self-transcending disposition. Krishna’s activist gospel, then, does not ask us to carry on as usual. True, the karma-yogin continues to get up in the morning, use the bathroom, eat breakfast, go to work, interact with people during the day, return home, eat dinner, spend time with the family, read, listen to music, make love, and sleep. But he endeavors, by degrees, to do all this with a subtle yet significant difference: All of these actions are engaged in the spirit of self-surrender. In other words, they are all opportunities to go beyond mere egoic preferences and fixations and to cultivate instead quiet awareness and communion with the Divine. An important aspect of the practice of Karma-Yoga is the nonneurotic disinterest in what Krishna calls the “fruit” (phala) of one’s actions. Ordinarily, our actions are governed by so-called ulterior motives—those mostly hidden expectations that would see us rewarded for our deeds. For instance, by putting in an extra hour at work, we secretly, or otherwise, hope to impress the boss. By taking our children to sporting events on Saturdays, we hope for them to share our own excitement, or by sending them to medical school, we seek to live out our own dreams through their lives. By helping an elderly or blind person cross the street, we expect, below the threshold of our conscious mind, to be thanked and thus receive an emotional boost. Or, more subtly, we may do things out of a sense of duty, but without heart. In that case, our actions remain as self-involved as ever. Grim determination is no substitute for the spirit of self-transcendence.

Here we are interested in the dynamics of a true loving relationship between sexual partners. They are by definition “equal,” for their surrender must be mutual. Of course, such mutual surrender presupposes great individual maturity. Starry-eyed teenagers who have “fallen” in love are incapable of this act, although to outsiders and to themselves, they may seem to be completely absorbed in one another; in fact, their “love” is a subconscious projection of themselves onto the partner. Strictly speaking, they love themselves in the other. Hence, when reality hits, they “fall out of” love again. That not only teenagers but also so-called adults succumb to this “falling in and out of” love is a commentary on their level of maturity. I am making so much of this because in spiritual surrender, the element of mature love is present as well. When the lover surrenders “body and soul” to the beloved, really what she or he yields up is the usual self-identification with the body and with bodily and emotional and even mental processes. There is a melting away of conventional propriety, shame, and guilt. Indeed, lovers delight in pouring their hearts out to one another, in confiding long-kept secrets or long-cherished hopes, and in “daring” each other to demonstrate their love by overcoming inhibitions and taboos. They are self-forgetful—or so it seems. At least they are on the way to being self-forgetful. That they never quite succeed is as obvious as it is subtle. Their surrender is necessarily incomplete, because their love is imperfect. This lies in the nature of ordinary human love, however extraordinary it may be by conventional standards. Perfect love is possible only with regard to a perfect “object” or, to be more precise, when love is without a specific object but includes all possible objects, the whole universe. This, again, means that perfect love is possible only when there is no ego to create the usual barrier—however tenuous—between an experiencing subject and an experienced object. A genuine loving relationship, especially at the height of its sexual expression, approximates this condition of subject-object transcendence. But it only approximates it. For this condition of near-genuine love to turn into genuine love, the lovers’ images of each other (and of themselves) would have to be sacrificed. In other words, it is only when they come to love the whole person that they love perfectly. Here “whole person” refers to the human being in his or her entirety, comprising both the visible aspects and the invisible dimension; as a manifestation of the Whole (or God) and as that unmanifest Whole itself.

In the following paragraphs I will show how faith and surrender are present in the practice of all the limbs of Yoga. The foundation of any authentic yogic approach is moral discipline or yama (restraint or control). This is meant to regulate the social behavior of spiritual practitioners. Moral integrity is a must for the yogins and yoginīs who do not wish to fall prey to any attitudes and habits that countermand their spiritual aspirations. Through the universal application of the rules of yama, they ensure that they will never abuse the power—whether psychic or social—that is acquired in Yoga. There are five such rules. The root of all of them is said to be nonharming (ahimsā). This Sanskrit word is also frequently translated as “nonviolence.” It consists in unconditional nonmaliciousness toward all beings at all times and in all situations. Ahimsā has to be practiced not only in deed, but also in word and in thought. Thus it includes refraining from gossip and even thinking ill of a person, a whole group of people (e.g., xenophobia, racism, etc.), or even animate beings in general (i.e., speciesism). This presupposes a considerable degree of detachment or dispassion (vairāgya), which, as readers of the Yoga-Sūtra will know, is one of the two poles of Yoga—the other pole being constant application (abhyāsa) to the practical disciplines. How can ahimsā be said to be an expression of surrender and faith? The faith component in it is found in the recognition that our authentic Being, the Self, is beyond hurt (ahimsā), beyond ill (anāmaya), beyond sorrow (aduhkha), beyond pain (aklesha). We may surrender to it by acknowledging that our own authentic Being also is the authentic Being, or Self, in all other creatures and by treating them not as potential or actual enemies but as that universal benign Self. The virtue of nonharming, then, is grounded in the recognition that there is no cause for fear with regard to anybody or anything, since everyone and everything is that same Reality, or Singularity. Once we have overcome this fundamental fear, which is conjured up by the ego experiencing itself as an island apart from others, we also will be able to practice nonharming with consummate skill. The second constituent of the category of yama is truthfulness (satya). Here the traditional scriptures again demand of us that we cultivate this virtue in action, speech, and thought. The yogins or yoginīs who practice truthfulness in this way cannot possibly be prone to lying, hypocrisy, or deception. It is easy to see how this virtue is rooted in the moral principle of nonharming. Our faith in truthfulness is our faith in Truth, also called satya. And Truth is another name for the transcendental Reality, the Self. The Self is that in which there is not a single trace of falsehood; it is the Real. The sages also refer to it as tattva (thatness) and tathatā (thusness).

The seventh limb of the classical yogic path is meditation (dhyāna). This is a deepened state of concentration in which the same object is held unwaveringly for a long period. It is a more complete form of surrendering the mind. It is no longer a mental effort, but a state of reposing in a noncontracted condition of the body-mind. This condition is beautifully described in a passage in the ancient Chāndogya-Upanishad (7.6.1) where we can read: “Meditation certainly is more than thought (citta). The Earth meditates as it were; the atmosphere meditates as it were . . .” That is to say, meditation is abiding in the natural state, without mental complications. The practitioners of Yoga surrender the mind’s tendency to appropriate different objects, whether external or internal. Instead they trust in the Self as the Experiencer of all, the unfailing Continuity behind the incessant change of the finite world. The last limb of Patanjali’s eightfold path is samādhi, which is generally rendered as “ecstasy.” The world-renowned historian of religion Mircea Eliade proffered an alternative rendering—enstasy. This coinage takes into account that samādhi is not so much a state of exuberance, as suggested by the word “ecstasy,” but a condition of great stillness and focusedness in which we “stand in” (en stasis) our true nature. Eliade’s coinage, however, has not achieved wide currency, and therefore, after using it in several of my publications, I reverted to the more common term “ecstasy.” The previously described techniques of concentration and meditation cause a slowing down of the movement within the mental world. In the state of samādhi, our inner architecture can be said to collapse altogether. For the practitioner surrenders the characteristic feature of human consciousness, which is its bipolar nature, its tension between subject and object. In samādhi, the experiencing subject becomes the contemplated object. At the highest level of this paradoxical condition, the experiencing subject awakens as the transcendental Self, realizing that he or she has never been anything else but the Self.

The objective of Karma-Yoga is stated to be “action freedom.” The actual Sanskrit term is naishkarmya, which literally means “nonaction.” But this literal meaning is misleading, because it is not inactivity that is intended here. Rather, naishkarmya-karman corresponds to the Taoist notion of wu-wei, or inaction in action. That is to say, Karma-Yoga is about freedom in action, or the transcendence of egoic motivations. When the illusion of the ego as acting subject is transcended, then actions are recognized to occur spontaneously. Without the interference of the ego, their spontaneity appears as a smooth flow. Hence truly enlightened beings have an economy and elegance of movement about them that is generally absent in unenlightened individuals. Behind the action of the enlightened being there is no author; or we could say that Nature itself is the author. Action performed in the spirit of self-surrender has benign invisible effects. It improves the quality of our being and makes us a source of spiritual uplift for others. Lord Krishna, in the Bhagavad-Gītā, speaks of the karma-yogin’s working for the welfare of the world. The Sanskrit phrase he uses is loka-samgraha, which literally means “world gathering” or “pulling people together.” What it refers to is this: Our own personal wholeness, founded in self-surrender, actively transforms our social environment, contributing to its wholeness. “Mahatma” Gandhi was modern India’s most superb example of a karma-yogin in action. He worked tirelessly on himself and for the welfare of the Indian nation. In pursuing the lofty ideal of Karma-Yoga, Gandhi had to give up his life. He did so without rancor, with the name of God—“Rām”—on his lips. He embraced his destiny, trusting that none of his spiritual efforts could ever be lost, as is indeed the solemn promise of Lord Krishna in the Bhagavad-Gītā, which Gandhi read daily. Gandhi believed in the inevitability of karma, but he also believed in free will.

Consolidation of my mind, body, and spirit occurs when I learn to surrender to the present moment

RAJA YOGA is divided into eight steps. The first is Yama; that is to say, the practice of non-killing, truthfulness, non-stealing, continence, and non-receiving of anything, even if it be a gift, that is conducive to luxury. The next is Niyama; that it to say, the practice of the virtues of cleanliness, contentment, mortification, study, and self-surrender to God. Then come the steps Asana or posture, Prânâyâma or control of Prâna, Pratyâhâra or making the mind introspective, Dhâranâ or concentration, Dhyâna or meditation, and Samâdhi or super-consciousness.

The third component of yama is nonstealing (asteya). Once again, this is to be understood in a very comprehensive sense. As a form of dispassion it is the abstention—in deed, word, and thought—from grasping after another’s property. Even merely coveting our neighbor’s strawberries, let alone his wife or her husband (who is of course not property), constitutes an infringement of this moral commandment. This virtue is connected on the one hand with nongrasping (aparigraha) and on the other hand with contentment (samtosha), which will be discussed below. Where does faith come into play in this case? The Yoga practitioner’s faith is placed in the Self as the inexhaustible Fullness (pūrnatva) that, once it has been realized, leaves nothing to be desired. Our external grasping after, or seizing of, things (and also relationships) is an expression of the ego’s strategy to overcome its basic fearfulness created by its self-isolation (or separation from the Self). But in this endeavor to extend its radius, the ego necessarily encroaches on the life-space of others, and this violates the first law of nonharming. Through surrender to the Self as the absolutely self-sufficient Reality, the ego’s harmful activity is gradually neutralized. The yogins or yoginīs who live this ideal are no longer at war with the world or themselves. The next element of yama is chastity (brahmacarya). The literal meaning of this old Sanskrit word is “brahmic conduct,” that is, the “behavior of a brahmin” or “mode of the Absolute.” Here the principle of reversal, spoken of above as the very essence of the yogic process, is most clearly expressed. To behave like the Absolute means to model one’s life on the ideal condition of the genderless Absolute. This is the underlying idea of chastity. Our ordinary experience of the world is always framed in terms of male and female (and occasionally neuter). “Chastity” is, first of all, the attempt to break away from this binary compartmentalization of life. True continence begins in the mind. Spiritual practitioners who have mastered this virtue regard all people as the same (sama), irrespective of their sex. On the physical level, chastity involves the abstinence from sexual activity. Some schools make this an unqualified condition, whereas others hold a more lenient view. The latter apply the principle of moderation to this aspect of one’s personal life, but also have rather definite notions about what is to be considered as legitimate sex. Sexual exploitation between men and women, which is often what today’s sexual revolution is about, is in yogic terms not only a waste of precious vital energy (ojas), but also a kind of violence, theft, and deception. Certain that the eternal Self not only transcends all bodily distinctions but also is inherently blissful (ānanda), Yoga practitioners are able to surrender their desire for the transient pleasure afforded through sexual activity.3

there is one thing that we must never surrender, and that is the language of anti-fascism. The true meanings of “genocide” and “apartheid” and “Holocaust,” and the supremacist mindset that makes them all possible. Those words we need, as sharp as possible, to name and combat what is rapidly taking shape in the Mirror World—which is an entire cosmology built around claims of superior bodies, superior immune systems, and superior babies, bankrolled by supplement sales, bitcoin, and prenatal yoga.

Pain is powerful medicine. While it may be unpleasant to take this medicine, it is what shapes and inspires us. As you review the story of your life, you will find that growth was almost always preceded by hardship—the loss of a job, the passing of a loved one, challenges with health, the end of a relationship. Rather than avoiding pain, yoga asks us to surrender to it, to look deep into it, and to be healed by it.

Perhaps it means that we are, in every moment, to remember the whole, to remember the gift of life, to remember the preciousness of every second. When we do this remembering, something shifts inside us. When we do this remembering, we talk differently, we act differently, and we treat self and others differently. When we keep our awareness on this moment with gratitude, we increase our ability to choose how we act and how we interact with the world. To worship is to remember the sacred, however we conceive of it. ... When we slow down and open our heart and mind, we realize that we can't conclusively answer any of the really big questions about existence, especially questions of meaning. Not that we should stop trying! But slowing own and opening up allows us to enter a state of wonderment and humility in the face of the vastness of creation. This state is one of worship, a silent and embodied worship that is not necessarily shaped by specific ritual. Rather it is shaped by our intention and our willingness to understand on a profound level our small place in the Universe. This embodied worship allows our kinship with all beings and all of nature to become more than just apparent to our conscious mind. This kinship is now lived from our very cells. To experience this level of joy is not only to worship it is also to become worship. ... You could say that to worship is to invite the sacred to fill our body, mind, and soul, to surrender to the great mystery, however we experience it and whatever name we give it. The great benefit of this willingness to invite the sacred in is that it helps us feel healed and whole in that moment. When we worship in this broad way, we surrender our struggling ego and mind to the wholeness of creation and thus feel a little less burdened, a little less overwhelmed, a little less afraid. ... Worship is rather an internal shift stimulated by the external activity that we call ritual. To worship is to assume a new relationship with yourself and all creation - with God. To worship is to be willing to be unsure, unresolved, to admit how much we don't know and will never know. I invite you, dear reader, to be open to daily worship, to set aside any narrow interpretation of what worship is. Instead, allow yourself to imagine the possibility of creating a continuous conversation with the sacred. That is the path of the mystic, and it can live as a comfortable companion in a secular life. Worship is the music of the soul and as much is the ultimate universal language. In the end, to worship is to acknowledge life on the deepest level. Perhaps life itself is the ultimate prayer, the ultimate worship.

True power—not to be confused with worldly power—is found at that beautiful and sacred spot where will and surrender merge into an unstoppable force.

The windmill doesn’t try to control the wind or demand that it blow in another direction. It simply surrenders to the wind, and in so doing becomes a source of immense power. The water wheel doesn’t attempt to change the course of the river; it simply surrenders to the flow and allows the power of the river to be expressed through it. Most see surrender as a form of weakness, when in reality, surrender is the source of all true power.

A thing or situation is often worsened by the attempt to improve it.

There are countless trillions of ways life could be happening, but not a single way life should be happening.

Our greatest opportunities are to let go and surrender to that which is greater than our egoistic needs and desires.

Like Arjuna, we too are enough, as we have a unique part to play in the Divine plan. And, like Arjuna, we are nothing when—in those glorious moments—we take refuge in our God, crying out in sweet surrender, “Thy will be done!” And, in an instant, we are free. Welcome Home.

There are two Sanskrit words that are used for 'path': marga, which also carries the sense of 'way, method or means' and upaya, that by which one reaches one's aim. In reality, it must be the case that we are already who we really are. Who else could we be? It is the illusory ego that believes that we are in some way limited and that wants to become eternally happy. Whilst this state of affairs continues, the search is doomed to failure. Paths and practices are therefore needed not in order that we may find something new but in order that we may uncover what is already here now. The reason why different paths are needed is that minds, bodies and egos function differently. All paths aim effectively to remove the obscuring effect of this ego. This can be done through the practices of devotion and surrender to a God, for example, in the case of bhakti yoga. It can also be achieved in simple day to day life of working, at whatever may be our particular job, by doing the work for its own sake and giving up any claim to the results, in the case of karma yoga. And it can be achieved by enquiry and reason, using the mind and intellect to appreciate the truth of the non-existence of the ego, in the case of jnana yoga.