Why does disillusionment sometimes occur after immersion in yogic practices, and why does it send many of us running for shelter from our once-beloved practice? The answer lies in yoga’s seminal scripture, the Bhagavad Gita. Pandava prince Arjuna asks the Supreme Lord Krishna to drive his chariot into battle, only to face the dismal prospect of engaging in combat his family, teachers, and friends at Krishna’s behest. At the Gita’s conclusion, Arjuna surrenders fully to Krishna and takes up the sword. The Gita teaches us that to engage in the path of yoga and align with the divine, it will not be easy. Indeed, at times our inner state will feel much like a battleground, as old mental patterns (samskara) struggle to reassert their primacy.
Modern life lacks chariots, but the Gita’s teachings are salient as ever. When yoga begins to churn old patterns and emotions to the surface, an internal battleground arises, pitting mind and ego comfortable with their uncaptioned presence against the transcendent Lord Krishna (authentic self, divine, inner wisdom) in us all. We can choose to commit ever more fully to the battle, to living in truth and integrating our shadows, or we may decide that yoga no longer feels “fun” or “positive” and so move to something else.
This battleground is not only internal; western yoga culture provides infinite opportunities to experience yoga as a battleground. The philosophy of tantric yoga espouses our innate perfection, wholeness, and divinity. Yet yoga culture can sometimes generate feelings of “not enoughness.” While Indian sadhus commonly evaded attire, here it sometimes feels like a major investment to start a yoga practice (Jade mat, Lululemons, retreats, workshops, etc).
At its best, yoga gives us permission to roll around on our mats, listening to whatever we want, as for instructor JC Peters. It doesn’t poke at or insult, but instead facilitates greater self-acceptance. Conversely, yoga culture (and to be fair, some of its representatives) and our societal hedonic treadmill is likely to poke and insult us on occasion--in asana, media representations, and the relentless dogma of self-improvement that is counter to tantra yoga’s deeper teachings.
Often environmental triggers from yoga culture intersect with our samskara, generating another battleground. When triggered by a teacher or approach, feeling “not enough,” this is a mirror to our internal samskara. While the kneejerk reaction is to outsource blame externally, acknowledging the source of the discontent as internal and integrating this wisdom represents taking up the sword, as did Arjuna.
When we take the perspective that yoga is just another term for experiencing our innate fullness, the term “falling out of love with yoga” becomes an oxymoron. Taking up the sword means confronting our deepest fears and patterns, which can lead to fleeting despair or hopelessness. Illustrated by Hindu’s pantheon of gods and goddesses, by turns light/saintly and dark/beastly yet united by love for their devotees, yoga’s path is through the flames, embracing all of who we are with the warm compassion of a mother to her child.
Have you ever experienced an internal battle with your yoga practice?
"The Gita describes the story of Pandava prince Arjuna, who, out of devotion to his deity, agrees to drive Lord Krishna’s chariot in battle."
It was lord Krishna, Arjun's cousin and a good friend, who drives Arjun's chariot in the war, not vice versa. I hope you'll rectify this.
Namaste!
