Yoga Practice and the Almighty “I”

There, in indelible ink on the title page, the dedication read, “To Sandy, The Sandy. Love, Pandit Rajmani.” Harmless enough, you might think, but a shock of realization stunned every cell in my body. I snapped the book closed and stumbled past the others waiting for an autograph from our teacher.

It was the year of “The Donald,” and throughout his presidency I made sure that book stayed carefully unopened and out of sight in a futile attempt to preempt any further erosion of my self-image. Nevertheless, the inscription was seared into my memory, and like a seed in garden soil, it took root and began to grow. I saw that a narrow self-centeredness and an “it’s all about me” script played into everything I said and did. Largely unconscious, distorted, and rigid self-identifications were behind most of my problems and unhappiness, as well as those of others. Forty years of yoga practice finally came down to this: the tenaciousness of distorted self-perceptions and a garden-variety selfishness.

The Ego (Asmita) in the Yoga Tradition

Fittingly, the book in question was Sadhana Pada: The Practice of the Yoga Sutra, which right in the beginning (YS 2:3) refers to a limited self-identity as asmita, one of the five afflictions (kleshas): asmita arises from ignorance (avidya) and empowers the other three afflictions—attachment (raga), aversion (dvesha), and fear of death and loss (abhinivesha). Asmita arises when we mistakenly identify ourselves with the mind and its experiences instead of recognizing that the mind is a tool of consciousness—the means by which it experiences and responds to the world.

This primal misappropriation lies at the root of suffering of all kinds. Identified with our mind and its experiences, we instinctively cling to this distorted sense of I-am-ness, which is subject to fear, anger, hatred, and a whole host of painful reactions. As Panditji points out, “We spend all our mental and spiritual resources protecting a distorted, fearful, and reactive personality,” and thus we end up with a distorted, fearful, and reactive personality.

The Dynamics of Selfing

Of course I had read these sutras many times, but somehow I had failed to see how to put them into practice, and continued to experience life from the vantage point of “it’s all about me.” To be fair, self-preservation is an instinctive function of embodiment, and whatever we claim as self—the body, the mind, the personality—is what we are inclined to protect. We can be thankful that we don’t have to overthink jerking our hand off a hot burner or satisfying hunger, but things are more likely to go awry when it comes to complex aspects of self-identity. For example, in order to thrive in the world, we need to understand our role in the family, the community, and our nation, to name just a few of our identities. Problems arise when we form deep emotional attachments to any of our identities, as in arrogance and entitlement because of our wealth or gender, or shame about our job or neighborhood. Deep-seated and largely unconscious identifications like “no one likes me” or “I’m a loser” or “I’m smarter than everyone else” are just as problematic.

Neuroscience uses the term “selfing” to describe how ego identity is continually perpetuated from perceptions and experiences. Through selfing, we assemble and project our self-image and create continuity by interpreting experiences in accordance with that image, which is based on our underlying patterns, social conditioning, and the deep-seated instinct of self-preservation. Below the level of conscious awareness, we continually reinforce this egoic template. We can also choose not to reinforce counterproductive habit patterns and identifications, and instead become the “architects of our lives,” as Swami Rama describes our capacity to alter our behavior and beliefs.

Two Aspects of Self-Reference

Neuroscience also tells us our sense of self has two neurologically distinct aspects: a narrative self-referencing associated with the thinking mind, and a partially conscious gut level of awareness—an experiential self-reference. The experiential self-reference is basically concerned with running the autonomic functions of the body and ensuring we act in ways to protect and sustain our life. “I’m hungry” is an example of an experience of this aspect of our identity.

These two aspects of ourselves can be at odds with each other, or one can dominate the other. Our narrative thinking mind may override or deny the reality of our embodied experience, which happens, for example, when we don’t recognize our hunger, our low level of anxiety, or our anger with a child because that conflicts with our self-image as a dutiful mother. This narrative self rejects anything that doesn’t fit into the framework of the story it is creating about itself, and thus continues to entrench its distorted view of the world. Likewise, given an otherwise harmless trigger, the outsized experience of fear or anger of the experiential self may overwhelm the perceptions and rational thinking of the conscious narrative mind, resulting in a panic attack or a blind rage.

In short, both aspects of self-referencing are prone to becoming unruly, badly trained, and out of touch with reality. The experiential self lacks access to the full component of intelligence, and the narrative self cuts itself off from the full experience of moment-to-moment reality of embodiment and the juiciness of life. From the yogic point of view, both of these self-referencing powers are shaped by deeply ingrained, subtle mental impressions of past experiences (samskaras and the more powerful vasanas). Unless somehow a bigger sense of self can emerge—a self less attached to acquired identities, more discerning, and better able to act from a larger point of view—our identification with the vasana- and samskara-conditioned mind dominates every aspect of life, effectively reinforcing beliefs and disregarding any evidence that might allow conscious change.

How Yoga Practice Works—Turning the Tables on the Almighty “I”

From the revelation of that dedication in my copy of the Yoga Sutra, I gradually came to understand that the point of yoga, its goal and promise, is to loosen the binding, restrictive forces of attachment to samskaras and vasanas that constitute our sense of identity, from which attachment, aversion, and fear of death and loss arise. And that loosening is what allows us to gather all the inherent powers of the mind and be more fully present in our lives with clarity, equanimity, and discernment.

The secret is to befriend all aspects of our mind—the exuberant survival-oriented instincts and our ego and worldview—and this is exactly what yoga can do. The yamas (restraints), niyamas (observances), and four attitudes to purify and calm the mind (YS 1:33), for example, give us direction for curbing the behaviors driven by blind excesses of instinct and selfishness. These are examples of the “top-down” practices of yoga—the conscious changing of thought patterns, attitudes, and behaviors to align with a reality more inclusive than our personal appetites and selfish desires. Top-down practices, including meditation and contemplation, keep survival-based instincts from reinforcing our egocentric view, and our discriminating mind from being overpowered by the senses and likes and dislikes.

Just as important, the “bottom-up” practices address the experiential level of being and the imbalances in the autonomic nervous system that tend toward stupor or depression on one hand, and chronic anxiety on the other. In our externally oriented, overthinking culture, the practices of yoga that anchor us in the body and turn our attention to the inner experience of embodiment are a great gift. Consider how asana trains the attention—moves it away from thinking about “me” to the sensory experience of being by means of details of alignment, attention to the breath, and focusing on the body in the experience of stillness in a held posture. The resulting balance in the nervous system dials down stress and results in improved physical and psychological health.

Neurobiologically, the part of the brain busy with self-referential storytelling is put on hold when we tend to this moment-to-moment sensory experience in asana. Since we tend to identify with thoughts, being able to anchor into the experiential aspect of ourselves helps us understand that mental activities really aren’t who we are—they’re just mental activities.

In addition to asana, the cultivation of breath awareness strengthens the power of concentration on a more subtle, internal aspect of ourselves, integrating the conscious identification with the experiential self and minimizing the narrative ego-making self. Eventually we become aware of a deeper, non-physical level of being and the source of the life force itself. We experience ourselves as something other than the temporary conditions defining our body, mind, and self-image.

Working with the breath to access prana is a common theme throughout the history of yoga and sets the stage for meditation. Meditation is the gold standard for developing presence of mind and the capacity to direct attention, and for controlling the wandering tendencies of the mind. Gradually, over time, with continued practice, we become established in the vitality of this less conditioned awareness. Changes in brain activation during meditation carry over into non-meditating time, so the mind remains clearer and calmer, and yet alert and sharp. With a broader self-identity that develops with meditation, we become more relaxed, more clear and discriminating, less defensive, and therefore more resilient and flexible.

Using the positive aspects of our identity to counteract the samskaras and vasanas that make us fearful and reactive is another top-down yogic antidote to asmita. Panditji has suggested that we ask ourselves, “What aspect of my identity fills me with self-respect and love for myself?” Investing our attention and energy in service of that identity can loosen the stranglehold of the negative conditioning of the mind.

Taken as a whole, the range of practices of yoga, properly applied, are powerful tools to support mental and physical health and well-being—reshaping the mind and body. As architects of our lives, we can let go of selfishness and the past to align with our best and highest sense of self and fulfill our deepest desires.

It won’t surprise you to find that an intellectual understanding of asmita isn’t quite enough to catapult most of us into enlightenment. However, a deeper exploration of asmita in our own life (the element that was missing from my efforts), coupled with ongoing yoga practice, can help bridge the gap between our theoretical understanding of the five afflictions delineated by the yogic worldview and the grit and messiness of daily life. Not a day goes by that I don’t realize something said or done, or unsaid or undone—momentous or trivial—was The Sandy operating on the “it’s all about me” autopilot. Nonetheless, while duly noting the missteps, the more relaxed and spacious-minded Sandy is grateful for the wisdom of her teachers, the blessings of yoga, and the ongoing opportunities to change.