This
Month's Article:
"Turn
Off the Vrittis"
by
Connie Habash
It was a rare
and treasured day, getting up early to attend
a Mysore-style Ashtanga class. I left my
daughter in the care of the babysitter and happily
drove to the studio as the sun was cresting over
the distant hills.
There are many
things I love about Mysore classes: the sense of
community, the individual adjustments, and the
ability to work at my own pace. But what
I love the most is the silence. No teacher
leading us through the paces, no music, just the
sounds of breathing, jumping, and the occasional
interaction between the teacher and one of the
students as he imparts some wisdom or refinement
of their practice. The silence is very
meditative for me.
Upon opening the
door to the studio, my ears met with something
unfamiliar: the sound of some old crooner from
the 50s singing a love song. Was it Elvis
Presley? I can’t remember, but I do
remember my reaction: shock. Was this a joke? Was
some other class going on? I saw all the
sandals neatly stacked in the cubbies as usual – certainly
there were people here practicing, and as I peeked
through the curtains everything seemed normal. Some
folks in Surya Namaskar B, others wrapping their
arms in one of the Marichyasanas, and one or two
already in the finishing poses. But this
strange music was blaring through the speakers
and no one seemed to pay attention.
Except, of course,
myself. I was outraged. Deplorable. I
had come for peace, a meditative quiet, and now
I have to listen to crappy 50’s music (no
offense to those who love that era!). This
is not what I came to this class for. My
mind was off on a bullet train to annoyed distraction
and nothing was going to stop it for a while.
Those distracting
thoughts are referred to as Vrittis in yoga philosophy. Vrittis
are the fluctuations of consciousness that happen
almost constantly throughout the day in our minds. If
you ever spend time watching your own mental processes,
you’ll notice that the mind is in a continual
dialogue – discussing the weather, commenting
on the expression on someone’s face, worrying
about bills that are due, etc. Sometimes
Vrittis appear to be completely random, unrelated
to anything in particular, and other times they
will be obsessively fixed on the spot that just
doesn’t want to come out on your t-shirt.
Regardless of their
source or function, Vrittis are a big obstacle
on the yogic path. They interfere with
our ability to focus, agitate emotions, and cause
general distraction, sometimes mayhem, in our consciousness. Therefore,
a large part of yoga practice is focused on cleansing
the mind of the Vrittis. The second verse
in the Yoga Sutra, which is quoted time and again
by many yoga teachers for good reason, states that “Yoga
is the cessation of the Vrittis”. Yoga,
the state of complete oneness or union, happens
when those internal thoughts vanish.
This was certainly
not the state of mind I was having in Mysore class
that morning. I was having Vrittis galore,
and annoying ones at that. I was angry at
the teacher, then worried about being angry, then
annoyed with the next song. I wanted to ask
him to turn it off. I wanted to hold a protest. I
wanted to complain to someone. I also wanted
to not be bothered by it, to transcend the sappy
love songs and find some inner peace. What
better situation to learn to turn off those Vrittis
than being immersed in Connie’s special mentally-torturing
musical mix.
We often believe
that meditation needs to happen in a quiet space,
free of distractions. While that is generally
an ideal, it doesn’t necessarily mean we’ll
have a better experience under those conditions. Moreover,
if we are to truly attain a meditative state and
maintain that experience, we must eventually learn
to practice it under almost any condition. Coming
into Mysore class and finding loud, unpleasant
music brought up completely different internal
experiences for me to deal with during the practice
of the asanas, or poses.
One of the main
reasons that Hatha Yoga, the physical practice
of the postures (literally, the yoga of “physical
effort” or force), is so effective, is
that getting present in the physical body is one
of the best ways to learn to transcend thought. When
we’re too busy to think, we don’t necessarily
stop thinking, but we pay a lot less attention
to those thoughts. To get back to that
meditative experience I loved so much, I had to
come back to my breath, my hamstrings, the rotation
of my neck, the broadening of my collar bones. The
palpable, physical practice was slowly turning
the volume down on both my awareness of the music
and those Vrittis, and I found myself attuned to
my practice once again.
Bringing ourselves
to full attention of whatever task we’re
engaged in, whether pulling weeds, writing a letter
to our landlord, or giving a presentation to colleagues
at work, we can similarly turn the volume down
on those inner fluctuations. This practice
of presence is what refines our focus, develops
clarity, and awakens peace of mind. This
is the internal practice of yoga.
In the process
of gaining this inner clarity, we also may spend
time observing those Vrittis to understand our
habits of thought. Vrittis that follow a
particular pattern, an internal habit, are Vasanas. Vasanas
are heavily ingrained patterns – in thought,
word, and action – that are very challenging
to change. Some believe these habits have
been established for lifetimes in our subconscious. It
is only through becoming aware of what these tendencies
are, challenging them, and learning to refocus
our attention or our actions elsewhere that Vasanas
begin to change (It’s also darn helpful to
have some Divine intervention or a Guru to help
you!).
I had some strong
Vasanas arising in my practice that morning. Righteousness
was a theme I had noticed many times in my life,
and this was no exception. It wasn’t
necessarily a problem that I didn’t like
the music. After many years of meditation,
it doesn’t mean that we’re going to
learn to like squash if we never liked squash. The
problem was that I was righteous in my opinion
that this music shouldn’t be played in this
class. It was wrong to play, I felt. I
entertained the thought of going over to the stereo
and turning it off myself, of insisting that the
teacher do so, and of walking out of class, among
even less desirable options.
I knew that I had
a Righteousness Vasana going on – an ingrained
tendency to feel very justified in the “rightness” of
my point of view. This had caused problems
in various situations in my past, but here and
now on my yoga mat I had an opportunity to see
it play out and let it go before I caused me more
mischief. What a relief to finally feel the
energy drain out of that rigid position as I melted
into a deeply enjoyable Parvsakonasana. It
just didn’t seem important anymore.
When we’re
able to watch our Vasanas in action for a period
of time without reacting to them or acting on them,
we can often see them wearing themselves out. A
habit or tendency will arise, have a period of
time where it’s very strong, and then have
a period of losing potency. If we can hold
fast to our center, our breath, and our resolve
not to react long enough, we can get over that
craving for a candy bar or the compulsion to yell
at our kids, and watch the energy shift. Sometimes,
we’ll even have some period of peacefulness
afterwards before the next Vasana arises.
A couple weeks
passed by. I had been to a couple classes,
happily in silence. But then I walked in
the door the next Tuesday, and there was the music
again. But this time, it was of a genre I
actually liked: pleasant mix of modern mantra interpretations
with some appropriate, spiritually-inclined songs
from the 80’s and 90’s. I smiled. Wow,
Chariots of Fire – haven’t heard that
in a long time. Sure does bring back some
memories. Gosh, as I jump to Uttanasana I
sort of feel like those runners on the beach in
the movie.
Interesting. Vrittis
were popping up again. Oh, I love that song
by Enigma! It makes me want to cry. Oh,
that is my favorite chanting song! This time,
the Vrittis were pleasant. But the interesting
thing is, they’re still Vrittis. They
were still a distraction to my practice. Was
I focused on Padangushstasana? Nope, I was
reveling in memories from the mid-80’s. I
had to come back again to my breath and the posture,
and let the music fade once again into the background.
These kind of fluctuations
in consciousness – the pleasant, enticing
ones – can be even more dangerous than the
upsetting kind, because we may not see them as
a problem. We may not even notice them,
because they aren’t disturbing us. Or
so it seems. But the truth is that pleasant
Vrittis are also getting in the way of finding
that place where the mind is quiet and peaceful. They
still distract our focus and can be agitating – how
many of us have been kept up at night by reminiscing
over the wonderful events of a joyful day? A
one-pointed mind is able to let go of pleasure
and allow the body and mind to rest as we drift
off to sleep.
This experience
revealed different Vasanas. I still had a
propensity for a bittersweet kind of melancholy,
triggered by the old familiar tunes. The
flair for the dramatic – enacting the triumph
of the runners in Chariots of Fire through my yoga
practice – wasn’t such a bad thing,
but it distracted my attention enough to cause
me to become clumsy in my jumpings. Instability
in the transitions between poses is always a sign
that I’ve lost my concentration.
So, I return to
my breath. Inhale, exhale, Uddiyana Bandha. I
step mindfully and place my foot precisely for
Warrior I. Inhale and rise up. Open
the heart. As I come back to the movements
in my body, my attachment to the music wanes and
once again I’m feeling present. I watch
more Vrittis go by. If I haven’t yet
found the off switch for them, at least I know
where the volume is. Turn those Vrittis down.
Copyright © 2006
by Constance L. Habash |
