Category: Patanjali

The Yoga Sutras

7/13/2025

The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali are one of the most important and widely studied texts in the yoga tradition. They offer timeless guidance on the philosophy and practice of yoga — far beyond just the physical poses.

The text is attributed to Sage Patanjali, who is believed to have lived sometime between 200 BCE and 400 CE. Very little is known about Patanjali himself, but his work has profoundly shaped how yoga is understood and practiced today.

A sutra means “thread” in Sanskrit — each one is like a short, concentrated teaching meant to be remembered and reflected upon. There are 196 sutras in total.

The Yoga Sutras are divided into four chapters, called Padas:

Samadhi Pada — On the state of meditative absorption
Sadhana Pada — On the practice and discipline (includes the 8 limbs of yoga)
Vibhuti Pada — On the powers or special attainments that can arise
Kaivalya Pada — On liberation and ultimate freedom

The Yoga Sutras provide a clear map for living a more mindful, steady, and liberated life. They remind us that yoga is much more than poses — it’s about calming the fluctuations of the mind so we can experience our true nature.

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Now

7/13/2025

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The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali are written in such a way that each word has a lot of weight. Each aphorism is brief but loaded with meaning. The first sutra is only three words:

“Atha Yoga Anushasanam.”
(Pronunciation: AH-tah YO-gah AH-nu-SHAH-suh-nuhm)
Atha = Now
Yoga = Union
Anu = according to
Shasanam = discipline, teachings

Translated simply, it means:
“Now, the practice of yoga begins.”

This single line sets the tone for the entire path of yoga. Atha means “now” — an invocation that calls us into the present moment. Yoga isn’t something that only happens on the mat or when conditions are perfect. It happens now, when you choose to show up with awareness.

Anushasanam means “discipline,” “guidance,” or “teaching.” It reminds us that yoga is both a practice and a commitment — one that asks for our steady effort, patience, and presence.

Each time you step onto your mat, you embody Sutra 1.1. You might say to yourself: “Now I begin again.”

When your mind wanders in meditation, you come back.
When you fall out of balance, you try again.
When you catch yourself caught in old habits, you choose a new response.

This is yoga — a practice of remembering that each breath is an invitation to start fresh.

Try This: Atha in Daily Life
Pause for just a moment right now. Feel your feet on the ground. Sit up tall. Notice your breath. Invite yourself fully into this moment.

Whenever you feel scattered or stuck, you can whisper: “Atha.” Now is the time to begin again.

A Reflection
“Yoga is the journey of the self, through the self, to the Self.” — Bhagavad Gita.

As you move through your next practice, ask yourself: What does it mean for me to be here now?

Let this simple sutra remind you that you don’t need to wait for a perfect moment — your life is always ready for you to step in, breathe, and begin.

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Sex and Drugs and Brahmacharya

6/8/2013

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I love cookies. They have power over me, and I have difficulty practicing moderation when cookies are nearby. I gave up most of my other vices years ago. I haven’t had a cup of coffee in almost 10 years. Haven’t had a cigarette in more than 20. But cookies still have their magical hold on me. And my daughter recently baked the most incredible, crunchy on the sea-salt-sprinkled outside, chewy on the dark-chocolate-morseled inside batch of chocolate chip cookies I have ever tasted. Ever. And my mother baked a mean cookie.

If Patanjali, the ancient sage credited with writing the Yoga Sutras, saw this blog post, he would undoubtedly roll his third eye. He would wonder why on earth I was writing about cookies in a post about Brahmacharya. Brahmacharya, in its original form, suggested a practice of celibacy.

Consider the time period in which the Yoga Sutras were written. Depending on your source, they were written in 400 BCE or 200 BCE or 200 AD. The scholars don’t all agree on the exact date or even the exact author, but it’s safe to say they were written a really long time ago. Life on this planet was not much like it is now. Plus, they were written in another country on another continent and steeped in a different culture than the one you may live in. Imagine yourself as an ancient yogi, having given up all of your worldly possessions to devote your life to yoga. Imagine living in a cave with the clothes on your back and just enough food to survive. You would spend all of your time meditating, chanting, practicing and teaching yoga. Your practice of Brahmacharya would literally mean a life of celibacy, such as the life of a Catholic priest.

The typical modern yogi is not interested in celibacy. In my years of practice, I’ve never heard of anyone actually practicing celibacy (on purpose) as part of their practice. I have vague memories of reading about the rare person who takes the vow, and I have heard through the yogi grapevine that there are some Yoga Teacher Training programs that require their students to abstain during their training. I can’t help but wonder how that plays out.

For most contemporary yoga practitioners, Brahmacharya is taught and practiced more as a practice of moderation. As in, save your energy for the things that really matter. If you are lucky enough to have figured out your Dharma (your life purpose – more on this another day), you will want to conserve as much of your physical, mental, and emotional energy as possible to pursue that Dharma. Don’t use your energy for things that simply waste your time. Consider some of the distractions we use that take us off course on a daily basis:

Screens – this includes ALL of your devices with screens, such as TV, computer, cell phone, iPad or other tablet, etc. I love connecting with people on Facebook and laughing at Modern Family or Big Bang Theory as much as the next person, but sometimes I look up and realize hours have gone by. Hours that could have been better spent elsewhere – with my family, in the yard, outside walking or hiking, reading, writing, or practicing yoga!

Socializing – There’s nothing wrong with socializing; in fact, it’s wonderful. But like anything else, if you overdo it, it can take away from more important pursuits.

Sex—I can’t have a blog post on Brahmacharya and leave it out. I believe you can have a healthy sex life and still practice Brahmacharya. Put the focus on healthy! A healthy sex life is one in which your desires do not overpower your thoughts. Consider fidelity, promiscuity, respect for self and others.

Cookies (or cake or drugs or alcohol or nicotine or caffeine or insert your vice here)—I read once that Stephen King savors a cigarette each time he completes a novel. Once a regular smoker, he has found a way to enjoy the rare cigarette while still enjoying good health.

The bottom line is moderation--enjoying all of the pleasures of life in moderation. When a craving or habit is unmanageable and out of control, we are no longer practicing Brahmacharya. The desires or cravings are running the show. We can’t have that.

Take the reins or the steering wheel or any other metaphor you like. Make mindful choices about how you spend your time and energy. That qualifies as a modern yogi’s practice of Brahmacharya.

Coming back to my vice. I suspect my cookie addiction will be with me for as long as I draw breath. I strive for moderation. Sometimes I succeed, and sometimes I fail. I am human, and that is okay.

If you would like to sample the amazingness of the cookies that inspired this post, in moderation of course, the recipe came from the NY Times. After a quick Google search, I realize I may be the only person on the planet who was not already familiar with them.

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Lessons from my mother and my yogurt

6/4/2013

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My mother died two years ago. There will never be another person who loves me so completely and unconditionally, worries about me constantly, and provides the virtual blanket of security that only a mother can offer. My mother was, among a million other things, my first teacher.

She was proud of me, and she believed in me, even when I failed miserably. She didn’t judge me or scold me when I wasted a lot of money, unable to successfully transition from high school (achiever) to (lost and reckless) college freshman. When I was hopeless and depressed and felt like a big fat failure, she believed I would persevere, and I did, buoyed by her quiet support. She was proud of me a zillion times, including when I became a yoga teacher. She witnessed several of my graduations, even—eventually—a college graduation. And then, later, even though she never stopped calling it “yogurt,” (as in, “how was your yogurt class today?”) she was just as proud of my graduation from Yoga Teacher Training. I corrected this pronunciation error many times, but eventually gave up, realizing that I would actually be disappointed if she got it right. I don’t think she had a really clear idea what yoga was all about, but she saw that it made me whole and happy, and that was enough.

When she was not proud of me, when she was clearly disappointed, I felt deep, soul-darkening shame.

Like most mothers, she was my barometer of right and wrong. I remember a grocery shopping trip with her when I was very young, maybe four or five. She had allowed me the luxury of purchasing a cardboard backed, molded plastic covered assortment of varying-degrees-of-tiny little naked dolls. I can remember these dolls as part of a favorite game. My brother would hide them around the living room-- on the knobs to the television, on a bookshelf, behind a coaster on a side table. I found immense pleasure in running around the room locating all of my little naked babies.

We were at the Victory Market in Chittenango, an institution that’s been gone as long as my childhood. I grabbed a pack of gum from the conveniently located treasure trove in the check-out line, while she was busy putting groceries on the belt. I don’t remember why I chose not to ask if I could have it or if I even knew that I was stealing. When we got home, she discovered the larceny, and she put me right back in the car to make amends. I had to tell the store manager what I had done, and she paid for the gum. I lost the privilege of owning the gum and, more upsetting, the naked babies. I was crushed and ashamed.

I don’t remember a lot of details from childhood. I don’t remember a lot of details in general. I tend to remember things in terms of feelings and perceptions. But I remember feeling ashamed, because my mother was ashamed of me. It certainly wasn’t the last time she taught me right from wrong, but it’s the first time that I can clearly remember.

As practitioners of yoga, we study Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. We learn of the eight limbs of yoga. We aspire to practice, along with the other six limbs (to be savored in future posts), the Yamas and Niyamas, a list of guidelines for leading a yogic lifestyle of awareness and principle.

The Yamas are five practices of restraint.

Ahimsa is non-violence, the practice of not harming yourself or anyone else.

Satya is truthfulness.

Asteya, the big one in this story, is not stealing.

Brahmacharya is sexual abstinence or, in a more contemporary sense, balance and moderation.

Aparigraha is non-hoarding or non-coveting behavior.

The Niyamas describe five self-observances.

Saucha is purity.

Santosha is contentment with who you are and what you have.

Tapas is discipline and austerity.

Svadhyaya is self-study of life, behavior, patterns, or spiritual texts to promote understanding.

Isvara-pranidhana is surrender to a higher power.

If you are blessed, you learn about right and wrong from the people in charge of raising you. You may learn some from your religious or civic leaders, teachers and friends and role models of all sorts. No matter what form it comes in, the basic tenets of right and wrong seem to all boil down to the same things.

I am constantly reminded of my mother’s teachings. She never practiced yoga in her life, but she and my father lived a more yogic lifestyle than most people I know. I will revisit each of these ideals in future posts, as I move through them in life or in classes.

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The Yoga Sutras

Now

Sex and Drugs and Brahmacharya

Lessons from my mother and my yogurt

Dena D. Beratta

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