Breaking the cycle of thought
Dhaaranaa: Part II
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Kunal
Om Sri Gurubhyo Namah. Salutations to all the teachers.
“How has all the knowledge in the world been gained but by the concentration of the powers of the mind? The world is ready to give up its secrets if we only know how to knock, how to give it the necessary blow. The strength and force of the blow come through concentration. There is no limit to the power of the human mind. The more concentrated it is, the more power is brought to bear on one point; that is the secret.”
- Swami Vivekananda, Raja Yoga
The sixth limb of Yoga is Dhaaranaa, or concentration. The attention can be compared to the flow of water or oil on a surface. At first, it is spotty and scattered, but the more you pour, the steadier it becomes.
Last week, we discussed the basic technique, and how to prepare the set and setting so that you can begin a regular practice. This week, we will discuss the goal of the practice, how to deal with issues that may arise, and the theory behind this limb from the perspective of Yogic psychology.
Note: If you have never tried to practice Dhaaranaa before, I would strongly suggest setting a timer for five minutes and trying it before moving ahead with this article, in order to get the most out of it.
Once you have found a stable and comfortable seat, set your timer and bring the mind to the breath. When the mind wanders, bring it back to the breath, and continue this until the timer runs out.
Recap
Before proceeding, let us recap two important frameworks:
Aspects of the mind
In Yogic psychology, the mind, known as the antahakarana (अन्तःकरण) or “internal instrument”, is comprised of the following functions:
Karmendriyas: Powers of action
Buddhendriyas (aka jnanendriyas): Powers of sense
Manas: The lower mind
Ahamkaar: The “I” maker
Buddhi: The intellect
The karmendriyas are the five powers of action. These are not the physical organs (e.g. the mouth, hands, legs, etc.), but the powers within the mind that allow us to act. They are the powers of speaking, grasping, moving, procreating, and excreting. You can notice this right now by speaking any phrase of your choosing in your mind, without moving your mouth. You can do the same with any of the other powers, within the mind. Normally, we lump these in as “imagination”, however Yoga is much more specific about this kind of mental activity.
Next are the buddhendriyas, the five powers of sense. Once again, these are not the physical organs (e.g. the ears, the skin, the eyes, etc.), but the powers within the mind that allow us to sense. They are the powers of hearing, touching, seeing, tasting, and smelling. You can notice this right now as you “listen” to the voice in your head that reads these words. You are not actively speaking them, the subtle sounds (tanmaatraas) simply arise, and you “hear” them. The same powers can also be used in conjunction with the physical organs, such as when you listen to an external sound or see an external sight. Together, the buddhendriyas and karmendriyas are known as the indriyas, or “powers.”
The manas is the interface with our indriyas.
As you read this, pay attention to the taste in your mouth. Now pay attention to the texture of your breath. The attention that moved from one sense to the other is the manas.
The manas can also move from one karmendriya to another. For example, if you try to cross a street while texting, the manas flits back and forth between grasping (ie. your fingers moving on the phone), and moving (ie. your legs crossing the street). Additionally, the manas is the function of mind which flits back and forth between options - for example if you can’t decide what to eat for dinner, what to watch on Netflix, or when you are confused.
The ahamkaar is the “I”-maker. It is the part of the mind that takes credit for what the various parts of the body and mind are doing. For example, if you got up from your chair to go get a glass of water, a lot of different parts of the body and mind were involved. The buddhendriyas felt the sense of thirst, the karmendriyas acted on the urge and directed the body to move the muscles, the heart pumped faster to get blood to the right places, the lungs provided the oxygen, and so on. But in all of this, a movement in the mind, perhaps very subtle, said, “I am thirsty, and I am getting water.”
Finally, the buddhi is the decision-maker. All “your” decisions are actually just very subtle movements of the buddhi, and the ahamkaar takes credit for them, saying “I decided.” In terms of attention, you can feel this right now as the movement that decides to switch the attention from one indriya to another. A good way to notice the buddhi is to notice the difference between when you are mentally speaking, and when you are listening to the voice in your head. Another example is if a song is stuck in your head, or if you are singing a song in your head. The difference is subtle, and that difference is the activity of the buddhi.1
The buddhi is also the one that classifies things as one object or another. For example, how do you know that the letter “a” and “b” are different? You learned them at some point, and these created impressions in the mind. These impressions are then brought forth when you read any text, and the buddhi uses these impressions to distinguish between “a” and “b.”
The 3 Gunas
Everything that we experience, including the external and internal (ie. mental) worlds, are nothing but evolutes of Prakriti (literally “nature”). Prakriti is composed of three qualities, or threads, known as gunas. All objects - in the broadest possible use of the term - are made of these three gunas. The gunas are constantly in flux - never resting, even for a moment.
Additionally, all objects include all three gunas - they always show up together, never in isolation. The only thing that distinguishes one object from another is the proportion of the gunas.
The three gunas are:
Sattva is the quality of calm, lucidity, joy, happiness, and peace.
Rajas is the quality of activity, movement, and passion.
Tamas is the quality of darkness, dullness, and inertia.
To make this analogy clear, consider the example of a person trying to see their own reflection in a muddy, turbulent lake.
The mud is like tamas, the turbulence is rajas, and the inherent clarity of the water is sattva. By calming the turbulence, the mud can settle, and the water becomes stable, calm and clear. In this calm and clear lake, the person can easily see their own reflection.
All of Yoga can be seen as a systematic methodology to maximize the proportion of sattva, and minimize the proportion of rajas and tamas in the Yogi’s bodymind. When this happens, the Purusha (aka the Self) can see its own reflection in the sattva, and know itself. This moment of knowledge is known as Moksha - aka Liberation, Freedom, Nirvana, or Enlightenment.
P: Ok, cool, but what does all this have to do with dhaaranaa?
The goal of Dhaaranaa
The actual technique of Dhaaranaa is extremely simple. You bring your attention to an object, and then when it wanders, you bring the attention back to the object.
In this practice, the object, known as an aalambanaa (आलंबना, literally “support”) can be anything at all - the breath, a mantra, sensations in the body, or even just a dot on a post-it note on your wall.
Let’s break this down using the example of the breath.
If you feel that this is too technical for you, click the links to learn more about each of these words. Yoga builds on itself, so having a cursory understanding of these concepts can be extremely helpful in understanding (and engineering) your own mind.
The breath is a combination of mahabhutas, and is comprised of two tanmaatras - sound and touch.
The buddhi decides to bring the manas (here, attention) in contact with the breath, through the buddhendriyas of hearing and touch.2
This may last for a few moments, but soon, other objects start to vie for attention. This could be:
Gross, like the sound of a car honking
Subtle, like a thought about doing the laundry later
In the beginning, it is highly likely that the manas gets drawn towards these objects, especially if they are coloured by one or more kleshas. Once this happens, the karmendriyas may start to act up.
For example, the sound of the car honking may trigger the karmendriya of speech to say mentally “how rude they are, why are they honking their horn while I am trying to meditate!”, or the karmendriya of motion may act up, and you give in, getting up to do the laundry, interrupting your practice.
If you remain seated, at some point, the buddhi will notice that the manas has wandered, and decide to bring it back to the breath. The manas then follows the directive of the buddhi, the ahamkaar (as usual) takes credit, and the attention is once again held on the breath through the buddhendriyas of hearing and touch.
Often, this decision of the buddhi can be accompanied by additional mental movements such as judgement (e.g. “I am so bad at concentrating, my attention keeps wandering”) or directive (e.g. “Mind, come back to the breath!”).
It is important to remember that these mental movements are subtle objects - tanmaatraas - of sound, and are thus distractions, just like the distraction of the honking car or thoughts about doing the laundry.
Distractions like these are to be dealt with using the tool of vairaagya, or letting go. Observe the distraction with curiosity, and without indulging it, watch it disappear into the matrix of the mind as a wave disappears back into the ocean. At this point, gently return the attention to the breath. More on this below.
In the example where one gets up to do the laundry or some other action (e.g. itching, fidgeting, etc.), the karmendriyas are acting up. The reason that the karmendriyas act up is because of a high proportion of rajas in the mind. In fact, different proportions of the gunas in the Yogi’s mind will have different results during the practice of Dhaaranaa:
A mostly tamasic mind will tend to sleep or doze off while meditating.
A mostly rajasic mind will tend to be highly active, often engaging the karmendriyas - fidgeting, moving, or mentally speaking.
A mostly sattvic mind will find it easy to retain attention on an object of buddhi’s choosing.
P: The sattvic mind sounds awesome - how do I get that?
Jogi: Through the practice of Dhaaranaa, as well as the other limbs of Yoga, the mind will automatically start to become more sattvic.
P: What is the mechanism? How does Dhaaranaa increase sattva in the mind?
In order to answer this question, we must first understand, experientially, the mental experience of sattva. During Dhaaranaa, the moment of clarity wherein you realise that you were distracted is a flash of sattva.
The goal of Dhaaranaa, therefore, is to maximize the length of that moment of clarity.
Normally, these moments of sattva come in intermittent flashes. There is focus, the mind wanders, and then flash, you realise that you were distracted. Again you bring the mind to the breath, the mind wanders, and flash - you notice the distraction, and so on.
A common misconception with this practice is that the goal is to focus. Focus is not the goal of Dhaaranaa - it is just a byproduct. The goal of Dhaaranaa is to increase the length and frequency of these moments of sattva.
As it happens, another name for buddhi is sattva, because the buddhi is the function of mind which has the highest proportion of sattva. Therefore, said another way, the goal of Dhaaranaa is for the buddhi to have mastery over the manas (ie. attention), or for the manas to become dependent on the buddhi - that is, for your will to have mastery over your attention, rather than attention flitting about willy nilly wherever it wants to go.
Given this, the important part is not how long you can focus the mind - rather, the important part is the very act of noticing that the mind has wandered, and deciding to bring the mind back.
The more often the flashes of sattva occur, the more successful your practice, until you are living in a sattvic state on and off the cushion.
As an aside, the more you are able to live in this state of sattva, the easier it will be to follow the Yamas and Niyamas.
P: How?
Jogi: Often, we intend to follow the Yamas and Niyamas, but rajas and tamas pull us away from our goal. We previously discussed a verse from the Pandava Gita where, Duryodhan famously said to Krishna:
जानामि धर्मं न च मे प्रवृत्तिजानामि अधर्मं न च मे निवृत्तिः।केनापि देवेन हृदि स्थितेनयथा नियुक्तोऽस्मि तथा करोमि॥I know what is right, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I know what is wrong, but I can’t stop myself from doing it.
It’s as if there is some [malicious] power situated in my heart,
Whatever it tells me to do, I do.
- Duryodhana, Pandava Gita, 57
Without sattva, we blindly follow the whims of our past tendencies, as though on auto-pilot. With more sattva, on the other hand, we can clearly see when a thought counter to the Yamas or Niyamas arises, and can counteract it with Pratipakshabhaavanaa before it turns into words or actions.
Breaking the cycle of thought
As we try to focus, other thoughts will naturally arise in the mind. Some of these thoughts may be troublesome, and cause feelings of sadness, dejection, anxiety, fear, or other unpleasant mental sensations.
Most often, these troublesome thoughts stem from storylines that we have created in our minds, wherein the main character - the one you call “me” - is involved in a memory of the past, or an imagination of a potential future.
Normally, when these kinds of thoughts crop up, there is a natural tendency to try to keep the thought alive by stoking the flames. The mind is not naturally “sticky”, but we try to make thoughts stick to the mind, even (and sometimes especially) when they make us feel bad.
Let us break down an example where you were hurt by something a friend did. Read this slowly, and notice how this applies to your life:
As you sit for your daily dhaaranaa practice, the buddhi (the decision-maker, aka the intellect) directs the manas (ie. attention), to channel itself via the buddhendriyas (sense organs) of touch and/or sound towards the object (aka aalambanaa) of the breath.3
This continues for a few seconds, and suddenly a memory (smriti-vritti) arises in the mind of the form of the thing your friend did. This smriti-vritti is coloured by the klesha of dvesha (aversion), and asmitaa (”I am”-ness), because it is not just something they did, it is something they did to you.
This vritti is likely to be in the form of a subtle object (aka tanmaatraaa) of sound or sight, which you listen to or watch within the mind. You aren’t actively thinking it - rather, it just appears in the mind-space like a song that is stuck in your head.
Now, not having gone through this analysis, you decide (using the buddhi) to indulge the thought.
You generate a subtle vocalization using the karmendriya of speech, within the mind. Perhaps you mentally say to yourself “How dare they have done that?” or “What kind of a friend are they?” or “Why does this always happen to me?”
You listen to these subtle vocalizations using the buddhendriya of hearing, just like you listened to the initial thought, but these vocalizations are more akin to actively singing a song in your head, rather than listening to a song that is stuck in the mind.
You then react to your own words, colouring the perception with the same kleshas of dvesha and asmitaa. This reaction, just like the last reaction, involves further subvocalizations. Additionally, they may trigger other memories to erupt.
For example, another smritii-vritti may emerge, of the form of something else that your friend did that upset you. A vikalp-vritti (imagination mental whirlpool) may also emerge, of the form of something you would imagine them to do.
You then listen to these mental movements, coloured with kleshas, and generate further subvocalizations.
In this way, the cycle continues on and on.
Perhaps, if you are lucky, you notice that you have deviated from the breath, and in a flash of sattva, return the mind to your aalambanaa.
Now let us consider an alternative situation:
Just as before, you sit for your daily dhaaranaa practice. Once again, the buddhi directs the manas to channel itself via the buddhendriyas of touch and/or sound towards the breath.
After a few seconds that pesky memory (smriti-vritti) arises in the mind of the form of the thing your friend did with the kleshas of dvesha (aversion), and asmitaa (”I am”-ness). This vritti is appearing in the mind, and you are listening to it - like a song stuck in your head. You aren’t saying it subvocally.
This time, rather than getting lost in the flow of thought, you are watching the whole drama unfold. As a result, you don’t indulge the thought by subvocally saying anything else. You decide not to add to the flow of thought.
Perhaps some more associated memories and imaginations start to crop up. Watching with curiosity, like a child seeing the stars for the first time, you see the thoughts rise and eventually fall away. Then, once they have disappeared, the buddhi gently returns the manas back to the breath.
In the first situation, due to the guna of rajas clouding the inherent sattva in the mind, the karmendriyas (ie. organs of action) start to act up. Eventually, the sattva came through and brought the attention back to the breath.
In the second situation, the flash of sattva happened earlier in the cycle of thought, and was able to stop the cycle before it even really got going.
By regularly practising Dhaaranaa, using the four keys to practice, the second situation becomes more common - even in day-to-day life. In fact, it is possible to get so good at this that you can start to catch thoughts in seed form, even before they arise at all!
Normally, the mind runs in loops - like a broken record, playing the same tune over and over again.
Someone upsets us, and we indulge the thoughts as they arise, reacting mentally, and then reacting to our own reactions. If we allow these loops to go on, they eventually escape the realm of thought and turn into words or actions.
On the other hand, if we simply stop and notice, we will find that thoughts by themselves have a natural rhythm. They rise and fall, just like waves in the ocean. If we don’t add to them, they will eventually weaken and disappear. Then, the next time they arise, they will be smaller.
This is how the cycle of thought is broken.
My mind keeps wandering, what should I do?
If we are honest with ourselves, the first thing we are likely to notice is that the mind is extremely restless, like a small child or a puppy. It moves around from one thing to another, and it can feel like a battle to keep it in place.
As a matter of fact, this exact point is brought up in the Bhagavad Gita by Arjuna:
अर्जुन उवाच।योऽयं योगस्त्वया प्रोक्त: साम्येन मधुसूदन।एतस्याहं न पश्यामि चञ्चलत्वात्स्थितिं स्थिराम्॥चञ्चलं हि मन: कृष्ण प्रमाथि बलवद्दृढम्।तस्याहं निग्रहं मन्ये वायोरिव सुदुष्करम्॥Arjuna uvaachaYo’Ayam yogasTvayaa proktam saamyena Madhusoodana EtasyaAham na pashyaami chanchalatvaatSthitim sthiramChanchalam hi manah Krishna pramaathi balavaddridham TasyaAham nigraham manye vaayorIva sudushkaramArjuna said:
O Krishna, I cannot see the practicality of this system of Yoga that you are describing, because of the restlessness4 [of my mind].
Restless, O Krishna, is the manas - turbulent, strong, and stubborn. I feel that it is more difficult to control than the wind.
- Bhagavad Gita, 6.33-34
To this, Krishna responds:
श्रीभगवानुवाच।असंशयं महाबाहो मनो दुर्निग्रहं चलम्।अभ्यासेन तु कौन्तेय वैराग्येण च गृह्यते॥ShriBhagavaanUvaachaAsamshayam Mahaabaaho mano durnigraham chalamAbhyaasena tu Kaunteya vairaagyena cha grihyateKrishna said:
Without a doubt, O Arjuna, the manas is restless and difficult to control. [However] through Abhyaas and Vairaagya, it can be grasped.
- Bhagavad Gita, 6.35
A few weeks ago, we had discussed the analogy of the chariot.
As a brief recap:
The Purusha, or the Self is the rider in the chariot.
The buddhi, or intellect, is the charioteer - deciding where the horses go.
The manas, or lower mind (including attention) is the reigns.
The horses are the indriyas, or senses - one horse for each sense.
The road is the world, or samsaara, filled with objects to which the horses are naturally drawn.
If the charioteer is unskilled and the horses are untrained, the chariot will not be able to move in any particular direction - each horse will pull it in a different direction.
However, a skilled charioteer is able to use the reigns to wilfully direct the five horses.
If we are honest with ourselves, we find ourselves in a situation where the horses are untrained and the charioteer is relatively unskilled. Once we admit this, the question is then how to train the horses, and upskill the charioteer?
The answer is two-fold:
These are the twin foundations of Yoga, and they apply to every limb and technique we have discussed so far, and will discuss moving forward. If you missed the articles on these two, you can find more about them by clicking on the links above.
When it comes to Dhaaranaa, we observe and then let go of thought patterns rather than getting involved with them - watching the train go by rather than jumping onto it.
Then, the practice is not to focus the mind, but to consistently and gently return the mind to the aalambanaa every time it wanders.
When training horses, dogs, or even children, the most effective training is done with love and repetition. Punishment and criticism do more harm than good, creating vicious cycles. Similarly, with the mind, criticism of oneself can be a common habit (”Why am I so bad at this? Why can’t I focus?”).
Additionally, it is important to notice that these self-criticisms are also just thoughts or subvocalizations, and are just like any other thoughts that may arise. To deal with them, watch them rise and fall with openness and curiosity, letting them go rather than fanning the flames.
Treat your mind as you would treat a small child or a puppy. It doesn’t mean badly - it is trying its best. The mind is innocent, just like a child. When you notice that it wanders, gently and lovingly usher it back to where you want it to go.
If you find that the mind is fighting with you, rather than forcing the mind to settle, allow the aalambanaa to arise. Even if it’s a physical object in front of you, allow the attention towards that object to arise. You can imagine relaxing effort, so as to allow the rays of light from the object to enter your eyes, rather than “holding” your attention to the object.
Some days, the practice may feel frustrating, while other days it may feel easy. When you notice this, write down what you did that day, or the preceding day, to see if any patterns arise. How did the practice of the Yamas and Niyamas the day before alter the quality of your attention? Did you eat something different? Did you sleep enough, or too much?
Yoga is all about experimentation, and the mind is your laboratory. Explore with curiosity and attentiveness, and you will uncover the inner workings of your mind, and perhaps even the secrets of the Universe.5
Until next time:
Continue your practice of Dhaaranaa from last week, and, if it feels right to you, increase the length of time by five minutes.
Every day after practice, take note of the quality of your attention in any way that makes sense to you. Note: There is no need to take note of particular thoughts that came up, just the quality of your attention, and how easy or hard it was to keep the mind focused on your aalambanaa.
Compare this with your notes of the Yamas and Niyamas from the previous day to see if you spot any patterns.
Next week: Dhyaan: The seventh limb of Yoga
In the fourth stage of Samaadhi, even the movements of the buddhi are clearly seen to be simply arising and falling away, like any other thoughts. However, at this stage the common understanding of volitional thought (ie. the ability to voluntarily think a thought) is sufficient.
This is done via the tanmaatraas of sound and texture. As you can see, the attention is never actually in contact with the object itself, but rather with the more subtle aspect of the object - the tanmaatras.
We are using the example of the breath here, but the aalambanaa can be anything at all.
The word chanchal in the original Sanskrit means the following: unsteady, shaking, inconstant, moving to and fro.