by Vyaas Houston, M.A.
Certainty of Freedom
The "certainty of freedom" is a striking concept. Although the concept of spiritual freedom expressed through a word such as "liberation" exists in the English language, the actual meaning as we hear it is quite abstract, somehow foreign to the reality of our day to day lives. In Sanskrit the concept of spiritual freedom exists as a certainty. It exists within the context of an ancient proven science, equally precise as our modern science which has managed to send human beings into outer space and have them actually walk on the moon. For modern science to accomplish that extraordinary feat, there had to first exist the certainty that it was possible. For this to even be considered, there had to be an already existing language, that could gauge the precise requirements to get a vehicle beyond the gravitational field of the earth, find the moon, land and return. The necessary language was that of mathematics and physics. Because of the existence of mathematics, some scientists conceived of the certainty that they could land human beings on the moon.
The language that long ago established the certainty of freedom was Sanskrit. Like mathematics, Sanskrit is a language of infinite subtlety and functional precision. While the sciences of mathematics, physics, astronomy etc. continue to evolve, as scientists use them as tools to probe deeper into the nature of the universe, Sanskrit has not changed since 500 B.C., when it was meticulously codified by Panini. If the ultimate task of science, as well as the ultimate goal of life, had been to get a man on the moon, there would have been no need for science and mathematics to develop any further. It could have stopped right there. Sanskrit stopped being further refined precisely because it had become the sufficient instrument to facilitate human liberation, the ultimate purpose of human life. There simply was no need to go further. The enlightenment of the Buddha at exactly the same time in history could be viewed as an auspicious confirmation of the culmination of millennia of yogic research.
Although a wide range of manuals document the certainty of freedom by means of the technical language of Sanskrit from virtually every possible human perspective, there is one which stands apart as a jewel of scientific clarity, precision and brevity — the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. Written sometime after the codifying of Sanskrit and the enlightenment of Buddha, the Yoga Sutras bring home the certainty of freedom as the inevitable outcome of the journey through life. A sutra is a short word equation that conveys a potent truth. A collection of sutras, such as the 196 in the Yoga Sutras, represents the interlocking correspondence of many potent truths from multiple perspectives to create a mandala, a cosmology, a complete and universal perspective of life, specifically the life of an individual progression from an unknown beginning through change and evolution to kaivalyam, being established in that which is beyond change. The truth of each individual equation is a convincing proof contributing to the ultimate perspective of the whole and conversely, the whole, a context for the essential truth of the individual sutra.
Before taking on such a perspective it's essential to be convinced of the need to do so by the necessity of one's own life. The process of adopting the perspective contained in the Yoga Sutras is well documented in the sutras themselves. It is perhaps the most significant rocket stage of insight that exists to accelerate momentum towards kaivalyam.
Consider the impact of the "certainty of freedom" as the fundamental context of your life. If you woke up every morning and went to bed every night, living life in the certainty of freedom, how would things be different?
No nagging fear of failure to accomplish this, of not resolving that with so-and-so, of being liked or disliked or controlled, of not being good enough, of losing health, suffering and dying not having accomplished goals, being less than others, than what you could have been.
The italicized above represents the perspective unconsciously adopted by the human race collectively. It operates not through the certainty of freedom but through the certainty of death. "The clock is running — I'd better prove myself before it's too late." Motivated by the certainty of death, individuals struggle for happiness or liberation all the time fearing they won't make it. Patanjali dispenses with all this in a few words, saying:
duhkham eva sarvam vivekinah
All is pain to those who discriminate.
In the present context, it would only be possible to fully adopt the Yoga Sutras' perspective of the certainty of freedom by being convinced that the only alternative credo, the certainty of death, is ultimately fraught with more struggle and suffering. There is no pessimism, whatsoever, in the statement, only a coming to terms with the lack of complete fulfillment that persists as long as one is not fully established in one's own true nature. Patanjali states in the next sutras:
heyam duhkham anaagatam
Pain not yet come is to be ended. The word heyam, "to be ended" can also mean "endable". That which is to be ended is endable. Anyone who decides to do so may. Consider once and for all ending suffering which otherwise is inevitable.
drashtr-drshyayoh sanyogo heya-hetuh
The cause of the suffering to be ended is the correlation between the seer (one's true self) and that which is to be seen. What is to be seen is "seeable". Anything which is other than my own true nature as the seer is seeable. When I identify myself with that which is essentially not myself, I continue to feel something is missing. This dissatisfaction is painful.
tasya hetur avidyaa
The cause of the correlation is avidyaa. The reason I correlate myself with what is not myself, fail to see what is to be seen, and therefore continue to feel dissatisfaction, is avidyaa, the absence of self-awareness.
anityaashuci-duhkhaanaatmasu nitya-shuci-sukhaatma-khyaatir avidyaa
Avidyaa is the identification with a self which is not one's self, with happiness in what is really suffering, purity in what is impure, and permanence in what is impermanent. Not seeing the certainty of lasting happiness in my own being, I seek it elsewhere.
Giving Patanjali the benefit of the doubt — the certainty of liberation can displace the certainty of death only on the condition that I see that all that I believed would bring me happiness and freedom has not satisfied me. If I continue to hope for happiness through anything which identifies me as that which is the seeable, in effect, I deny the only possible true happiness, my own self. Any happiness other than my own self must be impermanent by nature, because all is changing. Seeking something I see in order to find happiness will definitely cause a correlation with it, and will definitely keep me identified with a self that is not the self, and will definitely cause future suffering — that which is to be ended.
To the one who is able to make this distinction, all is suffering. It would be equivalent to deciding "I will no longer pursue happiness where it does not exist." Only for this one can there be the certainty of freedom. Such a conclusion inevitably leads one to a perspective such as the Yoga Sutras.
Once the decision has been made to establish the certainty of freedom in oneself, the Sutras have to be internalized and assimilated, preferably in the original Sanskrit. It's not that they couldn't be translated into English, but rather that they are infinitely more potent and effective in Sanskrit. Learning the Sutras in English could be compared to scientists using words rather than numerical equations to solve their problems. Not only does Sanskrit offer a precise technical vocabulary, but it is a completely fluid language consisting of vibrational harmonies, perfectly designed to bring the human energy system into phase with the subtlest matrix of creation. Since the Sutras are nothing more than word equations, the most rudimentary knowledge of Sanskrit suffices. The first step is to learn some basic Sanskrit, especially the pronunciation of its sounds. This is relatively easy, because the sounds of Sanskrit are based on being the purest, and most resonant the human vocal instrument is able to produce.
Another significant reason for the use of the Sanskrit is that the thorough assimilation of the perspective of the Yoga Sutras requires they be learned by heart. This is extremely pleasurable when approached through the chanting of them in the original Sanskrit. The fluid nature of Sanskrit lends itself to easy memorization. Each individual sutra being like a hologramatic segment, the overall perspective begins to gel just having learned one. The one links by way of sound continuity and philosophical context to the next and likewise that to the next. If one conceives the project as a quantitative one for the mind, it will tend to be abandoned. The number of sutras, 196, is more than most minds can deal with. A sutra can only be learned, one at a time. Each one must literally be learned "by heart", an act of devotion to my true self, with a love for clarity and power of the truth being conveyed as well as the exquisite sounds it is conveyed through. It's far more efficient when the inputting of the Yoga model is an experience that is consistent with the model.
For example, the very first sutra — atha yogaanushaasanam — serves to effect the paradigm shift by saying atha — now, definitively, distinctly breaking from past structures, a new beginning — yoga-anushaasanam — the model of yoga. The second sutra is the definition of yoga and the essential core of the entire text. All subsequent Sutras reference back to and develop the foundational depth of this one:
yogash-citta-vrtti-nirodhah
Yoga is the nirodha of the vrtti of citta.
In effect the rest of the text is largely devoted to expand the dimensions of these three words citta-vrtti-nirodhah. English has no exact equivalents. Although it can be helpful to use some English approximations such as, Yoga is a process of ending the mental artifices which specifically localize and define an individual (energy) field of consciousness; the real task at hand is to associate the original Sanskrit terms with elements of one's own experience, especially through the process of yoga. In other words feel, the vrtti — that which defines my individual energy field (citta). Now the nirodha — process of ending that vrtti — definition can become a dynamic force, a direct experience rather than just a definition, by simply enjoying the sounds and the rhythm of the sutras.
With a little training in Sanskrit, there is the pleasure of the tongue vibrating behind the upper teeth in many of the sounds, specifically the tt in citta and vrtti and the n and dh in nirodhah. In the last word, the release of extra breath with the sound dha, and the closing breath h. By chanting it a number of times, one can become absorbed in rhythm and vibration. The entire body can begin to resonate with sound. And followed by a moment's silence, one can feel citta as a vibrant energy field. There takes place the nirodha of the prior vrtti-definition of myself as an individual person struggling with the uncertainties presented by a restless mind. In the very act of learning the sutra, I have had a living experience of it. Subsequent experiences can be easily accessed by using the word nirodha to define a specific inner state — infinitely more effective than trying to get the mind to stop. In this way, from the very outset, the sutras become a dynamic internal software, a program which thrusts one's citta onwards towards a complete resolution of all vrtti limitations. With each sutra learned, and linked to one's experience of life, the model gains momentum, establishing the certainty of freedom, while displacing the certainty of death, and the constraints that its companion fears impose on our lives. The sutras provide a new language of previously unknown distinctions by which we define and therefore determine our inner experience.
The subtlety of Sanskrit and the vitality of the truths conveyed through it, combine to propel the model to the very depths of the unconscious, where ultimately the certainty of freedom has to be established. This process of transformation is also well described in the Sutras:
vyutthaana-nirodha-sanskaarayor abhibhava-praadurbhaavau nirodha-kshana-cittaanvayo nirodha-parinaamah
The experience of yoga in which there is the nirodha — ending of a vrtti limitation — deposits a sanskaara — subliminal impression in the unconscious — which then begins to serve as a subliminal activator for further experiences of nirodha.
Every time the nirodha sanskaara is activated, while at the same time there is a recession in the activation of the old patterning, there occurs a transformation of citta, the individual energy field, what Patanjali calls nirodha-parinaama or nirodha-transformation. The next sutra:
tasya prashaanta-vaahitaa sanskaaraat
the calm flow of that transformation occurs because of continuous subliminal activation. The patterning that we establish in our fields each moment is a choice. By not choosing the certainty of freedom, we leave ourselves at the effect of the default setting, destined to repeat the patterns we know so well. A quote from the astronaut, Stuart Roosa, who orbited the moon alone while Alan Shepard and Edgar Mitchell explored the surface, sums it up nicely, "Space changes nobody. You bring back from space what you bring into space."
In the final analysis, Yoga is the very essence of the great movement of life. All life is moving towards freedom. The repeated trials, pains and struggles of life ultimately help to establish nirodha and advance each individual life form beyond eternal repetitions of the same suffering. The Yoga Sutras are a scientific documentation of the process of life, by which we as human beings who do have a choice, may accelerate our journey, by seeing the root cause of suffering, and choose to not reinforce it. May we all choose to know the calm flow of the certainty of freedom, subliminally activated each moment, bringing about the transformation of citta and with that:
tadaa drashtuh svaruupe'vasthaanam
At each of those moments, the establishing of I, the seer, in my own true nature.
Sanskrit, Sattva and Purusha
From Patanjali's perspective in his Yoga Sutras, there is ultimately one problem in life; not perceiving the difference between the transparent, luminous and reflective quality (guna) of the mind with its perceptual field known as sattva, and my true nature as "I" purusha, my true self. The cost of not making this distinction is an uncertainty of identity based upon a fluctuating field, a loss of self, and a confusing and painful search for self in places where the self does not exist. Sattva is the very sublest essence of what seems to be one's self but is not. Perhaps the most important aspect of sattva is that it can be discerned as an object of perception (drshya or seeable), whereas the self (purusha) is drashtaa, the seer, or drshi-maatra, seeing alone.
In effect, Patanjali says that all study of yoga exists for the sake of making this distinction, and only when this distinction is made continuously does there occur kaivalya, the freedom of the self from all limiting identities, and hence from what we refer to as "problems," the big one and the little ones. Simple logic assumes that if kaivalya is free from all problems but we are being devoured by problems and their accompanying anxieties, that we are not familiar with kaivalya. Therefore the presence of problems is the absence of kaivalya and vice versa. But before kaivalya, we have the challenge of distinguishing sattva from purusha. The immediate choice is not between kaivalya and problems, but of one big problem or lots of little ones.
The specific term Patanjali uses to describe this distinguishing of the difference between sattva and purusha is viveka-khyaati. Khyaati implies "knowledge by naming." It comes from the root khyaa — to name or declare. Viveka means "distinguishing by separating apart", from the root vic. In this case it refers to separating apart one's own self, purusha from sattva.
Since nothing can be known or distinguished without naming it, the act of naming something is the decisive turning point where anything can be known. Through his choice of words, Patanjali implies that the only difference between those who have discovered kaivalya and those who haven't is that the former have been careful to focus upon the act of naming sattva and purusha as distinct from each other. In the same context, Patanjali also uses the term purusha-khyaati — naming, hence, knowing purusha (my true identity) to be independent from and therefor not at the effect of any activity in the perceptual field. This being the ultimate viveka, or distinction, it is also referred to as viveka-khyaati. Without purusha-khyaati, or viveka-khyaati. it is certain that identity will be shaped by what is occurring in the always changing field. We suffer from a limited identity, whose happiness depends upon the weather, so to speak.
The best hope we have of making this ultimate distinction of life is to assume that it's the most natural thing in the world to do so. It's natural in the sense that others like ourselves, worn down by multiple problems, sought and found this simplicity. It's perfectly practical to choose the one problem that resolves the others to say "my problem is that my perspective has not included sattva — light, the essence of clarity, the subtlest substratum of life, and the original pulsation." But it's hard to imagine that one could ever arrive at viveka-khyaati without problem-khyaati, the act of naming the problem.
Several things occur by the sincere declaration of such a problem. The first is that other problems lose their charge. This is not to say that responsibilities or needs or relations disappear, or that discomfort, pain etc. go away, but that they no longer occur as "problems." They can't continue to exist in the same way when I say "my only problem is that I'm not seeing sattva and getting on to viveka-khyaati." The funny thing about this is that by making the absence of sattva the big problem, sattva begins to show up. What becomes apparent is that the primary cause of not seeing sattva is a preoccupation with problems and worries. It also becomes clear that sattva, the medium of consciousness, is always present. The very fact that we are aware of a field is at once evidence of sattva, and can be a means of redirecting our attention to sattva. Another thing that occurs is an extraordinary appreciation of the Yoga Sutras and the Sanskrit language as the lenses that help to bring sattva into focus. They are lenses which we use, by our own choice, to focus, and thereby see. This is in contrast to a passive approach where we hope that something external, such as the Yoga Sutras, or Sanskrit, will enlighten us.
Most important, while seeing sattva, there a medium of clarity that makes it possible to become aware of the continuous presence of drashtaa — I the seer, purusha, seeing sattva. Since sattva is subtle, "seeing" here refers to a direct experience of an expanded field of vibration, by a simultaneous seeing, feeling and hearing of finer frequencies. With this comes the discovery that I, the seer, am always present, but when seeing sattva, it's easier to remember. Patanjali has made the alternative clear by his definition of avidyaa (the lack of awareness):
Avidyaa is the khyaati of a self on what is not the self, happiness on misery, purity on impurity, and permanence on impermanence.
Again, he uses the word khyaati as if to say "if there is no viveka-khyaati, there will be the khyaati (naming and therefore knowing, projecting a self on what is not the self, etc.)" Another sutra, reinforcing the importance of dealing with the big problem adds:
vidyaa is the field of the other klesha (problems).
The use of Sanskrit as a lense to bring sattva into focus can be even more effective in a class environment with people who have agreed to exercise the continuous application of yoga to the study of Sanskrit (and Sanskrit to the study of yoga). Essential to this are abhyaasa — continuously choosing to focus on a predetermined point of focus — and vairaagya — the recognition of being off the point and not being stuck on staying off the point. Patanjali defines this as the "declaration of mastery on the part of one not holding on to prior experience."
The Sanskrit required to grasp the Sutras is elementary, since the Sutras are only word equations. But, the richness of inspiration derived from this first step into the language is indescribable. It can never become one of those programs we try once and forget about. Its purity draws us, inspires us, and constantly reminds us, in case we forget, of our biggest problem.
Sanskrit, The Language of Meditation
Among the many marvelous gifts of the Sanskrit language is a rich spectrum of terminology that defines with impeccable precision a world of vision and clarity that opens through yoga and meditation. Without this, the already difficult journey to self-knowledge could be much like a trip to a mountain retreat without the benefit of a high speed vehicle traveling on roads with names.
The chanting of Sanskrit as preparation to meditation is the vehicle. It tunes the body, mind and senses to a finer frequency and then provides the road map, ancient truths concisely stated in exacting terms that glide through the mind with a minimum of effort. The trip goes especially smoothly when absorbed in the beautiful elegance of sound, chanted aloud or whispered silently within, giving birth to meaning that points the way. Sanskrit, like anything else can turn into a commuter's monotony, where in spite of beautiful scenery, the driver has his mind on other things. If it becomes mechanical, one can forget to look, or listen.
The definition of yoga that appears at the beginning of Patanjali's Yoga Sutras is a perfect example of terminology that is as technical with regard to the process of yoga meditation as the mathematical equations that define the behavior of atoms in the field of physics. For example:
Yoga = citta-vrtti-nirodhah
is as fundamental to yoga as
e = mc2
is to physics.
Without understanding the word citta, the equation can't be grasped. There are no English equivalents for citta. To substitute an English word like "mind" or "mindstuff" makes a genuine understanding of yoga virtually inaccessible. To leave the word citta as it is and make an enquiry into its meaning by contemplating its use throughout the Yoga Sutra text leads to meaning as rich in dimension as life itself.
Citta is the individual life field, normally defined by, but not limited to the parameters of the physical body. It consists of the purest and subtlest form of matter/energy (sattva guna). Although any form of recording, from film and tape to micro chips offers a metaphor for citta's capacity to record the infinitely complex multidimensional experience of life, they are crude by comparison. On the one hand, it's strange that we should be so compelled to have the finest and the fastest means of recording impressions of life through digital technology, when each of us already possesses an existing system that no advancement in technology will ever be able to duplicate. On the other hand, it's likely that our obsession or passion for clarity and speed of reproduction is based upon our great need — to experience and utilize our own citta's capacity in its pristine state to sense and record the finest and subtlest experience that life has to offer. This use of citta is precisely what yoga is all about from beginning to end.
Citta is like a movie screen, in the sense that when the movie is playing we're not aware of the screen. The difference being that while the screen remains the same size, citta can take the form of anything from the smallest particle (paramanu) to an infinite magnitude (parama-mahattva). Citta can be focused anywhere, in any location (dharana) and sustained continuously in a single location (dhyana). This means that citta can illuminate any form of matter or energy by taking its form, as if having no form of its own. This is the meaning of the yoga term samadhi.
Citta is everchanging. From the perspective of Yoga its changes are viewed as a progression (krama) consisting of linked moments or ksana, which measure the time it takes an atom to move from one position to the next. The beginning of citta is unknown. Its end point represents kaivalya &8212; perfect self-knowledge.
Citta is programmable. It behaves in whatever way it is programmed or habituated to to behave. If it is not consciously directed it will conform to the activites (vrtti) that have shaped it in the past (vrtti-sarupyam). This is very much like a default selection.
Thus, prior to yoga, changes in citta are programmed by habits; physical habits, mental habits, sensory habits — all of which create repetitive patterns of experience, some pleasurable, some painful, but all contributing to a limited sense of self (citta being confined to the definition of the body). It could be said that the changes occurring in citta are painfully slow. Yoga is a process of terminating the habitual activities which have been seen to be painful. This is referred to as nirodha, another term better left untranslated.
Of all the ways Patanjali could have defined yoga, he chose the word nirodha — "yoga is nirodha." Nirodha is the force that continuously purifies citta. I use the word "force" in the sense of "force of habit". Nirodha is the only force greater than that of habit — specifically the habits that perpetuate citta in a constricted and clouded state. Nirodha is the new program for citta, that prevents the old from operating and reestablishing itself. It does so by two means: (1) vigilance in keeping citta focused (abhyasa) and (2) the full awareness of one's own power of choice to disconnect and free oneself from the force of previous habits (vairagya).
Nothing less than the combined power of abhyasa and vairagya can establish the force of nirodha, and make it strong enough to override the complex programming of self preservation and survival, all the mechanisms an individual has developed to seemingly preserve security, repeat pleasure, avoid pain and deny an inevitable death of one's body.
Since the old program is based on millions of years of evolution it does not quit easily. Yet, as long as I define my life by the lifetime of my body, I can't and won't stop brooding over my own survival plan. In order to abandon it I must see that it truly offers no hope for happiness or fulfillment. I must also have something to replace it with. Here the gift of Sanskrit along with Patanjali's mastery in composing through that medium provides a vision of great clarity and simplicity. The work itself is a guide book that provides all the necessary insights and practices for replacing the old with the new. But more than anything, the successful installation of the yoga model depends on understanding the concept of citta, for it is the progression of citta that ultimately replaces my former identity.
As with the body, there is an end to the sequential progress of citta. Since yoga is the process of consciously terminating activities (vrtti) which define and limit citta, this process results in the experience of citta in a purer and purer condition. When nirodha has become the most powerful force in the progression of citta, inevitably a final nirodha takes place. When this occurs, citta is in a pristine state, so pure that it can only record its own purity. Its mission accomplished (krtartha), devoid of it's purpose of providing a field for the Self (purusartha-shunya), citta recedes into a state of dormancy (pratiprasava) and then the power of pure awareness (citi-shakti) abides in its own essential nature. The long journey of citta is fulfilled.
The stunning contrast between the two models is that whereas in the individual survival program the end of the body is feared and held at bay, in the yoga model, the wrapping up of the journey of citta is actively pursued, knowing that the terminal point of citta represents freedom, kaivalyam.
See information about our Yoga Sutras Intensives, in the "Learn Sanskrit" Section of our Website.