Brahmacharya literally means conduct that leads to the realization of Brahman or one’s own Self. The technical meaning of Brahmacharya is self-restraint, particularly mastery of perfect control over the sexual organ or freedom from lust in thought, word and deed. – Swami Sivananda

Self-restraint. Freedom from lust. Note: I can see in the implications for working with sexual energy in Swami Sivananda’s words, and I get that it is important! He suggests, I think, that the control or redirection of our sexual energy can give us the power to focus our energy toward a higher purpose, leading to an expansion of awareness. But I hold that the first statement in this paragraph is more paramount: the practice of  brahmacharya — self-restraint — directs us to move, learn, and live in a state of higher awareness and energy, a creative state that comes from being in touch with our highest self. It is the higher awareness that is most important in brahmacharya, not the sexual energy. Therefore, brahmacharya is not a mandate for sexual abstinence, but a mandate for restraint in the face of desire, the goal being nothing less than self-realization.

Why does Brahmacharya matter?

I continue to notice the connections between the yamas – how can I not? The physical benefits of brahmacharya – i.e, benefits of redirecting our energy from lust or physical attachments to the practices of yoga – include greater strength and power, vitality, and endurance. And according to Patanjali in the Yoga Sutra, the end-result or fruit of brahmacharya practised to perfection is unbounded energy or vitality. This unbounded energy can support us in our other yogic practices, which are also meant to lead us to the realization of the self. In this way brahmacharya sustains and feeds the other yamas. With an ever-full reservoir of energy at our disposal, we can do much more with less effort, we can glide more lightly and seamlessly through our lives (even/especially through the challenges), and we can complete our life’s work from day to day with skill, and without tiring. What a gift!

Mastery of the body and senses, self-knowledge, and convergence with one’s higher nature are all goals of yogic practice. The practices of asana, pranayama, meditation, contemplation, prayer, etc., are all meant to lead us to rest in balance and experience our deepest self, free from the limitations/fluctuations of mind and body. Just as the yamas of ahimsa, satya, and asteya are directives to lead our behavior and thoughts toward our higher nature, brahmacharya is doing the same thing, suggesting more physical and mental practices that can lead us to complete internal/external balance.

By tearing out the roots of lust from our bodies and our minds, we not only release incredible energies, but we also complement the practices of tearing out of the roots of violence, covetousness, and deceit in our selves, as the other yamas direct us to do. While asteya directs us away from lusting for objects and ideas, for example, brahmacharya directs us away from lusting for people as sexual objects. Thus, brahmacharya is a vital part of the life of any yogi, as a practice of defragmentation, for releasing unhealthy thought/behavior patterns that dissipate our energy, damage ourselves and others, and leave us confused and enslaved by our lower nature. Practicing brahmacharya and the other yamas can help us to release that which does not serve us; observing the yamas can remove the confusion to reveal the whole being within.

Our teacher B.K. has said that even the most advanced asana, if done without mindfulness, is beginner’s yoga. In the same way, brahmacharya lived as simple abstinence from sexual activity is beginner’s yoga. An aspirant who practices celibacy, but who is internally unable to manage or avoid his sexual desires, is not practicing brahmacharya. Likewise, an aspirant can be a brahmachari though s/he be married with children, if one is faithful and devoted in all relationships with others, and has learned to conserve the vital powers and maintain a state of higher awareness and energy, one has reached perfection in brahmacharya. Thus, brahmacharya cannot be interpreted in terms of physical action only, as it is a practice of attuning to a deeper, finer, more exalted state of human consciousness.

So how on earth can we apply brahmacharya to our lives? First, I suggest that we relax and not worry too much about the call to celibacy, which is confusing and might keep us from delving deeper into this yama (though I also suggest that we try celibacy as part of the practice if we can – why not?). Second, the other yogic techniques (asana, pranayama, meditation, etc.) can help one to achieve brahmacharya, just as a practice of brahmacharya can lead to perfection of those same techniques. So I suggest that we begin living, as much as possible, true to the spirit of the other yamas, of all the yamas. The practice of watching the mind, watching how it attempts to control our experience with negative results in other parts of our lives (exposed as coveting, lying, hurting others, etc.) will also reveal to us how we are lusting after others or using our potent energies for wasteful or harmful purposes.

I want to suggest that we look at our personal, romantic, and sexual relationships, and watch where we are forfeiting control to our instincts, to watch for what it feels like to conserve our energies vs. to expend them. That may be difficult for some of us, depending on who is on the receiving end of our experiment! But if we are serious aspirants, I believe we can use such experiments not only as ends in themselves, but to improve all our relationships. That is something our loved ones of all types must be able to appreciate. And if they don’t, at least we will. That is a step toward self-realization.

I offer further that Asteya also includes by default the recommendation of its opposites: do take what is offered, do want what is given, do support and care for that which you name as yours, that which you know falls within your responsibilities. The practice of Asteya digs deep into our notions about what we are identified with as belonging to “me” and “other”, and the ways that we respond (perhaps unconsciously) in order to preserve that identity.

Why does Asteya matter?

The Buddha taught that all suffering in the world is a result of desire, tanha. Tanha is also translated numerous ways, but all of its definitions suggest/regflect a deep pattern in the human psyche, the pattern of wanting things to be different than they are. The Buddha recognized that our desire for things to be different than they are is the force behind our grief, sadness, anxiety, fear, and other damaging emotions. It follows that this tanha is also the root of our violence, our untruthfulness, and all of the other unskillful actions that are rooted in those damaging emotions. When we try to mold the world to our liking, we hurt ourselves with our desire, and we hurt others with the manifestations of our desire.

Buddhism teaches that to the extent that we can observe the distasteful without being moved by it, we strengthen our own ability to stop creating our own sources of distaste (and thus suffering) from within. We stop ourselves by stopping ourselves. I see Asteya as the parallel reminder of this in yoga, as it reminds us to sit with what is: when we cease to want things to be different, we approach harmony with our own nature, and we cut the threads that connect us to the very roots of suffering. This is why Asteya is important: it gives us one more tool to remove the suffering from our lives.

I am continuing to explore the yamas as directives leading us, not forward to some future state of grace, but rather, inward toward our most natural organic, balanced human form. If Ahimsa represents a natural human inclination to refrain from harm, and Satya an inclination toward the truth and away from falsehood, what is Asteya? Perhaps it is the inclination toward wholeness and away from separation, an inclination that exists within us before we allow ourselves to compare. I compare myself with you; I compare myself with my past self; I compare my experience with the experience I think I should be having. When I see something I don’t like, I want it to be different and begin the attempt to mold what is into something more to my liking. Here arises the desire, the grasping, the wanting things to be different than they are, the not accepting what is…and the pain.

With all this in mind, I say that we (I) can start to practice Asteya all the time in at least two ways:

1) As an outer practice, behave in such a way that reflects a natural non-covetousness. Do refrain from stealing and such. Watch grasping that comes from forces of habit, even subtle ones, and decide to reverse those habits through practice. (I was about to use something that didn’t belong to me the other day, without even thinking about it. Something stopped me and I asked myself, “Wait – is this stealing?” It wasn’t explicitly offered to me, so I considered that using it would not be Asteya, and I left it. There is practice everywhere!)

2) As an inner practice, learn to watch the mind, and observe the habit of comparison. When you notice you are comparing and finding yourself lacking, also observe the suffering that arises exactly at the same time. Then feel what it is like to stop comparing. Notice the feeling of peace that comes with the acceptance of difference and the sinking back into wholeness, away from separation. Ask yourself, what feels more natural?

To conclude I’ll repeat the suggestions I began with, and add a few more that have come to mind:

Do not take what is not yours, of course. But also, do not take what is not offered to you; do not want what is not yours. Perhaps even question what you think is yours. Go as far as to practice the non-use of the words “my” and “mine” and see what that shows you about yourself. Go even further and declare yourself nothing more than a trustee of everything in your life you are fortunate to have.

When you see everything not as a possession, but as a gift to be held in trust for a short, fortunate while, what is there to covet? Covetousness does not even exist. And from that recognition comes sitting quietly in the self. Like the Buddha, perhaps

My study of yoga is intimately related with my study of nonviolence; both of them, for me, are important parts of my own experiments with the truth, parts that captivate me and draw me out of myself so far as to do something like make a blog in the first place! By way of experimentation, then, I include my musing on Truth here (the second yama, Satya), and expect I will post my thoughts with the other yamas as they come…

I have a friend who wears a shirt that says “Satya” on it. He wears it all the time. He strives every day to live in Satya, and has even said that people like to call him “Satya.” (I have yet to confirm this claim, but it seems plausible enough.) Thing about this guy is, he is devoted to living a life of truth. He is discovering what truth means for him, how it corresponds to the truth of others, and how all of our little versions of truth either reflect or defer to the one ultimate truth, Satya. He also calls on others to do the same, whenever he’s got the chance. I’ve tried to join my friend in this effort; and I note here for the record: it is not easy. Sometimes striving for Satya is beautiful, and sometimes it is painful, like falling on your face is painful.

Like the self and the Self, truth and Truth have an interesting relationship in the psychology of the human being. I hear myself and others ask, what does Satya mean? Does it really just mean “truthfulness”? Is this Yama a call to Right Speech, which means not just “not lying,” but also refraining from gossip, idle chatter, and frivolity of speech? Is it a call to the deeper practice of speaking truth to power, and living a solid life, true to one’s dharma? Perhaps it is a call for the intention to be truthful, and therefore, to be trustworthy in the eyes of others, creating stable relationships and therefore a clear mind.

Whatever it is, it seems it must be more simple than this.

A few things that come to mind about Satya:

1) Paramahansa Yogananda, in Autobiography of a Yogi, mentions a time when he was a child and was asked to tell the truth about something he had done. He recounts that because the question was asked incorrectly, he could answer the incorrect question truthfully (which was in truth, a lie), without breaking the rule of Satya. This was a great relief to him: he found that he could lie without being untruthful. This got me thinking. How do we develop our understanding of the truth as we develop our selves?

2) I think it is Swami Vishnu-devananda that shared this expression that I remember (paraphrased): it is not accurate to say that you have found the path to truth. It is only accurate to say that you came upon truth while you were traveling along your path. Truth is present in all paths, say the sages, and it is only our destiny, motivation, or perhaps good fortune to discover it there. As soon as we come to believe that our truth trumps other truths, we limit universal Truth to human proportions, and therefore lose our connection to it.

So what is truth, if it is so elusive and individual? How can there be one Truth? How can we know what it is, and why should we attempt to know? Really, why should we care? I’m now thinking back to Gandhi. He entitled his autobiography “The Story of My Experiments with Truth.” For Gandhi, Truth was the highest power, the all pervading. He said, “I claim to be a passionate seeker after truth, which is but another name for God.” If we think of Satya not in human terms (true vs. false, truth vs. lie, etc.), but in universal terms, it becomes clear why it matters. Truth is the world, and we are creatures born of it.

Perhaps all our struggles with “small” truth would not even be of interest to us if we did not inherently recognize that “big” Truth is our natural state, our mother, as it were. And all those struggles, questions, and t-shirts are but tools and teachings for us in our pursuit of our own natural Self. Living in Satya is an important goal of any yogi. If our intent is unification with the divine essence of life, our adherence to values of satya condition us to live in Satya (which is, at least Gandhi might say, the divine essence itself). It is a training.

And if our intent is simply to live a happier life, satya removes obstacles to unhappiness (cloudiness of mind, attachment to objects, etc.), and forces us to examine the shadow sides within us that we hide (often unknowingly) with untruthfulness, such as mal-intent, anger, jealousy, etc. The result of practicing satya with determination is a slow purification, a burning off of the dross of suffering, and a centering into peace. Both sound good to me.

Interesting to note that here I am expressing a belief that Satya is our natural state, erstwhile recognizing that last time we all met, we talked about practicing Ahimsa as a return to a natural state. I am seeing a pattern in this that is telling me that the Yamas are not directives to us to be more moral or more ethical, but simply directives to return to what we already are. We hear this kind of stuff all the time, but it’s nice to make the connection again. I’m going to tell this to my friend, and to his shirt

Assignment 2.2:
Ahimsa: What is it? Why does it matter? How do I apply it to my life here and now?

It is funny to me that I am asked to answer this question here, since I work for a nonviolence (ahimsa) education organization, and we spend every day debating the fine points of “ahimsa”…and never reaching consensus! Before I came to this work, I thought I knew what ahimsa was. I thought it was very simple. Now sometimes I think that there are six billion (seven billion?) answers to the question, “What is ahimsa?” I hope I am wrong, because I really want it to be simple! And of all the things to argue about, shouldn’t it be that nonviolence would be something we could agree on? Sigh…

My understanding of ahimsa, anyway, is quite simple. It is defined as “the absence of the intention to harm.” This is very clear; as the first of the yamas, which are themselves the first of Patanjali’s eight limbs of yoga, ahimsa carries paramount importance in the yogic tradition and it stresses the significance of intention in everything we do. It is the weight behind the Buddha’s first precept, “do not kill.” It was the driving force behind Gandhi’s moral character and the bedrock of his social and political philosophies. Yoga scholar George Feuerstein once said, when someone asked him how far he had gotten through the eight limbs of yoga, that he imagined he would spend his entire lifetime stuck in the first step of the first limb – ahimsa. That’s how big ahimsa is.

In the broadest possible terms, Ahimsa matters to the student of yoga because if there is no ahimsa, there is no advancement on the path. Violence in the mind makes for a polluted mind; violence in any form damages the doer of the violence (and the thinker of the violence), and until we rid ourselves of violent intention we are not in control of our minds, let alone our lives. It is a deep practice to rid oneself of the intention to harm.

Also in the broadest possible terms, I’ll suggest that one way to apply ahimsa to our lives right here and now (how to live ahimsa) is to observe intention. Ahimsa is lack of violent intention in word, thought, and deed. Some people have suggested that to practice ahimsa, we can practice observing ourselves on the grosser level first and proceed to the subtler levels. In other words, we can first dedicate ourselves to abstaining from violent actions; then once we can keep from, say, punching someone in the face, we can progress to the perhaps more difficult observation and control of our emotional states. Then we move on to subtler levels of thought and even the seeds of violence in thought, and purge them, too.

In my experience, working with intention simplifies the practice of ahimsa. If I am watchful of my intentions in every situation, I find that my emotional states and actions tend to follow along. It is an easy guideline to follow. I do not need to worry about “word, thought, and deed.” I need only concern myself with lack of intention to harm, and word, thought, and deed follow my lead. Of course, they also follow my lead when I lose awareness, and intend violence. If a violent thought (or act) gets control of me before I can catch it, I can act (think) pretty stupidly pretty quickly!

Ahimsa sounds easy to me (some people even say it sounds weak, but they’re crazy!). I guess it is easy, but on another level it is not easy at all. Not easy for conditioned beings with conditioned minds quick to competition, anger, and distraction! Observe intention? Maintain the absence of intention to harm? It’s incredibly powerful, this force of choice and intention that creates our life. We have the power, everything within ourselves, to decide the force and direction of our lives, of our world. Pretty amazing.

Art is a catalyst, an impetus to remember. Art can remind us.

Here is another video I would put up on my nonviolence blog at work, if I could. I believe we all understand what “Be the Change” means inherently, because we understand the connection between cause and effect. We don’t need reasons, we don’t need convincing to know that the statement has validity. By sharing the quote, in verse, in song, on a t-shirt, a bumper sticker, wherever, we are saying to each other, “Yes, I understand, and so do you. We are makers of our own reality. We have the power to change the world, by changing ourselves. I am a member of that understanding, that movement. I know you are, too. I recognize You in Me.”

Music. Can be an expression of nonviolence, a teacher of nonviolence, an inspiration, a reflection, a call to union, a lone voice expanding through the energy of the universe, shared and therefore not lost, shared and yet therefore adding energy of love and refusing to add to the energy of violence. I don’t agree that music is merely symbolic. It is our common human language. I won’t say nonviolence cannot be taught through song.

A quote follows from James Connolly, a quote that towers over the revelers and performers each week at the Starry Plough (friendly neighborhood revolutionarily-spirited Irish pub), most notably over the heads of the fiddlers and drummers each Sunday. You’ll find it just on the outskirts of the Berkeley Bubble and loud enough to be heard all the way to Oakland:

“No revolutionary movement is complete without its poetic expression. If such a movement has caught hold of the imagination of the masses, they will seek a vent in song for the aspirations, fears and hopes, the loves and hatreds engendered by the struggle.

“Until the movement is marked by the joyous, defiant singing of revolutionary songs, it lacks one of the most discinctive marks of a popular revoutionary movement; it is the dogma of the few and not the faith of the multitude.” — 1907

Peace to those who want reasons. Peace to those who don’t need them. Peace to those who convince and would be convinced. Peace to those who dance in the name of nonviolence. Peace to the little girl who gets it. Peace to the old man who does not, and wishes, with all of his being, that he could.

Now that you’ve watched it, what do you think?

I could explain to you why I think this is a representation of nonviolence. Perhaps I will in another post. Right now I will trust you to see what I see, and use the video as a tool as an example of how difficult it can be to ‘define’ nonviolence.

Let me tell you, we briefly discussed this video among ourselves at the ‘nonviolence-focused organization’ where I work, and whether it would be good to put up on our blog. Not only could we not agree whether to put it up, we couldn’t agree whether it represented nonviolence at all, whether it was too symbolic or sentimental, whether it was professional or clear enough, what the moment of transormation was…if there was a moment of transformation at all…etc….etc….

I’m putting it up here as a toast to those gray areas. I say, if we don’t know the answer, we can sure bet there are others who are also confused. Let’s use media like this as discussion fodder so that we can feel this out together, and hopefully all come out with a bit more clarity. So here it is in my blog.

Now if that wasn’t controversial enough, here’s stepping it up:

Using the example of Gandhi, Krishnamurti pointed out that forcing others to do what one wanted even by the presumably peaceful means of fasting, was still violent. Fasting for political reasons was violence.

(I would add that fasting can also be violence to the body.)

I don’t put this in as a critique of Gandhi. I am not enough a student of Gandhi to know the deeper and greater context that this example once existed within. However, I do agree with it. I feel violent, in some sense of the word, when I manipulate people through my actions.

Perhaps Gandhi here was acting as an instrument, and not as a manipulator. Perhaps his action was meant to inspire fear in the hearts of his followers (“Gandhi might die if we don’t act!”), so that they would take action on their own behalf. But I would not do what he did.

Perhaps for Gandhi his act was not an act of manipulation, but a spiritual practice. It is well known that Gandhi put himself and his body in seemingly precarious situations in order to test himself, and maybe his fast was simply what he had to do for himself. It is sometimes said that we overcome the fear of something by becoming acquainted with the very thing you fear. It has also been said that if you fear, you have not yet reached liberation. Was the fast a step toward Gandhi’s liberation?

Of course. Thomas Merton has already said that “all the political acts of Gandhi were…at the same time spiritual and religious acts in fulfillment of the Hindu dharma.” What is inner, and what is outer? And who is to say where the seed of nonviolence lies in each of our lives?

These are the kinds of gray areas that we human beings get ourselves into when we try to analyze the actions of others and develop theories based on those actions. In a field like nonviolence, there are so many more gray areas than, say, lawnmower mechanics, and a lot more to argue about. I am tired of arguing.

But I do love experiments in nonviolence (putting this video up here is itself an experiment in nonviolence). Just because it’s difficult to define, doesn’t mean that we should abandon it. Love is difficult to define, as well, and I don’t imagine we’ll be abandoning that any time soon. Indeed, I would argue that nonviolence isn’t something that can be ultimately defined, but rather, that it is something that can only be felt.

Perhaps you can feel it in a hug?

I’m here on my own blog, so that I can play with my own ideas. There are things about nonviolence that I have questions about, sometimes things I don’t resonate with. But that is part of the human experience — recognizing yourself in some things and not in others, and watching what happens if you follow the recognition — or you don’t. So as I talk about nonviolence here, I don’t want to say, “here’s what I don’t like, and here’s why.” Instead, I just want to say, when necessary, “here’s what I do like; here is something that might work better.”

The pilot who hopes to survive must tend, not to the air on the other side of the planet, but to the air that immediately surrounds his craft. Following this metaphor, I see my life is a little airplane and my path needs be concerned with the air around me. This feels natural to me, and it is where I can touch nonviolence authentically — from the standpoint of the inner journey. I am not screaming for peace. I am not crying out for peace. I am just listening for the humanity inside me. Peace is just a word, words are just words. I couldn’t feel different about this if I tried. And why would I try to not scream, to not cry out, when my spirit tells me to just be?

I feel pain when the smallest being is destroyed, when the smallest insect is killed, when the smallest plant is trampled. I feel empathy with the universe. Why should I spend energy talking about this all the time, about what to do to save the world, when I merely need to open my door to feel suffering and to offer my hand in relief? Why should I spend even a moment trying to convince another of my right and wrong when I can spend that moment feeling life and attempting to respond? Why shall I not just live?

Krishnamurti said, “One can talk endlessly about what the teachings are, explain, interpret, compare and evaluate, but all this becomes superficial and really meaningless if one is not actually living them.” This, for me, is really it. If I am living what I know to be nonviolence, there is no need for me to talk about it. I start from there.

So to jump back into that chicken-and-the-egg argument about the real and proper form of nonviolence, here’s another quote from Madame Peace Pilgrim. “On one hand, people have found inner peace by losing themselves in a cause larger than themselves, like the cause of world peace, because finding inner peace means coming from the self-centered life into the life centered in the good of the whole. On the other hand, one of the ways of working for world peace is to work for more inner peace, because world peace will never be stable until enough of us find inner peace to stabilize it.”

I see myself reflected in the second part of the quote. I believe that other people, other people I share the work with, perhaps, that might resonate more with the first sentence. We can all find ourselves in both aspects, I imagine. What is important in this blog is to know what is mine, so that I can be true to who I am and contribute honestly to the work. I am not interested in working for World Peace, becase that is not my calling. But I can get behind the nonviolence that I feel, unbounded, and I can also participate in other aspects that are not contrary to it.

If I cannot make my vision of nonviolence and my work fit together seamlessly, then I will live nonviolence in other ways, including living it in relationship with people that I live and work with. I will not waste time trying to get my understanding to fit with other people’s understanding of nonviolence!

Peace Pilgrim said, “there is no greater block to world peace, or to inner peace, than fear.” So the thing is, whether we are working for world peace, or for inner peace, the energy that we need to overcome is the energy of fear. It seems that we cannot decide among outselves, us various people that are working in the name of nonviolence, on what nonviolence should be. Should it be a strategy for world peace? Should it be a transformation from within each individual? I would argue that is a debate that will never be resolved, or at least, that it is a waste of good, healthy energy to try.

Let us then, if we cannot agree whether we should be strategizing for world peace or turning inward to cultivate inner peace…let us then turn our energies to transforming fear where it lies, and in that we can be united. Right?

One of the explanations I have been taught for nonviolence is this: when tempted into the fight or flight response, do not fight, and do not fly. Instead, feel that energy that is rushing through you. That energy is fear. Instead of running from it or allowing it to take you over, step into it and use that energy for positive action. When you do, you transform yourself, you transform the fear, and you transform the situation.

The great thing about this definition is that it does not have to be left to die as a philosophical argument. It can be tried and tested. And each person can decide for him or herself if it works. I have found that it does work.

Here’s another quote from Peace Pilgrim, an answer to someone who asked her if she believed we needed to have a military: “I would say to the military: yes, we need to be defended; yes, we need you. The Air Force can clean up the air, the Marines can take care of the despoiled forests, the Navy can clean the oceans, the Coast Guard can take care of the rivers, and the Army can be used to build adequate drainage projects to prevent disastrous floods, and other such benefits for mankind.”

Peace Pilgrim does not say anything here about nonviolence. But what she is talking about is very much the transformation of fear. The existence of the military is existence in service of fear. It exists to defend, and defense is a reaction of fear. What if we took that fear energy and transformed it into beneficial action?