My Daily Thread

The wisdom of Patañjali, the sage from around 200 CE, continues to guide us as we explore the Yoga Sūtras. His insights offer a timeless roadmap for understanding the nature of the mind and overcoming suffering. The ultimate goal of yoga is to still the fluctuations of the citta, the "mind-stuff," allowing us to experience our true nature beyond conditioned thought patterns.

Today, we turn to Sūtra 2.10, which offers more profound insight into the kleshas—the mental afflictions that cloud our perception. The renowned scholar Edwin Bryant writes:

"The five kleshas are lodged in the mind."

While this is a valuable interpretation, Jeff offers a slight refinement, pointing out that the original Sanskrit refers to citta, which is often translated as "mind," but more accurately means "mind-stuff"—the totality of our mental impressions, thoughts, and subconscious tendencies. This distinction is important because yoga is not just about controlling the surface-level thoughts of the rational mind but working with the deeper imprints that shape our perception and actions.

Sūtra 1.2 defines yoga as: "Yogas citta-vritti-nirodhah" "Yoga is the stilling of the fluctuations of the mind-stuff."

If yoga is the practice of quieting these fluctuations, then the kleshas are precisely what keep us from doing this. They stir up attachments, fears, and misidentifications that prevent stillness and clarity. These afflictions are not always obvious but shape our behavior in hidden ways.

Te pratiprasava-heyah sukshmah

• Te – "They," referring to the kleshas
• Pratiprasava – "Dissolution," "reabsorption," or "involution" (literally: "returning to the source")
• Heyah – "Should be overcome" or "should be abandoned"
• Sukshmah – "Subtle" or "dormant"

Translation & Meaning: "In their subtle form, the kleshas should be dissolved by returning them to their source."

This sutra teaches that the kleshas exist in subtle, latent forms within us, even when not actively disturbing our mind. The only way to truly overcome them is to trace them back to their root and dissolve them at their source. This aligns with pratiprasava—a process of inward reflection, allowing us to unwind the deeply embedded tendencies that keep us in cycles of suffering.

So, recalling Sūtra 1.2, we see that the kleshas get in the way of yoga itself. They are the undercurrents that keep the mind restless, preventing us from fully experiencing the present moment. Yoga is not just about physical postures or breath control—it is about recognizing and dissolving the very patterns that obscure our true nature.

A question for reflection: What subtle mental patterns shape my experience without me even realizing it?

We continue our journey through the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali, seeking small but powerful insights to carry into our daily lives. In our last discussion, we explored Sūtra 2.9, which introduced the concept of abhiniveśa (अभिनिवेशः)—the deeply ingrained fear of death. Unlike rāga (रागः) and dveśa (द्वेषः), which arise from our personal experiences and memories of pleasure and pain, abhiniveśa assumes some inherent memory of death itself. Many commentators argue that this suggests evidence for reincarnation.

This leads us naturally into a broader discussion of karma (कर्म) and reincarnation (punarjanma पुनर्जन्म). In a previous episode, we touched on the four types of karma:

1. Sanchita Karma (संचित कर्म) – The accumulated karma from past lives.
2. Prarabdha Karma (प्रारब्ध कर्म) – The portion of past karma that is currently being experienced.
3. Kriyamana Karma (क्रियमाण कर्म) – The karma we are creating in this moment through our actions.
4. Agami Karma (आगामि कर्म) – The karma that will affect future lives.

Karma is deeply intertwined with reincarnation. The general belief is that good karma leads to a better rebirth, while bad karma leads to a more challenging one—maybe even returning as a frog! 🐸 (Who knows?) Alongside karma, we encounter the concept of samsāra (संसार)—the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. After death, the soul transmigrates, carrying forward the impressions and consequences of past actions.

The spiritual teachers Christopher Isherwood and Swami Prabhavananda address how difficult this idea can be for many people. Reincarnation and karma imply total personal responsibility. If we accept that our present situation is the result of our past actions, we can no longer blame others—our parents, our circumstances, or even fate—for where we are. This is a difficult but liberating truth. They write:

"This doctrine of reincarnation, which at first seems so grim and heartless, actually implies a profoundly optimistic belief in the justice and order of the Universe. If it is we, and not God, our parents, or our fellow men, who have made our present predicament, then it is we who can change it. We have no excuse for self-pity, no reason for despair. We are not helplessly doomed, we are under no mysterious pre-natal curse. 'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars...'"

At the end of the day, the message is simple. Swami Sivananda, a great yogi from Northern India, sums it up perfectly:

"Do good, be good."

Om, Peace, Out! 🙏

We are back, continuing our exploration of Patañjali's Yoga Sūtras, now focusing on Sūtra 2.9, which introduces the concept of abhiniveśa (अभिनिवेशः). This term is often translated as "clinging to life" or "fear of death." The sūtra states:

स्वरसवाही विदुषोऽपि तथारूढोऽभिनिवेशः ॥९॥ svarasavāhī viduṣo'pi tathārūḍho'bhiniveśaḥ

"The fear of death is inherent in all beings, even in the wise."

Unlike other kleśas, which are shaped by personal experience, abhiniveśa is said to be innate, existing beyond logic, education, or past conditioning. No matter one's level of academic training, career success, or family background, no one is immune to this deep-rooted fear of death.

In the previous kleśas—rāga (रागः), attachment, and dveśa (द्वेषः), aversion—there is a component of memory. We attach to what once brought pleasure, and we avoid what once caused pain. But abhiniveśa is different—it is not based on personal experience. Vyāsa, one of the earliest commentators on the Yoga Sūtras, suggests that our fear of death is an indicator of past deaths and evidence of reincarnation. This belief is a central tenet in Hinduism and Buddhism, yet it was considered and later rejected in early Christianity.

Discussing abhiniveśa inevitably leads to a broader conversation about karma. If fear of death is rooted in past lives, then how we live today is deeply intertwined with the cycle of cause and effect. However, taking a non-literal view of this teaching can also be helpful. Even if one does not believe in reincarnation, the fear of change, the fear of losing identity, and the fear of the unknown are still very real and present forces in our lives.

If we look closely, fear is everywhere—not just in the fear of physical death but in our deep attachments to comfort, identity, and the way things are. A practical example of this can be seen in the trade tariff war between the USA and Canada. The economic shifts and uncertainties created anxiety, resistance, and a desire to cling to familiar ways of doing business. This is abhiniveśa in action—a refusal to accept impermanence and an attempt to preserve stability at all costs.

Fear activates the fight, flight, or freeze response, and often, it traps us in inaction. But what if, instead of being paralyzed by fear, we could learn to see opportunity within it? What if, rather than resisting change, we could lean into it with curiosity?

As Pattabhi Jois, the founder of modern Ashtanga Yoga, reminded his students: "You breathe."

That, in the end, is our practice. Whatever fear arises—whether fear of death, fear of change, or fear of uncertainty—we breathe through it.

The search for small but powerful wisdom continues here at My Daily Thread Podcast, where we take the ancient teachings of the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali and weave them into our modern lives.

Our current focus remains on the kleśas (क्लेशाः)—the mental afflictions that obscure our clarity and peace. While we are meant to move forward in the sutras, there is still more to say about rāga (राग, attachment) and dveṣa (द्वेष, aversion) because these two kleśas are uniquely actionable and relatable in our daily experience.

Some of the other kleśas—avidyā (अविद्या, ignorance), asmitā (अस्मिता, egoism), and abhiniveśa (अभिनिवेशः, fear of death/clinging to life)—can feel more abstract, more philosophical and, at times, harder to integrate into everyday practice. But rāga and dveṣa? These are real, immediate, and constantly shaping our thoughts, emotions, and behaviors. Understanding them is essential for a fulfilling life.

Even with asmitā, or egoism, we often think of ego only in terms of inflation—pride, arrogance, or self-importance. But ego is like a coin, and on the other side is self-doubt, insecurity, and feelings of unworthiness. The trick isn't to flip the coin from one extreme to the other but rather to balance it on its edge, holding both humility and confidence. Clearly, a difficult task—but an essential one.

With rāga and dveṣa, however, we can see their influence much more immediately—in our cravings, our avoidance patterns, our daily emotional responses.

Edwin Bryant highlights an often-overlooked piece of the puzzle: memory (smṛti, स्मृति). It is our memory that keeps rāga and dveṣa alive.

Memory pulls us into the past—reminding us of pleasure we want to chase and pain we want to avoid. But at the same time, memory also locks us into an unknown future, creating expectations, anxieties, and attachments to outcomes we cannot control.

This is the paradox: rāga and dveṣa bind us to both the past and the future—at the exact same time.

But our real life is unfolding in the present.

We cannot live fully if we are constantly chasing past pleasure or resisting past pain. The work of yoga, then, is to train ourselves to return to the present, to cultivate presence, to recognize when we are being pulled away and gently bring ourselves back.

And how do we do that? Through practice. Through the disciplines of yoga, meditation, breathwork, and self-awareness.

Whatever it takes to return to the present, we must do it. The past has already happened. The future is unknown. But here—right now—is where our life is actually happening.

Continuing with the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali, we seek out a small but profound piece of wisdom—a thread to carry into our day. This is the essence of My Daily Thread Podcast: distilling ancient teachings into something we can live by, something we can work with.

Right now, our focus remains on the kleśas (क्लेशाः)—the mental afflictions that cloud our perception and drive our suffering. The kleśas are the root causes of human suffering. They color our thoughts, reactions, and behaviors, shaping the way we interact with ourselves and the world. Importantly, no one is exempt from them—they are present in all of us, regardless of class, race, age, or family background.

In Yoga Sūtra 2:3, Patañjali names the five kleśas: avidyā (अविद्या), ignorance or fundamental misperception; asmitā (अस्मिता), egoism or the sense of "I" and separation; rāga (राग), attachment to pleasure; dveṣa (द्वेष), aversion to pain; and abhiniveśa (अभिनिवेशः), fear of death and clinging to life.

Avidyā is the field from which all other kleśas grow. It is the fundamental misunderstanding of our true nature—the mistaken belief that we are our thoughts, our roles, our possessions. From avidyā comes rāga (attachment) and dveṣa (aversion), which we have been exploring deeply.

Today, we turn to Swami Hariharananda Aranya's commentary for further insight into rāga and dveṣa. He defines rāga as: "The desire or the thirst for pleasure, or hankering after pleasure, or the means leading up to pleasure. This is entertained by someone who has experienced pleasure and has an inclination to it. Rāga results from the remembrance of pleasure."

In other words, we become attached to pleasure not just because it feels good in the moment, but because we recall past pleasure and want to experience it again. This craving leads to an endless cycle of desire, pursuit, and suffering when pleasure is fleeting or unavailable.

Dveṣa, or aversion, is our tendency to oppose, reject, or push away what we find unpleasant. Hariharananda Aranya describes dveṣa as: "Mental disinclination, the propensity to hurt, or anger towards the misery or objects that cause misery. We recall the misery we have had in the past and we resist or oppose it. Whether an object or a person, there is a natural desire to retaliate or resist further pain."

We don't just experience pain in the present—we hold onto past pain, carry it with us, and preemptively resist anything that might cause discomfort in the future.

If we are stuck in rāga and cannot manage it, that is addiction—the constant seeking of pleasure, the inability to be at peace without it, the suffering when it is denied.

If we are stuck in dveṣa and cannot manage it, that is fear and anxiety—the avoidance of discomfort, the resistance to what is painful, the chronic tension that results.

We live in a world saturated with rāga and dveṣa—constant craving for pleasure, constant resistance to discomfort. The yogic path is not about eliminating these forces but learning to recognize and manage them.

So how do we do this? Through dedicated practice, through self-awareness, through reminding ourselves daily that we can do hard things. As Jeff tells his son, "We can do hard things." And managing rāga and dveṣa—learning to sit with discomfort, softening our grasp on pleasure—is one of the hardest and most transformative things we can do.

As we continue our journey through the Sādhana Pāda, we search for that daily insight—that snippet of wisdom. Yesterday, we explored Yoga Sūtra 2:7, where we examined rāga (राग)—attachment to pleasure. Today, we move forward, but before diving into our next sutra, let's take a step back and revisit the foundation of all kleśas: avidyā (अविद्या).

Avidyā is often translated as "ignorance" or "misperception," but its meaning runs deeper than a simple lack of knowledge. In Yoga Sūtra 2:5, Patañjali describes avidyā as:

अनित्याशुचिदुःखानात्मसु नित्यशुचिसुखात्मख्यातिरविद्या॥ २.५॥ anityāśuci-duḥkhānātmasu nitya-śuci-sukhātma-khyātir avidyā

Avidyā is the mistaken identification of the impermanent as permanent, the impure as pure, the painful as pleasurable, and the non-Self as the Self.

Edwin Bryant expands on this, explaining:

"One may think that one's body, mind, and possessions, are their real self. This is the epitome of confusion—ignorance and enmeshment with ego."

This misidentification is deeply ingrained in how we navigate the world. We attach our identity to external markers—our job titles, relationships, and social media presence. We believe: "I am my achievements." "I am my possessions." "I am a parent." "I am a yogi."

But what happens when these external identities shift or fall away? If we define ourselves by what we do or what we own, we are building on an unstable foundation. Yoga teaches us to look beyond these surface-level identifications and seek our true nature.

Yesterday, in Yoga Sūtra 2:7, we explored rāga (राग), the tendency to cling to pleasure. Rāga arises when we experience something enjoyable and develop an attachment to it, craving its repetition.

Today, we move to Yoga Sūtra 2:8, where Patañjali introduces dveṣa (द्वेष)—the counterpart to rāga.

दुःखानुशयी द्वेषः॥ २.८॥ duḥkhānuśayī dveṣaḥ

"Dveṣa, or aversion, follows from the experience of suffering."

• duḥkha (दुःख) – suffering, pain
• anuśayī (अनुशयी) – following, arising from
• dveṣaḥ (द्वेषः) – aversion, avoidance

Just as rāga makes us cling to pleasurable experiences, dveṣa makes us push away anything unpleasant. The moment we feel discomfort—physically, emotionally, or mentally—we resist it. We brace against it, avoid it, or try to escape.

This reaction is deeply tied to our fight-or-flight instinct, an ancient survival mechanism to protect us from immediate danger. However, in modern life, dveṣa often extends beyond physical threats.

We resist: Difficult emotions – suppressing grief, fear, or discomfort. Challenging situations – avoiding difficult conversations or growth opportunities. Intense experiences – hesitating to step outside our comfort zones.

But here's the paradox: growth often lies in discomfort. By avoiding what is difficult, we limit our potential for transformation.

The practice of yoga invites us to notice when dveṣa arises. Instead of reacting automatically, can we pause and observe?

Today, as you go about your life, pay attention: When do you feel resistance? What makes you tense up, shut down, or want to escape? Can you soften your reaction and meet discomfort with curiosity rather than avoidance?

By becoming aware of dveṣa, we take the first step toward loosening its grip. True freedom lies not in avoiding discomfort, but in learning to remain steady in its presence.

As we continue our journey through Chapter 2 of the Yoga Sūtras, we remain within the framework of the kleśas, the mental afflictions that cloud our perception and keep us bound in patterns of suffering. The two we have explored in depth so far are avidyā and asmitā.

Avidyā (अविद्या) is misperception or ignorance—it is the fundamental misunderstanding of reality. It causes us to mistake the impermanent for the permanent, the impure for the pure, suffering for pleasure, and the non-Self for the Self.

Asmitā (अस्मिता) is egoism—the misidentification of the true Self (drg, the seer) with the mind and body (darśana, the tools of perception). It is the sense of "I-ness" that clings to roles, identities, and labels, mistaking them for our essence.

Today, we move forward to Yoga Sūtra 2:7, where Patañjali introduces another kleśa—rāga (राग), attachment.

We begin by looking at the Sanskrit word sukha (सुख), which means happiness or pleasure. It represents the pleasant experiences in life—the moments of comfort, joy, and satisfaction that we naturally seek.

But there's another key Sanskrit term to consider here: anushayī (अनुशयी), which refers to the consequences of something that lingers or follows us. In this case, it is the attachment that arises as a result of pleasurable experiences.

That attachment is rāga (राग)—the tendency to cling to what feels good and to seek its repetition. We don't just enjoy something in the moment; we become attached to it, and when it fades, we crave it again.

A prime example of this in our modern world is social media. Platforms are consciously engineered to trigger rāga—through likes, notifications, and endless scrolling, they feed our desire for validation, novelty, and dopamine hits. The cycle keeps us hooked, craving the next high, the next moment of pleasure.

Edwin Bryant translates this sutra simply:

"Attachment stems from experiences of happiness."

At its core, rāga is neither good nor bad—it is simply the tendency of the mind. The question is: how much power does it have over us?

So, what are you attached to?

What are the things, experiences, or outcomes that you find yourself chasing, believing they will bring you lasting happiness?

And can you observe them with awareness without being controlled by them?

Finding our way through the Sādhana Pāda, we continue our exploration of the kleśas, the deep-seated afflictions that shape our perception and keep us caught in cycles of suffering. As we move through Yoga Sūtra 2:3 and beyond, we see that avidyā—ignorance or misperception—is not just another affliction but the very root from which all the others arise.

Avidyā is described as the "field" in which asmitā (egoism), rāga (attachment), dveṣa (aversion), and abhiniveśaḥ (fear of death/clinging to life) take root and grow. Without avidyā, the other kleśas would not have power over us.

Edwin Bryant, in his commentary on the Yoga Sūtras, explains this concept further:

"Avidyā, or ignorance, entails confounding the nature of the soul with that of the body. Patañjali is effectively underscoring the fact that conventional awareness is the exact opposite of true knowledge. To confuse the two or to misidentify the latter with the former is avidyā."

This takes us back to the very first words of the Yoga Sūtras:

अथ योगानुशासनम्॥१.१॥ Atha yogānuśāsanam

Now, the discipline of yoga begins.

From the outset, Patañjali invites us to embark on a process of self-inquiry, to examine the layers of conditioning and misperception that cloud our awareness. The entire journey of yoga is about peeling back these layers, seeing clearly, and uncovering the truth of who we really are.

We are also reminded of Yoga Sūtra 1:3:

तदा द्रष्टुः स्वरूपेऽवस्थानम्॥१.३॥ Tadā draṣṭuḥ svarūpe'vasthānam

Then, the seer abides in its own true nature.

But because of avidyā, this is not our constant experience. Instead, we become entangled in fleeting thoughts, emotions, and identifications, mistaking them for reality.

Yoga Sūtra 2:5 elaborates on this distortion:

1. We mistake the impermanent (anitya) for the permanent (nitya).
2. We believe the impure (aśuci) to be pure (śuci).
3. We confuse suffering (duḥkha) with pleasure (sukha).
4. We misidentify the non-Self (anātman) as the Self (ātman).

This misperception creates the foundation for suffering. We chase what is impermanent, believing it will bring lasting fulfillment. We resist what is uncomfortable, believing it has no value. And most significantly, we mistake our shifting identities, thoughts, and emotions for who we truly are.

Yoga Sūtra 2:6 then introduces asmitā—egoism:

दृग्दर्शनशक्त्योरेकात्मतेवास्मिता॥२.६॥ Drg-darśana-śaktyor-ekātmatevā-asmitā

Egoism is the misidentification of the power of the seer (drg) with the power of seeing (darśana).

Asmitā arises when we confuse the tools of perception—the mind, body, and intellect—with the true perceiver, the Self. It shows up in the way we define ourselves:

• "I am my job."
• "I am my possessions."
• "I am my achievements."
• "I am my failures."

But are these things truly who we are? Or are they temporary aspects of our experience?

This brings us to an important question:

How is my ignorance and ego wrapped up and manifest in my world?

Where am I mistaking the impermanent for the permanent? How do I define myself in ways that limit my true nature? Can I begin to observe these patterns without identifying with them?

Through the practice of yoga, we begin to loosen the grip of avidyā and asmitā. We cultivate awareness, self-inquiry, and ultimately, a deeper connection to the unchanging essence within.

Welcome back to the show! Yesterday, we explored Yoga Sūtra 2:5, where Patañjali defines avidyā— the fundamental misunderstanding that gives rise to suffering. Avidyā manifests through four key misperceptions that distort our view of reality:

We mistake the impermanent (anitya) for the permanent (nitya). We cling to things—relationships, status, even our physical bodies—as if they will last forever, forgetting that change is the only constant.

We chase what is impure (aśuci) believing it to be pure (śuci). We seek fulfillment in material wealth, beauty, or external validation, convinced that these things will bring us lasting satisfaction, when in reality, they are fleeting.

We pursue what is painful (duḥkha), believing it to be pleasurable (sukha). We engage in habits, relationships, or patterns that bring momentary pleasure but ultimately cause suffering.

We crave fleeting pleasures (sukha) and push away intense moments (duḥkha), failing to see their role in our growth. True peace isn't found in escaping discomfort but in understanding it. We resist pain, yet often, it is the very thing that deepens our awareness and resilience.

Today, we turn to Yoga Sūtra 2:6, which introduces another powerful kleśa: asmitā, or egoism.

दृग्दर्शनशक्त्योरेकात्मतेवास्मिता॥ २.६॥ drg-darśana-śaktyor-ekātmateva-asmitā

As translated in Swami Satchidānanda's commentary, asmitā is the mistaken identification of the seer (drg) with the instrument of seeing—our mind, thoughts, and perceptions.

Drg refers to the "seer"—pure awareness, the true Self. Darśana-śakti is the faculty of perception, the mind and senses.

Egoism arises when we confuse these two—when we think we are our thoughts, our body, or our roles in the world, rather than recognizing ourselves as the unchanging awareness behind them.

Consider some of these "I" statements: I am my achievements. I am my possessions. I am a paramedic. I am a grumpy paramedic. I am a yogi.

We begin to define ourselves by these labels, roles, or fleeting aspects of identity. But if we dig a little deeper, we see that these are impermanent and external—they are not the true Self. This all finds its way back to avidyā, the fundamental misperception.

Could we take a moment to reflect on the truth behind our "I" statements? Are we holding onto identities that limit us? What happens when we let go of these labels and simply rest in awareness?

And remember, as David Swenson says: "Don't let the yoga get you down."

The "Snip the Snippet" Challenge is still on! If you have a better word for our daily drop of wisdom, send it in—our community will choose the best one, and the winner will get some My Daily Thread swag. Let's find a word that truly reflects what we seek in these discussions.

Jeff recalls a moment with his chanting teacher, a scene filled with momentum and enthusiasm. The group, caught up in the energy, kept speeding up—chanting faster and faster until they were practically racing through the mantras like hip-hop stars on stage. The excitement was undeniable, but so was the realization: practice is not about rushing. It's not about getting through something as quickly as possible. It's about deep, intentional presence—about letting the sounds resonate rather than rattle off the tongue.

That brings us to today's focus: Yoga Sūtra 2:5. There's something about the way the Sanskrit syllables roll off the tongue that makes them so powerful—not just in meaning but in felt experience. When we chant, we aren't just reciting words; we are embodying vibrations that shape our understanding at a deeper level.

Yesterday, we explored avidyā (अविद्या), and now Patañjali takes it further, offering a precise definition:

अन्-नित्यशुचि-दुःख-आत्मसु नित्य-शुचि-सुख-आत्म-ख्यातिर् अविद्या॥ २.५॥

anitya-aśuci-duḥkha-ātmasu nitya-śuci-sukha-ātma-khyātir avidyā

Avidyā is the false perception that mistakes the impermanent (anitya, अनित्य) for the permanent (nitya, नित्य), the impure (aśuci, अशुचि) for the pure (śuci, शुचि), the painful (duḥkha, दुःख) for the pleasurable (sukha, सुख), and the non-Self (anātman, अनात्मन्) for the true Self (ātman, आत्मन्).

This is one of the most important sūtras in understanding the kleśas (क्लेशाः)—the deep-seated afflictions that cloud our perception. Avidyā is at the root of all suffering because it distorts reality. Instead of seeing things as they are, we see them through the lens of illusion—confusing what is fleeting for what is lasting and what is external for what is internal.

A modern example of avidyā is found in our culture's obsession with longevity. Biohacking, anti-aging treatments, extreme fitness regimens—while there's nothing inherently wrong with caring for the body, avidyā arises when we mistake the impermanent for the permanent when we believe that extending physical life can somehow grant us lasting fulfillment. The body will change, decay, and dissolve, yet we pour immense energy into preserving it as if it were eternal.

This leads us to a self-reflective question: How do we grasp the impermanent, believing it to be lasting? Where are we operating from avidyā, chasing illusions rather than seeing what is real and unchanging?