Come to Your Senses

Sleepwalking through yoga these days? Shake up your practice and your life with the animating force of rasa.

By Shiva Rea

This happened with my own yoga practice. For years, I worked hard to develop the witness in my mind and observed myself in action, in asanas, and in meditation. I dutifully practiced as I thought Patanjali had advised, with nonattachment to my feeling state in order to still the fluctuations of my mind. I became very good at being present to the range of sensations in my body without reacting emotionally. I was even able to translate these teachings to my life and relationships. But the whole time, I had the sense that something was missing, as if I were standing on the sidelines of my own life. As I persevered through my practice, I felt the joy and creativity—qualities associated with a "juicy" life—drying up. I was unconsciously reinforcing a divide between my mind and my heart.

I now see this tendency in my students too—they desperately want to know how to do yoga and get the poses "right." I see them thinking in earnest about the best way to "not think." By being diligent, they may excel at the physical asanas. But when we lack an inner connection to our feelings, even the sweetest achievement loses its vitality and becomes dull. If we tune in to our inner bhava and harmonize with it in the environment around us, however, we plant the seeds for rasa to emerge.

Cultivating Bhava-Rasa

Sounds great, you're thinking. But how do I make it happen? Let's take the example of a sitar player who applies bhava and rasa to his art. When he sits down to practice or perform, he intentionally cultivates rasa. He begins by harmonizing with the energy of life around him, then he chooses which raga (melodic scale) to perform according to the muhurta (cycle) of the day—the raga he will play at dawn is different from that at sunset or midnight.

He then connects to his own bhava and chooses one of three main rasas used within music, dance, and yoga that reflect the state of being that he'd like to cultivate: vira (heroic, energetic), shanti (peace, tranquility), or sringara (love, union of masculine and feminine).

As the musician plays, he works with his bhava through notes and rhythms to invoke an emotional quality, just as a painter selects different tints of color. He might choose a vira rasa raga to summon courage and inspiration. Like the vira poses of hatha yoga—think Virabhadrasana (Warrior Pose)—vira energy stimulates inner fire, concentration, and potential; the musician in this case would explore challenging combinations of notes or rhythms.

If he's seeking quiet, he'll play a shanti rasa raga with a slower, more meditative rhythm. Like a yoga practice that finishes with Savasana (Corpse Pose), most ragas end in a state of shanti. Finally, if the musician is feeling openhearted, a sringara rasa raga might emerge in the form of ascending and descending melodies, representing the interplay of the lover and the beloved. Yogis might understand sringara rasa by visualizing the breath connecting the base of the spine with the crown of the head.

Rasa in Yoga Practice

Just like the sitar player with his music, we can apply the three rasas directly to our yoga practice. When we invoke vira rasa, we commit to exploring the power that lies within us—realizing the power, dignity, and wakefulness that is inherent in all of us. In yoga, vira is activated through sequences that cultivate embodied concentration, sustain power through alignment, and challenge our potential strength, flexibility, and inner presence. Virabhadrasana I, II, and III, arm balances, and standing balances all encourage vira.

Page 1 2 3 4

See All Philosophy Articles »