As we enter the season of fall, many of us find ourselves feeling nostalgic or forlorn, holding tightly onto the good old days of summer where the weather is warm, outdoor activities are plentiful, and sandals are a daily part of the wardrobe. Autumn is a profound time of change for many creatures, a time when the season of abundance begins to fade and the harsh reality of winter sinks in. Change is evident in the air: the drying of creeks, the shade of color on leaves, the shift in wardrobe, the length of daylight, the heavier foods now in season. Fall is a ripe opportunity for looking inward, for self-reflection and acceptance of all the aspects of life that are changing and of all that has changed over the greater part of the year. It is an auspicious time for preparing for the things that will continue to change, just as we prepare for the slumber of winter.
In Ayurveda, this time of year is the season of vata. Airiness, coolness, mobility, lightness and subtlety are general qualities of vata. When deranged or overstimulated, vata can increase feelings of fear, emptiness and anxiety, hence feelings of nostalgia, or even depression when the weather shifts into the grey months of fall. Autumn is an appropriate time to calm the vata tendencies that can quickly overwhelm like a fallen leaf riding the unpredictable currents of a late October wind. It is also an opportunistic time to practice the ever-challenging path of vairagya.
Vairagya (pronounced “vair-ah-gyah”) is dis-passion, or the willingness to let a phenomenon arise without reacting to it. It is the practice of choosing not to get caught up in the drama of life. Holding oneself back from yelling at another driver who cut you off in traffic, committing to take a big leap in a new business or job, marriage or move even when fear arises, or being able to say goodbye to a loved one who has passed are all masterful examples of vairagya. More simply, it is the ability to pick yourself up after you stumble, however big or small the pebble on the path may be.
I once witnessed a young boy around the age of 5 or 6 who seemed to have tripped over his own feet in public. I was standing far enough away that he did not take notice in me watching him. After a moment of shock, he looked up to see if anyone had witnessed his fall. At first, the expression on his face was an arising emotion of suffering felt in response to the phenomenon of hitting the pavement. But when he realized no one had witnessed the phenomenon, the arising emotion shifted from suffering and soon after dissolved into pure presence with the moment. The boy picked himself up, shook off the pain and then ran along again to catch up with his friends as though nothing happened.
Abhyasa – focusing on the cultivation of effortlessness – and Nirodha – the stilling of thoughts – is synonymous with Vairagya. These three practices are the next steps forth on the path of the final four sutras of Patanjali – Pratyahara, Dharana, Dhyana and Samadhi – but are not isolated to these limbs alone, as they can be accessed in any moment of life. The young boy who fell was a perfect example of the immediate choice we all have to make when we experience pain. When he realized that no one had witnessed his fall and therefore had no reason to show his shock to the world, he immediately made the commitment to still his thoughts of suffering (nirodha) and focus instead on moving on to easier and more important subjects like playing with friends and feeling generally well (abhyasa). Although I’m sure this young boy had no idea that he exemplified vairagya at its best, the pureness of his true nature shone through so brilliantly in the moment that it caught my attention, however unconscious his choices may have been for him.
For the majority of us adults enmeshed in modern culture, vairagya is much easier said than done! When change is a constant state of reality, particularly when it lies within the natural essence of vata, learning to continuously roll with the punches time and time again, falling only to pick ourselves up once more is no easy feat. Which is why mindfulness with vairagya during the cooler months of fall is an auspicious time for anchoring oneself in the chaotic currents of change.
This summer, I had a difficult personal experience that called my attention to the need for vairagya in my own life and the memory of the boy who picked himself up: My husband and I learned that we are expecting a child in January and, just less than two months after discovering the news, my beloved dog and best friend, Karma passed away after being struck by a car. In a short period of time, straddling the bridge between life and death, I experienced a jolt of life’s joyful awakening and the painful shock of heartbreak and loss. As I saw friends in passing, I was greeted with both congratulations and condolences in one package. The human heart is only designed to take on so much; when faced by both the arising emotions of joy and sorrow, the only choice that made sense to me was the middle road, witnessing as much as I could sustain in the moment in order to fully understand and appreciate the sudden life changes occurring around me. If I was a fully enlightened yogi, I would have left it at that and returned for a pleasant evening of meditation in my mountain cave by the river. But I am only human and, as a humble human, phenomenons and subsequent emotions arise and pass. It is the very pureness of our emotions that can either quickly turn into vices gripping us into a story of suffering, or work as tools for helping reconstruct sense back into life. Grief overwhelms just as joy can override. We can choose to give into the wayward ride of vata, or we can choose to witness the feelings and emotions that will continue to arise rather than letting them become us.
Much like the Middle Way of the Buddha’s Noble Eightfold Path – choosing neither extreme austerities or sensual indulgence – vairagya is like the pedestrian in the middle of a busy intersection, observing traffic so as not to get hit when crossing. Sometimes accidents happen, sometimes we have to run or dodge our way through the constant traffic of the mind. As yogis, perhaps some of you have experienced this in class:
“The show-off across the room can do a handstand. Right... I'd certainly fall and break my neck”... “My hamstrings are too tight, there’s no way I’ll ever be able to reach as far as the teacher does”... “Stupid tree pose. Who needs to stand on one foot anyway when I’ve got two?”... “Gawwwwd, that guy is such a loud breather. I can’t concentrate as long as he’s in the room.”... “Just a little further... a little higher... I’ve gotta prove that I can still do this wheel thing. Ow, my back!”
Next time you practice yoga, whether on or off the mat, take notice of the mind’s tendency to drag itself through a story. Can you witness the story itself arising and, consequentially, a heightened state of emotion in reaction to it? Can you find a state of suspension in a moment of passion and allow yourself to simply remain there? Can you remove yourself from the passion of the emotion altogether and observe your ability to choose how you want to experience the current state?
Here are a few vairagya tips I learned from the young boy who fell and picked himself up again:
In Ayurveda, this time of year is the season of vata. Airiness, coolness, mobility, lightness and subtlety are general qualities of vata. When deranged or overstimulated, vata can increase feelings of fear, emptiness and anxiety, hence feelings of nostalgia, or even depression when the weather shifts into the grey months of fall. Autumn is an appropriate time to calm the vata tendencies that can quickly overwhelm like a fallen leaf riding the unpredictable currents of a late October wind. It is also an opportunistic time to practice the ever-challenging path of vairagya.
Vairagya (pronounced “vair-ah-gyah”) is dis-passion, or the willingness to let a phenomenon arise without reacting to it. It is the practice of choosing not to get caught up in the drama of life. Holding oneself back from yelling at another driver who cut you off in traffic, committing to take a big leap in a new business or job, marriage or move even when fear arises, or being able to say goodbye to a loved one who has passed are all masterful examples of vairagya. More simply, it is the ability to pick yourself up after you stumble, however big or small the pebble on the path may be.
I once witnessed a young boy around the age of 5 or 6 who seemed to have tripped over his own feet in public. I was standing far enough away that he did not take notice in me watching him. After a moment of shock, he looked up to see if anyone had witnessed his fall. At first, the expression on his face was an arising emotion of suffering felt in response to the phenomenon of hitting the pavement. But when he realized no one had witnessed the phenomenon, the arising emotion shifted from suffering and soon after dissolved into pure presence with the moment. The boy picked himself up, shook off the pain and then ran along again to catch up with his friends as though nothing happened.
Abhyasa – focusing on the cultivation of effortlessness – and Nirodha – the stilling of thoughts – is synonymous with Vairagya. These three practices are the next steps forth on the path of the final four sutras of Patanjali – Pratyahara, Dharana, Dhyana and Samadhi – but are not isolated to these limbs alone, as they can be accessed in any moment of life. The young boy who fell was a perfect example of the immediate choice we all have to make when we experience pain. When he realized that no one had witnessed his fall and therefore had no reason to show his shock to the world, he immediately made the commitment to still his thoughts of suffering (nirodha) and focus instead on moving on to easier and more important subjects like playing with friends and feeling generally well (abhyasa). Although I’m sure this young boy had no idea that he exemplified vairagya at its best, the pureness of his true nature shone through so brilliantly in the moment that it caught my attention, however unconscious his choices may have been for him.
For the majority of us adults enmeshed in modern culture, vairagya is much easier said than done! When change is a constant state of reality, particularly when it lies within the natural essence of vata, learning to continuously roll with the punches time and time again, falling only to pick ourselves up once more is no easy feat. Which is why mindfulness with vairagya during the cooler months of fall is an auspicious time for anchoring oneself in the chaotic currents of change.
This summer, I had a difficult personal experience that called my attention to the need for vairagya in my own life and the memory of the boy who picked himself up: My husband and I learned that we are expecting a child in January and, just less than two months after discovering the news, my beloved dog and best friend, Karma passed away after being struck by a car. In a short period of time, straddling the bridge between life and death, I experienced a jolt of life’s joyful awakening and the painful shock of heartbreak and loss. As I saw friends in passing, I was greeted with both congratulations and condolences in one package. The human heart is only designed to take on so much; when faced by both the arising emotions of joy and sorrow, the only choice that made sense to me was the middle road, witnessing as much as I could sustain in the moment in order to fully understand and appreciate the sudden life changes occurring around me. If I was a fully enlightened yogi, I would have left it at that and returned for a pleasant evening of meditation in my mountain cave by the river. But I am only human and, as a humble human, phenomenons and subsequent emotions arise and pass. It is the very pureness of our emotions that can either quickly turn into vices gripping us into a story of suffering, or work as tools for helping reconstruct sense back into life. Grief overwhelms just as joy can override. We can choose to give into the wayward ride of vata, or we can choose to witness the feelings and emotions that will continue to arise rather than letting them become us.
Much like the Middle Way of the Buddha’s Noble Eightfold Path – choosing neither extreme austerities or sensual indulgence – vairagya is like the pedestrian in the middle of a busy intersection, observing traffic so as not to get hit when crossing. Sometimes accidents happen, sometimes we have to run or dodge our way through the constant traffic of the mind. As yogis, perhaps some of you have experienced this in class:
“The show-off across the room can do a handstand. Right... I'd certainly fall and break my neck”... “My hamstrings are too tight, there’s no way I’ll ever be able to reach as far as the teacher does”... “Stupid tree pose. Who needs to stand on one foot anyway when I’ve got two?”... “Gawwwwd, that guy is such a loud breather. I can’t concentrate as long as he’s in the room.”... “Just a little further... a little higher... I’ve gotta prove that I can still do this wheel thing. Ow, my back!”
Next time you practice yoga, whether on or off the mat, take notice of the mind’s tendency to drag itself through a story. Can you witness the story itself arising and, consequentially, a heightened state of emotion in reaction to it? Can you find a state of suspension in a moment of passion and allow yourself to simply remain there? Can you remove yourself from the passion of the emotion altogether and observe your ability to choose how you want to experience the current state?
Here are a few vairagya tips I learned from the young boy who fell and picked himself up again:
- Reality hurts. We can choose to let it hurt us or we can choose to stay present with it.
- Pain is a natural emotion, but suffering only really matters when someone is around to witness it. Suffering loves to play the lead part of a good story.
- If no one is around to witness the pain, well, shucks! Better to shake off the pain, regroup and anchor back into the moment.
- Keep up with life! Even amidst the shock of change, there’s bound to be something else interesting or exciting just around the corner.
- Humility is our best teacher. It anchors our mind-body and opens the heart to the reality of change.
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