My Daily Thread

In this special episode we are happy to have Dr. Paul Bramadat back to chat about his book Yogalands. Paul Bramadat received his BA in religious studies from the University of Winnipeg (1990), his MA in religion and culture from McGill University (1993) and his PhD in religious studies from McMaster University (1998). He taught in the Religious Studies Department at the University of Winnipeg from 1998 until 2008. In addition to directing the CSRS since 2008, Paul holds teaching appointments in the Department of History and the Religious Studies Program at the University of Victoria. Enjoy.

Today we're taking another pass at satya, the second yama from Patanjali's Yoga Sutras. The sutra we're focusing on is YS 2.36: satya-pratiṣṭhāyāṁ kriyā-phala-āśrayatvam—when one is firmly established in truth, their actions bear fruit. This is a powerful idea. It suggests that when we are rooted in truth, what we say comes to life. Something here touches on the modern idea of manifestation but is grounded in yogic ethics—truth as a force, not just a concept. But Satya isn't just "don't lie." That's only the surface level. The deeper understanding is about alignment—about not cultivating dishonesty at all, because the energy it takes to maintain a lie, remember what we said to whom, and live split in ourselves, is exhausting. Living satya means living in full alignment. It's about integrity. When we say what we mean and mean what we say, there's a sense of inner coherence. The word pratiṣṭhā means firmly rooted. Picture a tree, stable, deep in the earth—truth planted deep within us like that. When we're established in truth, our words carry weight. They matter. They shape the world around us. We become trustworthy, not just to others but to ourselves. Life gets simpler. Our energy flows where it's needed. We don't waste time in contradiction. We become more effective. On a personal level, I often ask myself: Are there places in my life where I say one thing and do another? Because this yama is really about energetics—aligning our speech, thoughts, and actions to our deeper nature. For some people, this kind of congruence comes easily. For others, myself included, it's a daily practice. Sometimes the truth is simply saying "I don't know," instead of pretending I do. Or telling someone close to me something hard—with kindness. Or admitting I'm scared instead of pretending I'm confident. Being vulnerable, honest, and grounded. It reminds me of the Jim Carrey movie Liar, Liar. It's a comedy, yes, but it paints a surprisingly profound picture of what life might look like if we could only tell the truth. And there's something freeing about that. We don't need to manipulate or hustle or perform. We just speak the truth and let the universe work out the details. We say what's true, and we let go. Because truth, when lived fully, doesn't just help us navigate life more cleanly—it transforms the very way life shows up for us.

YS 2.36 says: satya-pratiṣṭhāyām kriyā-phala-āśrayatvam — "When one is firmly established in truthfulness, then their words become so powerful that the result of action rests upon them." We're back in the section of the Yoga Sutras that deals with pratiṣṭhā, being deeply and firmly established in a state of being. This time, the quality is satya, truthfulness. Patanjali says that when truth becomes our natural state—when we're rooted in it, consistent with it—then even our words start to carry the power of truth. It's not that we control outcomes like magic. But our speech and actions become aligned, trustworthy, resonant. People believe us. We believe in ourselves. And the world reflects that back. Let's look at the Sanskrit closely. Satya is truthfulness, not just about being honest, but being in harmony with reality—what's authentic, what's sincere. Kriyā means action. Phala means the result or the fruit. And āśrayatvam means that those results depend upon, or are supported by, the truth we live in. So when truth is your foundation, your actions bear fruit. It's not just about saying the right things. It's about living in a way where your speech, your actions, your values, and your intentions all line up. The speech of someone like that has weight. Their words matter. Their life becomes a living truth. This isn't just a yogic idea. Don Miguel Ruiz, in The Four Agreements, begins with the first agreement: "Be impeccable with your word." He writes, "Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love." This is a very clear expression of satya-pratiṣṭhāyām. When we speak from a place of love and truth, we align ourselves with something more powerful than the ego. Something that uplifts, that heals, that brings clarity. But to do that, we have to slow down and pay attention. Are our words reactionary? Are they defensive? Are they driven by fear, or by truth? And not just spoken words—but what we write, what we post, what we say to ourselves. When truth becomes the ground we stand on, our words stop being tools of manipulation or noise. They become instruments of transformation. This practice takes vigilance. It's so easy to exaggerate, to flatter, to downplay, to hide. But Patanjali's teaching is that the yogi's path is one of alignment—where speech and heart match. Where truth is not a tool but a way of being. And when we get there—or even get close to that—our presence begins to shift things. Our words start to create change. People feel it. So maybe today we ask: are my words aligned with my heart? Can I be impeccable with them? Can I use them as a force for clarity, healing, and connection? This is the path of satya-pratiṣṭhāyām. Truth as a lived state. Words as action. And a life built on integrity.

Yoga Sūtra 2.35 – ahiṁsā pratiṣṭhāyām tat-sannidhau vaira-tyāgaḥ When one is firmly established in non-violence, all hostility ceases in their presence. Today, we return to ahiṁsā pratiṣṭhām—being established in non-violence—as taught in Yoga Sūtra 2.35. We've already explored how the yamas and niyamas are not just rules, but deeply personal practices—moral and ethical disciplines that offer a framework for living. Simple? Yes. But easy? Not always. They are practices for managing our lives skillfully, for creating relationships rooted in integrity, peace, and love. They are the ground upon which we walk the yogic path. We've talked about famous individuals—Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Thich Nhat Hanh, Mr. Rogers—who embodied this principle. But let's bring it closer to home. Maybe it's your grandmother—who listens fully, without interrupting. Maybe it's a friend—who stays calm, even when you're upset. Maybe it's a teacher—who creates a peaceful classroom without ever raising their voice. These people don't need a stage or a spotlight. They are quietly holding themselves steady. And in doing so, they embody what Patanjali describes in Yoga Sūtra 1.3: tadā draṣṭuḥ svarūpe'vasthānam – Then the Seer abides in their Own true nature. That's the heart of it. This isn't about having a good day. It's not about performance or temporary calm. It's a state of being—an embodiment. A settledness that radiates safety. Because the truth is, all the hustle, all the striving, all the accomplishments… mean little if we don't have peace and contentment inside. Everyday ahiṁsā is simple and profound: being the person in whose presence others feel safe. And yet, here's something essential—you can't give what you don't have. Non-violence must apply to yourself first. The way you speak to yourself, how you treat yourself, the space you give yourself to be imperfect and still whole. So in closing the ahiṁsā circuit today, If you don't believe in Ahimsa as a worthy practice, believe in the karma that will be played out at a later time.  I leave you with some writing by Rudy Francisco: "She asks me to kill the spider. Instead, I get the most peaceful weapons I can find. I take a cup and a napkin, I catch the spider, put it outside, and allow it to walk away. If I am ever caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, just being alive and not bothering anyone, I hope I am greeted with the same kind of mercy." And that's the essence of ahiṁsā pratiṣṭhām—a mercy that starts inside and ripples outward.

Yoga Sūtra 2.35 – ahiṁsā pratiṣṭhāyām tat-sannidhau vaira-tyāgaḥ When one is firmly established in non-violence, then all hostility ceases in their presence. Today, we reflect again on ahiṁsā pratiṣṭhām—being firmly established in non-harming. Patanjali teaches that this is not a casual virtue but a transformative power: when someone has deeply integrated non-violence into their being, conflict and aggression fall away in their presence. We see examples of this principle embodied in historical figures such as Mahatma Gandhi, His Holiness the Dalai Lama, Fred Rogers, and Thich Nhat Hanh. Their gentle yet unwavering commitment to peace created fields of harmony around them. But we must also honor the matriarchs of ahiṁsā pratiṣṭhām, whose compassion and moral clarity disarmed hostility and invited collective healing. St. Teresa of Calcutta radiated a love so palpable that even a brief encounter could leave an imprint of peace. Jeff recalls feeling this light firsthand. Her words remind us: "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to each other." Maya Angelou, American poet, civil rights activist, and towering voice for justice and dignity, gave us this stark truth: "Hate—it has caused a lot of problems in the world, but has not yet solved one." Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Associate Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court and champion for gender equality, once said: "Acting in anger or annoyance will not advance one's ability to persuade." Her restraint and reason were forms of silent, disarming strength. Pema Chödrön, an American Buddhist nun and teacher, has created a body of work that encourages gentleness amid difficulty. In When Things Fall Apart, she writes: "You are the sky. Everything else—it's just the weather." This stillness in the storm is a lived ahiṁsā. These women, like their male counterparts, cultivated a presence so grounded, so free of confrontation, that aggression could not take root around them. Their lives are examples of the inner discipline Patanjali is pointing to—a practice of becoming unshakable, non-reactive, and deeply compassionate. And so, today's question for contemplation is this: "Can you become a sanctuary of peace? Can you let non-violence be your default setting and radiate that into the world?"

Today, we return to our study of aṣṭāṅga yoga, the eight-limbed path outlined by Patañjali. As a reminder, the eight limbs are: Yama – ethical restraints Niyama – personal observances Āsana – posture Prāṇāyāma – breath regulation Pratyāhāra – withdrawal of the senses Dhāraṇā – concentration Dhyāna – meditation Samādhi – absorption or union The first four limbs are external practices—disciplines that we can actively cultivate through behavior and intention. The final four, the internal limbs, arise naturally from the consistent and sincere application of the first four. It's like laying a foundation before building a temple. Let's recall the five yamas, the ethical guidelines that form the cornerstone of the path: Ahiṃsā – non-violence Satya – truthfulness Asteya – non-stealing Brahmacarya – right use of energy Aparigraha – non-possessiveness Today, we focus on the first of these: ahiṃsā, as presented in Yoga Sūtra 2.35: "ahiṃsā-pratiṣṭhāyām tat-sannidhau vaira-tyāgaḥ" When one is firmly established in non-violence, all hostility ceases in their presence. This verse carries a profound and poetic vision—just imagine: to be so committed to non-harming that even the presence of your being dissolves conflict in others. This is the power of spiritual presence. Stories of saints like St. Francis of Assisi, who reportedly sat peacefully with wolves and birds, illustrate this reality. And in our own age, we can look to people like Mahatma Gandhi, Mother Teresa, The Dalai Lama, Fred Rogers ("I like you just the way you are"), and Thích Nhất Hạnh ("We must speak for peace, not victory"). These are living embodiments of ahiṃsā, radiating a field of calm wherever they go. But let's be honest—it's hard to imagine ourselves at that level. Thankfully, Patañjali is not asking for perfection. He's asking us to practice toward perfection. To aim for non-violence as our default setting. What does that look like in daily life? It means we bring non-harming into every layer of interaction: – In thought (releasing judgments), – In word (choosing kindness over criticism), – And in action (refusing to cause harm, even subtly). It's not passive. It's courageous and intentional. And it makes a difference. So here is today's inquiry: What do you stand for? Who are you becoming? Can you let ahiṃsā be your baseline—your default—and allow that energy to ripple outward? More tomorrow as we continue exploring the transformative power of the yamas.

Today we continue our deep dive into Yoga Sūtra 2.34, staying with the powerful teaching of pratipakṣa bhāvanam—the deliberate cultivation of opposite, positive thoughts to replace those that are harmful or negative. This is no abstract philosophy; it's a daily practice for those on the yogic path. We begin by revisiting YS 2.33: "vitarkāḥ hiṃsādayaḥ kṛta-kārita-anumoditāḥ lobha-krodha-moha-pūrvakāḥ mṛdu-madhya-adhimātrāḥ duḥkha-ajñāna-ananta-phalāḥ iti pratipakṣa-bhāvanam" Negative thoughts such as violence, whether done by oneself, instigated in others, or even silently approved of, arise from greed (lobha), anger (krodha), and delusion (moha). These may be mild, moderate, or intense. And the fruit of such thoughts is always suffering (duḥkha) and ignorance (ajñāna). Therefore, the remedy is clear: pratipakṣa bhāvanam—cultivating the opposite. And now, YS 2.34 offers a continued emphasis: "vitarkāḥ hiṃsādayaḥ kṛta-kārita-anumoditāḥ lobha-krodha-moha-pūrvakāḥ mṛdu-madhya-adhimātrāḥ duḥkha-ajñāna-ananta-phalāḥ iti pratipakṣa-bhāvanam" Yes, the verse repeats, almost word for word, driving home the importance of this mental discipline. When negative thoughts arise—and they will—do not indulge, fight, or shame them. Pause. Breathe. Redirect. This is the essence of the yogic mind-training. It's ancient neuroplasticity in action. What we practice, we become. Patañjali's wording is especially nuanced: the verse starts with hiṁsā, often translated as violence or harm, but follows it with ādayaḥ, meaning "etc." He's indicating that it's not just physical harm, but any kind of negative mental manifestation—jealousy, judgment, resentment, comparison, fear. To deepen this insight, we turn to the Bhagavad Gītā, Chapter 2, Verse 62: "dhyāyato viṣayān puṁsaḥ saṅgas teṣūpajāyate | saṅgāt sañjāyate kāmaḥ kāmāt krodho 'bhijāyate ||" "When a person dwells on objects, attachment to them arises. From attachment comes desire, and from desire arises anger." Here we see a natural psychological progression: greed leads to attachment, attachment leads to desire, and desire, when unfulfilled, gives rise to anger. This anger clouds judgment and drives delusion. Sound familiar? It's the very lobha-krodha-moha that Patañjali warns against. The remedy in both texts is the same: cultivate awareness and redirect the mind. One breath at a time. One thought at a time. One action at a time. This is the everyday sādhanā—the inner practice that turns our yoga from theory into transformation. More tomorrow.

Today, we continue our deep dive into Yoga Sūtra 2.34, staying with the powerful teaching of pratipakṣa bhāvanam—the deliberate cultivation of opposite, positive thoughts to replace harmful or negative ones. This is no abstract philosophy; it's a daily practice for those on the yogic path. We begin by revisiting YS 2.33: "vitarkāḥ hiṃsādayaḥ kṛta-kārita-anumoditāḥ lobha-krodha-moha-pūrvakāḥ mṛdu-madhya-adhimātrāḥ duḥkha-ajñāna-ananta-phalāḥ iti pratipakṣa-bhāvanam" Negative thoughts, such as violence, whether done by oneself, instigated in others, or even silently approved of, arise from greed (lobha), anger (krodha), and delusion (moha). These may be mild, moderate, or intense. And the fruit of such thoughts is always suffering (duḥkha) and ignorance (ajñāna). Therefore, the remedy is clear: pratipakṣa bhāvanam—cultivating the opposite. And now, YS 2.34 offers a continued emphasis: "vitarkāḥ hiṃsādayaḥ kṛta-kārita-anumoditāḥ lobha-krodha-moha-pūrvakāḥ mṛdu-madhya-adhimātrāḥ duḥkha-ajñāna-ananta-phalāḥ iti pratipakṣa-bhāvanam" Yes, the verse repeats, almost word for word, driving home the importance of this mental discipline. When negative thoughts arise—and they will—do not indulge, fight, or shame them. Pause. Breathe. Redirect. This is the essence of the yogic mind-training. It's ancient neuroplasticity in action. What we practice, we become. Patañjali's wording is especially nuanced: the verse starts with hiṁsā, often translated as violence or harm, but follows it with ādayaḥ, meaning "etc." He's indicating that it's not just physical harm, but any kind of negative mental manifestation—jealousy, judgment, resentment, comparison, fear. To deepen this insight, we turn to the Bhagavad Gītā, Chapter 2, Verse 62: "dhyāyato viṣayān puṁsaḥ saṅgas teṣūpajāyate | saṅgāt sañjāyate kāmaḥ kāmāt krodho 'bhijāyate ||" "When a person dwells on objects, attachment to them arises. From attachment comes desire, and from desire arises anger, from anger disillusionment" Here we see a natural psychological progression: greed leads to attachment, attachment leads to desire, and desire, when unfulfilled, gives rise to anger. This anger clouds judgment and drives delusion. Sound familiar? It's the very lobha-krodha-moha that Patañjali warns against. The remedy in both texts is the same: pratipaksa bhavanam, cultivate awareness and redirect the mind to the opposite positive. One breath at a time. One thought at a time. One action at a time. This is the everyday sādhanā—the inner practice that turns our yoga from theory into transformation. More tomorrow.

We continue our journey with Yoga Sūtra 2.33, and now deepen into the next verse — 2.34. If 2.33 gave us the prescription — pratipakṣa-bhāvanam — then 2.34 shows us the diagnosis, the depth of the problem. Let's start by recalling the previous sutra: vitarka-bādhane pratipakṣa-bhāvanam वितर्कबाधने प्रतिपक्षभावनम्॥२.३३॥ "When disturbed by negative thoughts, cultivate their opposites." Vitarka refers to thoughts that are harmful, unwholesome, or negative — especially those rooted in violence, attachment, or delusion. The antidote Patanjali gives is pratipakṣa-bhāvanam, the deliberate cultivation of opposing, positive thoughts. Now, we chant and reflect on the next verse: vitarkāḥ hiṃsādayaḥ kṛta-kārita-anumoditāḥ lobha-krodha-moha-pūrvakāḥ mṛdu-madhya-adhimātra duḥkha-ajñāna-ananta-phalāḥ iti pratipakṣa-bhāvanam वितर्का हिंसादयः कृतकारितानुमोदिताः लोभक्रोधमोहपूर्वकाः मृदुमध्याधिमात्र दुःखाज्ञानानन्तफलाः इति प्रतिपक्षभावनम्॥२.३४॥ "When negative thoughts like violence, whether done by oneself, instigated, or approved of, arise — and are caused by greed (lobha), anger (krodha), or delusion (moha), and can be mild, moderate, or intense — they lead to endless suffering and ignorance. Thus, the remedy is to cultivate their opposite — pratipakṣa-bhāvanam." Patañjali breaks it down in such a precise and timeless way. He identifies the many forms that harm — hiṁsā — can take. Violence isn't just physical. It can be: Kṛta: done by oneself. Kārita: incited or commissioned by someone else. Anumodita: passively approved of or silently endorsed. And what's underneath these harmful tendencies? He gives us the root causes: Lobha – greed, Krodha – anger, Moha – delusion or confusion. He also shows that these tendencies don't manifest in just one way. They can be: Mṛdu – mild, Madhya – moderate, Adhimātra – intense. But no matter the strength or the form, he tells us the fruit is always the same: duḥkha-ajñāna-ananta-phalāḥ — endless suffering and ignorance. This is where the teachings connect so powerfully with modern psychology and recovery traditions. In the 12 Steps and 12 Traditions, Bill Wilson talks about "character defects" — and not as moral failings, but as blind spots that bring pain when left unacknowledged. No one wants to be known as greedy — as a thief. But who among us hasn't reached for more than our fair share of credit or praise? No one wants to be labeled as violent or angry. But what about the little barbs of gossip we toss, the emotional jabs that quietly undermine others — forms of character assassination? We all fall somewhere on this spectrum. Patañjali's wisdom is not reserved for saints or sages. It's meant for us — for humans doing our best in the mess and magic of daily life. And he gives us a clear, consistent path forward: don't fight the thoughts — redirect them. Cultivate the opposite. Unchecked, these tendencies lead to duḥkha — suffering — and ajñāna — ignorance, or the forgetting of our true nature. But the great gift of these teachings is that we can begin again. We can practice pratipakṣa-bhāvanam, moment by moment. Thought by thought. Choice by choice. More tomorrow.

We continue our exploration through the Sādhana Pāda, arriving again at Yoga Sūtra 2.33 — a powerful and practical teaching that has everything to do with the life we're living today. vitarka-bādhane pratipakṣa-bhāvanam वितर्कबाधने प्रतिपक्षभावनम्॥२.३३॥ "When disturbed by negative thoughts, cultivate the opposite." It's deceptively simple yet deeply profound. This teaching lives not in theory but in everyday experience. It's all too easy to be swept up in negative thoughts or drawn into negative conversations—especially in a world that thrives on fear, urgency, and comparison. Today's episode is about pragmatics. It's about how we actually apply this teaching in the real moments of life. And here's a key insight: the heat of the moment is not the time to plan your positive reframe. If you wait until the storm hits to find your center, it's already too late. So what's the first step in pratipakṣa-bhāvanam? It's to pause. And breathe. I recommend this with a little humor too — if you need a laugh and a surprisingly effective reminder, go watch the classic Bob Newhart skit "Stop it." It's a two-minute masterclass in not letting your thoughts take over your life. Watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ow0lr63y4Mw Let's bring it back to practice. When the negative thought arises — maybe it's "I'm not good enough" or "I always mess this up" — stop. Breathe. And replace it. Try: "I'm growing." "I'm healing." "I'm flexible." "I'm strong." And if that feels like too much of a stretch, soften it: "I'm willing to believe I can grow." "I'm open to being strong." "I'm willing to be willing." This is the essence of thought replacement therapy, rooted in ancient yogic mind training. We expand our emotional vocabulary. We build resilience. We create space for inner alchemy. The opportunity is here, every day — to choose a more elevated thought, a more grounded presence, a more compassionate path. But we have to choose it. Again. And again.

Let's review Yoga Sūtra 2.32, which lists the five niyamas, or personal observances — and in reviewing this sūtra, what strikes me most is the elegant simplicity of the path it offers. These teachings, though ancient, are profoundly relevant today — perhaps even more so in our overstimulated, fast-paced world. Let's revisit the niyamas through a simple lens of choice: Śauca (शौच) – Choose simplicity over excess. Santoṣa (सन्तोष) – Choose gratitude over striving. Tapaḥ (तपः) – Choose effort over escape. Svādhyāya (स्वाध्याय) – Choose inner truth over noise. Īśvara-praṇidhāna (ईश्वरप्रणिधान) – Choose surrender over control. This rendering offers not only a practical summary of the sūtras but a compass for modern living. These are choices we can actually make — in small moments, every day — and each one takes us closer to clarity, presence, and peace. Now, we move on to Sūtra 2.33, which is a favorite of mine. There's something magical about the 33s in the Yoga Sūtras — both 1.33 and 2.33 offer essential, transformational teachings. Let's unpack 2.33 here: vitarka-bādhane pratipakṣa-bhāvanam वितर्कबाधने प्रतिपक्षभावनम्॥२.३३॥ Word-by-word breakdown: Vitarka – negative or unwholesome thoughts Bādhane – when disturbed or afflicted Pratipakṣa – the opposite Bhāvanam – contemplation or cultivation So, when negative thoughts — like anger, judgment, fear — arise and disturb the mind, cultivate the opposite. This sūtra is so simple, but its impact is profound. It's the ancient version of neuroplasticity. Today, neuroscience tells us: what fires together, wires together. The pathways we repeatedly walk become our default. And here, Patanjali is offering us the same insight — millennia ago. He reminds us: You are not your thoughts. When a harmful or painful thought arises, don't fight it. Don't shame it. Don't suppress it. Redirect it. Cultivate its opposite. If you're angry, practice kindness. If you're anxious, practice steadiness. If you're envious, practice appreciation. This is mind training — the essence of yoga psychology. It teaches us to step out of reactivity and into clarity. When you consistently direct your thoughts toward their antidote, you literally reshape the pathways of the mind. More tomorrow, as we continue into this powerful section of the Yoga Sūtras.

The yamas and niyamas are more than philosophical principles — they are ethical and moral disciplines, and for me, they're the practices I return to again and again in my journey to become a better human being. Now, let me slip in a little reminder — the San Pancho full court press is on. Our upcoming retreat in beautiful San Pancho is designed to lift your spirit, deepen your practice, and reconnect you to yourself in profound ways. If you feel called, visit www.jefflichty.com/events to learn more. Back to the yamas and niyamas. These aren't just for yogis on a mat — they're inner anchors for anyone walking a path of integrity and purpose. You don't have to twist yourself into a pretzel or chant in Sanskrit to benefit from these teachings. Whether you're a yogi or not doesn't matter to me — but I believe everyone needs an ethical and moral compass to guide their life. The yamas help us in our relationships with others — how we interact, how we live in community, how we treat the people around us. The niyamas, on the other hand, guide our relationship with ourselves — our inner discipline, our personal practice, our state of mind. Together, they shape a framework for living with intention. These are not simply behaviors — they are states of being we cultivate. And through these disciplines, we begin to align with our inner nature. As that inner alignment deepens, it naturally radiates outward and transforms our outer experience. In the spiritual life, or in any life devoted to reflection and growth, there are what we might call Divine Mysteries — forces or truths that can't always be seen, but that move us nonetheless. Aligning ourselves with these unseen truths, these universal patterns, brings a deep sense of order and connection. Now let's review the niyamas again — each one a stepping stone toward inner clarity: Śauca (शौच) – Cleanliness or purity. Choosing simplicity over excess. Santoṣa (सन्तोष) – Contentment. Choosing gratitude over striving. Tapaḥ (तपः) – Discipline or effort. Choosing effort over escape. Svādhyāya (स्वाध्याय) – Self-study or reflection on sacred texts. Choosing inner truth over outer noise. Īśvara-praṇidhāna (ईश्वरप्रणिधान) – Surrender to a higher power. Choosing surrender over control. These aren't just lofty ideas. They are choices we can make — every day — to live with more integrity, more grace, and more peace. Let these principles be a guide, no matter where you are or what your path looks like. Tomorrow, we wrap this section up and move forward in the Sūtras. Thank you for walking this journey with me.

Yesterday, we began exploring the niyamāḥ, the observances of aṣṭāṅga yoga as laid out by Patañjali in Yoga Sūtra 2.32. We looked closely at śauca, purity or clarity, and how it stands as the foundational niyama, much like ahiṁsā is the cornerstone of the yamas. Today, we turn our attention to the second niyama: santoṣa — contentment. Santoṣa means to be content with what is — to rest in the simplicity and sufficiency of the present moment. This teaching can be especially challenging for those of us with perfectionistic tendencies. It asks us to step out of the loop of striving and allow the world — and ourselves — to be exactly as we are, without resistance. The modern Vipassanā master S.N. Goenka spoke of this when he emphasized the practice of equanimity: seeing things clearly, as they are, and accepting them without craving or aversion. This is the essence of santoṣa. It's not complacency, but rather a deep and courageous willingness to meet reality with grace. True contentment brings stability and peace of mind. It allows us to see our inner world clearly and to rest within it without needing to change or escape. Whether we are practicing āsana, prāṇāyāma, or dhyāna (meditation), this capacity to accept the moment as it is lies at the very heart of yoga. Lao Tzu offers us a poetic reflection of this truth: "Do you have the patience to allow the mud to settle and the water to become clear? Do you have the patience to allow the right action to arise by itself?" This is santoṣa. This is yoga. We'll continue tomorrow with the next niyama, and then move on to a new sūtra — one that is rich and inspiring. Stay tuned. And if you're ready to go deeper into these teachings in real time, join us for our 2026 Yoga Retreats in San Pancho.  Details are at www.jefflichty.com/events.        

Yesterday, we explored YS 2.31, and today we continue by honoring a beautiful insight from scholar Edwin Bryant. He draws particular attention to the importance of this sutra, emphasizing the universality of the mahāvratam—the great vows. When we hear the terms mahāvratam (great vow) and sārvabhauma (universal or applicable to all people, places, and times), we begin to grasp just how expansive and vital this teaching is to anyone walking the yogic path. It reminds us that these vows are not negotiable—they're not only for monks, ascetics, or spiritual aspirants in India. They are for everyone, everywhere. This universality gives the yamas and niyamas their enduring power. They're not bound by religion or culture. They are human truths, vibrational laws that lead to inner peace and outer harmony. (And before we go further—a quick invitation: Join Jeff and Andrea in San Pancho, Mexico for the 2026 Yoga Retreats. Dive into these teachings in real time, through breath, movement, and deep reflection. Find all the details at www.jefflichty.com/events.) Now, moving into YS 2.32, Patanjali introduces the second limb of aṣṭāṅga yoga: the niyamas. YS 2.32 शौचसंतोषतपःस्वाध्यायेश्वरप्रणिधानानि नियमाः śauca-santoṣa-tapaḥ-svādhyāya-īśvara-praṇidhānāni niyamāḥ Cleanliness, contentment, disciplined effort, self-study, and surrender to a higher power are the observances. If you've been following the podcast closely, some of these words might sound familiar. The last three niyamas—tapaḥ (discipline or burning effort), svādhyāya (self-study), and īśvara-praṇidhāna (surrender to the divine)—were introduced back in YS 2.1 as part of kriyā yoga. These are the internal practices that help us reduce suffering and prepare the mind for samādhi. So now we have all five niyamas: śauca – purity, cleanliness, or clarity santoṣa – contentment tapaḥ – disciplined effort svādhyāya – self-study or study of sacred texts īśvara-praṇidhāna – surrender to a higher power or letting go into the divine Of these, śauca is considered the chief niyama, just as ahiṁsā is the cornerstone of the yamas. Purity—both inner and outer—is the ground from which the rest of the niyamas can flourish. And santoṣa, or contentment, is the subtle practice of being fully present with what is, not in resignation but in peace. We'll dive deeper into these in the coming days. But for now, reflect on this: What does purity look like in your own life? Where does contentment live in your heart? And can these quiet virtues become the source of strength and peace for your practice? Until tomorrow—Om śāntiḥ śāntiḥ śāntiḥ.        

We continue our journey through the Sādhana Pāda of the Yoga Sūtras, exploring the practices that Patanjali offers to help us move toward viveka-khyāti—discriminative wisdom. In YS 2.29, we were introduced to the eight limbs of yoga, aṣṭāṅga yoga, and now in YS 2.30, Patanjali begins with the first of those limbs: the yamas. YS 2.30: अहिंसासत्यास्तेय ब्रह्मचर्यापरिग्रहाः यमाः ahiṁsā-satya-asteya-brahmacarya-aparigrahāḥ yamāḥ Non-violence, truthfulness, non-stealing, celibacy/moderation, and non-possessiveness are the restraints. These are the first ethical foundations of yoga. The yamas are not rigid commandments, but rather energetic truths—vibrational realities. When we align with them, inner peace arises; when we violate them, we disturb our own clarity and calm. They're not just about morality; they're about creating the right conditions in our minds and hearts for deep meditation and insight. Ahimsa, non-harming, is first—and that's not by accident. It is the cornerstone of all the yamas, and arguably of all yoga. Think about it: how can we find peace or cultivate meditative stillness if we are actively or passively causing harm—to others or to ourselves? And yet, ahimsa is more than just "not hurting." Sri O.P. Tiwari once said that in relationships, rather than making lofty declarations like "I will always love you," perhaps it's more powerful to say, "I will always prioritize not causing you harm." In a world where the word "love" can be overused or diluted, ahimsa reminds us that real love is action—it's care, restraint, and attentiveness in every word and deed. Even in daily life—say, while driving—we're in relationships with others. Can we bring ahimsa into those ordinary interactions? Can we let these ethical principles begin shaping the way we move through the world? Because the yamas are about just that: our relationships, our boundaries, our integrity in action. Now, in YS 2.31, Patañjali expands our understanding: YS 2.31 जातिदेशकालसमयानवच्छिन्नाः सार्वभौमा महाव्रतम् jāti-deśa-kāla-samaya-anavacchinnāḥ sārvabhaumā mahāvratam These great vows (mahāvratam) are universal, not limited by class, location, time, or circumstance. Here's where it gets big. The yamas aren't local customs or spiritual suggestions. They are what Patañjali calls mahāvratam—great vows. And they apply everywhere. Let's break this down: Jāti – Caste, social group, or identity Deśa – Place or geographic location Kāla – Time period—past, present, future Samaya – Circumstance or situation So no matter your status, your culture, the era you live in, or the challenges you face—the yamas still apply. They're as universal and reliable as gravity. Just as gravity doesn't care if you're in Tokyo or Toronto, the yamas don't shift based on mood or preference. They are timeless principles for living in alignment with truth. In a world growing more skeptical of organized religion or rigid ideologies, this is especially relevant. The yamas offer us a moral compass grounded not in dogma, but in awareness, intention, and peace. They are the first step toward true freedom from citta-vṛtti—the whirling disturbances of the mind. Let's not reduce yoga to just postures or breathing exercises. Yoga is a path of purification, clarity, and ultimately freedom. Take ahimsa into your weekend. Reflect on these great vows. Let your actions be your peace. Om. Peace out. www.jefflichty.com/events