Yoga of the Heart

The common meaning for the word "contentment" is satisfaction with what one has. In Yogic ethics, however, the practice of Contentment (Santosh in Sanskrit) is not connected with an emotion, but rather with a state of consciousness. It is best described as the ability to remain in the present moment.

One day, when I did not have to go anywhere or do anything, I decided that I would practice the ethic of Contentment. To do this, I told myself that I would not think of anything in the past — any remembrance of any kind — and I would not think or plan or hope for anything in the future. I sat quietly in my meditation pose and absolutely refused to allow my mind to move backward or forward. I held it firmly in the middle.

After a few minutes of this intense focus, I found it very difficult to move. It took great effort to straighten out my legs and arms, and I had no impulse to stand or move in any direction. I felt exactly as if I had stepped into a swamp, where every step was difficult. It was as if my physical body was echoing my mental exercise by becoming reluctant to move in any direction. The feeling of being practically immobile overcame me.

Then I became overwhelmed by a giddy sensation of freedom. I found myself freely floating in a mystical state of detachment where I could clearly observe what was happening around me without becoming involved. A golden feeling of strength was supporting me. I cannot describe it in words, but I remember it now, even though I have moved out of that state. A student expressed the idea of Contentment beautifully in this letter:

More and more I’m happy in myself. I’m aware of a great silent strength like the inner core of myself. Sometimes it’s distinctly there. Sometimes I am aware of it dimly in the background.

It might seem, from my story, that practicing Contentment in this way would turn you into a useless lump, unable to support your life or work. But what I have found is that by practicing this exercise, I am able to welcome a totally new source of support and power from my spiritual body. My experience helped me discover that Contentment is part of the spiritual body; I was able to feel its support when my physical body became quiet. Though previously unrecognized, this support had always been within my grasp; it was only waiting for me to become aware enough to clear the channel to my spiritual body. That is exactly what the books on Yoga say happens when the spiritual body begins to emerge.

How is it possible — or even desirable — to not think of the past or the future, as I tried to do that day? I discovered that my hopes and dreams of the future, and the poignancy of the past, were taking up most of my time. Practicing this exercise, I realized that I had missed great delights in the present while I wandered in the past or future. The state of consciousness referred to in Shaivism as "wonder, delight, and astonishment" is a simple description of something wonderful that we have not known before: the joy of the present moment. According to Shaivism, the ethic of Contentment can only manifest in the present moment, never in the future or past. If we can pay attention to the present moment in our lives, it can bring great happiness, because our attention does not become confused with past experience, nor does it take second place to the hopes of the future.

A long time ago, during my months of training in India with Rama, I accompanied him on a very difficult lecture tour from Delhi to Dharwar, hundreds of miles to the south. When we finally got back to Delhi, we were exhausted, and a kind devotee of Rama offered us the use of his car to drive to Rama’s home in the jungle above Haridwar. I didn’t realize what a sacrifice this was at the time. Cars were so precious in India, and besides, I, a woman, would be driving, since Rama did not know how. This was soon after the British had left India, and women drivers were not usual.
In my American way, I asked if we had a spare tire and whether the car had been checked out for the long trip. I was assured that all this had been done, and in my ignorance I believed them. We left Delhi in the late afternoon. Rama read the road signs for me, and we progressed well on our way.
Night fell, and we slowed down in the intense darkness. We crawled along, among heavily wooded, lonely areas of the jungle. As we stopped in a clearing to check our direction, a tire exploded. I opened the trunk to get out the spare and found it flat and damaged. I sat in the dust with the tire in my lap; I was extremely frightened.
Being stranded and alone in these places at night is no joke; I feared for our lives. Rama, however, did not. He walked around and pointed out the beauty of the moon. He offered me some water and sat down with me to enjoy the evening. He leaned back on his hands — I can see him now — and said, looking at the sky, "You know Alice, it’s a lovely night." I couldn’t say much; I was not the best of company.
After about twenty minutes, we heard a bell in the distance. Then a man on a bicycle rode into our clearing. He stopped and was extremely genial. He said he was on his way home from work — he was a mechanic — and he just happened to have his tool box with him on the back of the bike. He proceeded to change and repair both tires and refused all payment, saying that God had sent him on this path to serve and he was fortunate to have found us. We went on our way in the night. I was very quiet.

HOW TO BEGIN PRACTICING CONTENTMENT

1. Practice resting in the present moment. You can try a version of the exercise described at the beginning of this chapter any time of day when you have a few minutes with nothing to do. Simply sit quietly and observe your inner conversation. Each time you notice your thoughts moving to the past or the future, gently bring your attention back to the present moment. It may help to close your eyes. This is an excellent exercise to try in situations where you have to wait for several minutes, such as in a doctor’s office, but I would not recommend trying this in your car waiting for traffic to move along.

2. Try practicing meditation. In meditation, you quiet your mind and body fully, bring your awareness to your forehead, and try to stop all inner conversation. All desires and all thought processes eventually stop — or at least slow down. You no longer feel desire as a whip. The feeling you will experience in meditation is very similar to the feeling you experience when you are stable in the ethic of Contentment.

To get the most out of meditative practice, make sure you will not be disturbed for ten to fifteen minutes. Sit or lie with your back, neck, and head in a straight line. Wear loose, comfortable clothes. Keep yourself warm. For a more complete description of how to meditation, see any of our beginning Yoga manuals (see Resources).

3. Repeat a mantram. The restful space of the present moment is encouraged by Yogis with the constant repetition of a mantram — a special sound formula. If you do not have a specific mantram given to you by a qualified teacher, use the mantram "Om." Use the repetition of this sound to help you stop your inner conversation and rest in the present moment. This can be done silently or aloud. Try this technique any time of day to help bring your attention back to the present. Be sure to take time periodically to notice how the exercise is affecting you.

CONTENTMENT AND DESIRE

Desire is the opposite of Contentment; it is the mechanism that constantly moves our attention either backward to the past, in wanting to repeat some happy experience, or forward to dwell upon future wants and dreams. Desire avoids the middle state where Contentment lies.

Desire feeds the constant inner conversation of the mind that makes it so difficult to focus on the present. You may not realize how much of your inner conversation is taken up by the effect of desire. For example, remember the last time you heard a beautiful song that stirred your memory; your attention immediately moved backward to reexperience the event associated with the song. Or think of walking past a store window and seeing something you like; you may begin to imagine yourself wearing or using that thing some time in the future.

Desire always has to do with what is known. If you can articulate a desire for a new car, for instance, you can usually picture what type of car it would be and imagine yourself driving around in it. In the same way, when you call up a memory, let’s say a favorite pet from your childhood, you can be reasonably sure that you are remembering correctly. All these are things you already know.

Contentment, however, lies in the middle of these two extremes of future desire or past memory; in Contentment lies nothing you have known before, but something new, astonishing, and wonderful, because when you practice Contentment, you invite your spiritual body to speak to you, and its voice is spontaneous, unexpected, and unique.

If you let your mind simply wander in the past or the future, never stopping in the present, it is similar to being strapped to a treadmill, going nowhere and never being able to break out of its pattern. Past and future are based in fantasy.

Consider the parable told by Plato, about a man who had lived all his life in a cave. One day he ventured out into the sunlight, desiring to be free from the confines of the cave, but he couldn’t stand the bright light and heat and ran back into the familiar cave, determined never to leave again. This describes so many of us. Like the man in the cave, we fear any change in our perception. We continue behaving in a familiar way, because it is the only way we know. We cling to memory (past) and desire (future) because we do not want our fantasy of the past or future disturbed or changed.

The way to break out of this pattern is to carefully put your inner conversation to rest for a few minutes at a time, as I did in my exercise. Do not go forward in planning, nor backward in memory. Take the position in the middle where there is no thought, no conversation, and no movement at all. Gently stop all thought. Refuse to go forward or back; wait and observe, in silence.

The first time that you will become aware of the spiritual body is that point of Contentment where you rest in the middle position, perfectly balanced between future and past. The great joy of Contentment is the expression of the spiritual body that is now able to speak. The silence that you have provided in your mind opens the passageway between the two bodies.

Lakshmanjoo told me: "Future is unborn, past is dead. You have to live in present." Lakshmanjoo lived this principle daily. During the last few years when I visited him, insurrection was tearing the city apart, yet he spent most of each day working in his beautiful garden.

Contentment is not the same as endurance of life’s various conditions. Many of us are subject to unpleasant and demanding factors in our lives, and most of us learn to live with that awareness. Sometimes we even forget that they are not what we would have chosen and simply take them in stride. This cannot be confused with Contentment as it is described in Shaivite literature. Contentment gives you the ability to be comfortable and happy wherever you are, in all circumstances. Past and future are stilled, and you can have full enjoyment in the moment.

I have tried throughout this book to emphasize the fact that these ethics cannot be understood intellectually. Describing Contentment intellectually, you might say, "I feel content," in other words, using an adjectival form. An intellectual, adjectival approach is always based in the physical body. The spiritual body, however, deals in nouns. Here is one way to picture this concept:

Try to fantasize Contentment as an actual form, a bubble perhaps, with you totally protected inside its flexible walls, shimmering among space, supplied with its own power and direction, like a space ship. The actual form and force are parts of the spiritual body. The ethical student tries to become part of that body to experience its form.

Lakshmanjoo says that a person can be content only if he will. In other words, a person has to consciously seek Contentment. The practice of Contentment calls for self-control and tolerance. It is a difficult balance of indulging a little bit in everything, but not becoming a glutton about anything. Gluttony, or desire, prevents the mind from remaining alert; without such alertness you cannot maintain the proper strength of concentration.

Self-control is a harsh word to Westerners — a lot like celibacy — because it implies that a prison of restraint has been put upon you so you cannot do what you want to do. It is a feeling of not being free. But used correctly, without violence, self-control can make you extremely powerful in your ability to enjoy and direct your life. As you progress to fulfilling yourself as a strong individual, self-control becomes a much-loved addition to your everyday activities. You can direct yourself successfully to what you want, and you become very proud of yourself.

DEALING WITH LOSS

The state of Contentment seems to be most difficult to reach at a time of loss or grief, when it is hard to think about anything else. Almost all of us suffer these feelings at some time in our lives, whether it is the death of a child or other loved one, the grief of a divorce, or the grief of illness.

We experience loss every day. The strong individual hopes that whatever happens can be endured with poise and balance, and Contentment can help you attain this. I believe that some regular training in ethics, especially the practice of Contentment, can greatly affect the way you handle all your relationships.

Consider how you feel when someone you love dies. When you are experiencing severe grief, your mind refuses to stay in the moment. It constantly goes either to the past, reliving precious memories, or to the future, dreading life without that person. If you try practicing Contentment, bringing your mind to a middle position in the present moment, it will help to ease the feeling of loss. This is because you are opening the channel to your spiritual body, which can give you the support you need at this time. The strength of your spiritual body will help you replace the loss.

RESULTS OF PRACTICING CONTENTMENT

According to some great mystics, becoming established in Contentment is considered to be one of the greatest jewels of attainment by a human being. The result of this practice is stated in the classic texts of Kashmir Shaivism: "The fruit that accrues from mastering Contentment is that you become completely at peace in this lifetime." When you are able to dwell easily in the present, the stress of rehashing past events or dreading future ones simply falls away.

Lakshmanjoo very clearly said to me that when you move your mind to the middle unmoving position between the opposites of future and past, you are totally supported by your divine self; in other words, by your spiritual body. To me, then, Contentment means being free from thoughts that distract me from the union with myself.

A Story about Maya
The sage Narada played and sang for Vishnu, pleasing him so much that Vishnu said, "Ask me for whatever you wish." Narada replied, "I wish to know the secret of Maya." Maya is the word for the play of the world that distracts us from our spiritual selves by indulging our fantasies of past and future.
Vishnu said, "Oh, that is very difficult to understand. Choose something else." But Narada insisted, so Vishnu finally said, "Alright, go to that village and get me some water to drink, and then I will tell you."
So Narada walked off to the village and stopped at the headmaster’s home. The headmaster’s beautiful daughter answered his greeting, and Narada temporarily forgot himself in contemplating her beauty. Then he remembered to ask for water. While she was getting the water, the headmaster came out, greeted Narada, and offered him some refreshment. Since they were both interested in spiritual matters, they began talking, and soon evening came. The headmaster invited Narada to spend the night, saying that it would be too difficult to find his way back in the dark. Narada accepted.
The next morning, the headmaster asked Narada’s advice about village matters, and took him on a tour of the village. Gradually Narada forgot why he had come to the village in the first place. After some time, he married the daughter, had two lovely children, and soon took over the running of the village.
One summer a particularly fierce monsoon came, and floodwaters poured through the village. In attempting to escape with his family, Narada lost everything and was himself swept away by the roiling waters. He hit his head on a tree branch and lost consciousness. He awoke to find himself lying under the tree where he had left Vishnu, who was gently saying, "Narada, where is my water? I have been waiting half an hour."