Adhyatma Yoga - The Yoga of the highest Self

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Adhyatma Yoga - The Yoga of the highest Self

(From Self-Knowledge Autumn 1988, and reprinted in

What Yoga has to Offer published by Shanti Sadan)

 

The great philosopher Shri Shankara defines the word Adhyatma

as 'that which is at first known as the soul in the body, but which,

in the end, is found to be identical with the supreme Reality -

God'. The word 'Yoga' means a 'yoke', not in the sense of something

which restrains, but which joins. Adhyatma Yoga is a metaphysical

Yoga, having as its goal the realization of man's identity with God

or Truth. In the traditional Yogas, there is no training given in

occult or psychic practices, for the goal is always a spiritual one.

In fact, a true Yoga may be said to be a science which teaches the

way of approach, or rather of return, to God.

 

There are many paths by which a man may return to God. Some take the

path of knowledge, some of devotion and others of disciplined and

selfless action, and there are Yogas which deal with each of these

paths. Adhyatma Yoga gives training in the three paths of devotion,

action or service, and knowledge. According to its teachings, the

pupil must aim to become proficient in all three, and it is

considered important that during his training at least, he should

look on them all with an equal eye.

 

In the Bhagavad Gita, which is a mine of wisdom about Yoga, it is

said that Yoga teaches inner equilibrium - that is, perfect co-

ordination between the Spirit and the instruments. In this balance

lies the secret of right and constructive action and it can only be

attained when the disciple has learnt to live as a guest in his mind

and body, so to say, and does not allow himself to be imprisoned in

them and subject to their fluctuations. This is a very difficult

thing to achieve, but it is an important aspect of the teaching,

inasmuch as it paves the way to detachment and gives freedom from

the burden of likes and dislikes.

 

In this Yoga, the outer life of action and the inner state of

meditation are looked on as interdependent. The quality of

meditation which lasts one hour is largely determined by the quality

of the life one lives when not in meditation. Conversely, the daily

life will not be vital and constructive unless it is fed and based

on meditation and communion with God. A modern Rishi has said: 'It

is foolishness to bar your doors and windows against the ravaging

thief for one hour, and to leave them open for twenty-three. You

will surely lose your treasure.'

 

In order to live constructively, a man must bring the same qualities

to bear on his active life as he brings to his meditation and study.

What qualities must he try to cultivate if he is to gain the mastery

over both worlds in the end? To begin with, two fundamental ones,

the second growing out of the first: desire and devotion. Somehow or

other he has got to awaken an ardent and sustained desire to know,

to experience, and to transcend his work-a-day self. If he can

awaken this desire, devotion will come of its own accord. This is

the fire which cooks the meal; without it, all the virtues will

remain tasteless and useless. This desire is really present in man

from the beginning; it is evidence of his divine nature, but while

he is in the elementary stage of development, it manifests as the

instinctive urge to expand materially, to acquire possessions,

wealth and fame, and to experience all the worldly pleasures. The

first evidence of inner growth comes, when, as a result of repeated

diappointments and painful experiences, this urge ceases to be

instinctive, and becomes a conscious decision to make inner instead

of outer explorations.

 

Once he has reached this stage, let the man seek association with

the spiritually mature, or at least, with those who are more

advanced in the search than he is. Saint Augustine says that 'one

loving spirit sets another on fire', and it is very true. If he

cannot have association with spiritual men, then let him read the

words of the saints and think over their lives, for the mind takes

on the colour of what it thinks upon, and in time, its rhythm

changes also.

 

Dr Shastri used to say that man has two ways of learning open to

him. One is to be taught slowly, by nature, and the other is to be

taught quickly by the saints, teachers, and scriptures. When the

Truth or spiritual knowledge is given by the teachers, it is not

imparted by the tongue; it passes most secretly and swiftly, and its

reception is attended by great inner changes. Indeed, only by

results is its presence made known. The fact that the Truth has been

grasped by the mind, is no evidence that it has been received into

the inner being. In the Chandogya Upanishad, a teacher, speaking of

this passing of knowledge and the transformation it effects,

says: 'If you were to impart this to a dry stick, branches would

grow and leaves spring from it.'

 

Once the desire and enthusiasm for knowledge has been awakened and

the man is actively seeking out those who know, one may almost say

that they will seek him out, and when the two sides meet, the

transference will begin; drop by drop at first, and then in a steady

stream. Discipline and fixity of purpose will help him at this

stage, for discipline can develop most things. Discipline is a word

much disliked and out of fashion today, for it suggests restraint

and involves obedience. In reality, discipline is not coercion; it

is the passing of a technique by one who recognizes that authority

and is obedient to it. This recognition must be present, otherwise

discipline is Dead Sea fruit.

 

There are certain other qualities which the teachers of all

spiritual schools have considered to be essential in a pupil before

he may receive the higher teachings. Our teacher gave first place to

complete harmlessness in thought, word and deed. This attitude

springs from recognition of the spiritual law of the universality of

consciousness, which lays down that one Spirit pervades the whole

creation. Consequently, all living bcings, having this Spirit as

their substratum, are interconnected. Man is not an independent unit

and what he does will affect not only himself, but will have a

universal significance. Before he has achieved a partial recognition

of this truth, even spiritual power can be a source of danger in his

hands.

 

After harmlessness and the desire and enthusiasm to know, there must

be patient cultivation of reverence and devotion. Reverence opens

man's shut doors. The true artist, the scientist and the saint, all

reverence the object of their search, and as reverence increases,

the taint of egoity decreases, and the transmission of beauty and

knowledge is made more possible. In the great Persian classic, the

Mathnavi, it says: 'Dost thou know why the mirror of thy soul

reflects nothing? It is because the rust is not cleared from its

face.' The rust is egoity. 'How should a rock be covered with

verdure by the Spring? Become earth, that thou mayest grow flowers

of many a hue. For years thou hast been a heart-jagging rock. Once,

for the sake of experiment, be earth.'

 

Reverence precedes devotion and will produce it. Our teacher has

said that both reverence and devotion can be consciously cultivated

like any other qualities. Many say: 'Oh! I have no devotion, so

these things are not for me.' But in this Yoga devotion is not

synonymous with emotion; it is recognized to be that which causes

you to bring the mind again and again to the target, and love, when

it is born, manifests to the yogi as a recognition of basic unity

with the thing sought. If you learn to reverence and recognize the

essence of anyone, or anything for that matter, you will come to

love its form in the end. Thus, unless the essence of the Vedanta is

sensed and reverenced, you will never achieve a living relationship

with its outer structure.

 

To love a physical form, you do not need to be an expert anatomist,

nor do you need to be a philosopher or a logician to love the

fundamental tenets of Adhyatma Yoga. What you do need is a selfless

and devoted attention and a willingness to be transformed by the

object of your attention. In one of his works, Saint Augustine puts

these words into the mouth of the Lord: 'I am the food of the full-

grown. Grow, and then thou shalt feed on Me, nor shalt thou change

Me into thy substance as thou changest the food to thy flesh, but

thou shalt be changed into Mine.'

 

Harmlessness, a sense of urgency to know, the cultivation or

reverence and devotion, and only after all these have been achieved

comes open-handed giving of the fruits of experience and research to

anyone who is in need of them. In order to give - to do what is

called 'good' - one must have a surplus out of which to give. 'No

burdened one shall bear another's burden', says Rumi, the author of

the Mathnavi, and surely the criticism of egoism and selfishness

which is levelled against those who undertake a spirituat training,

to rid themselves and others of their burdens, is unfair. Spiritual

wealth has to be amassed like any other wealth and should be freely

shared when obtained; but a bankrupt cannot be a giver.

 

This is, in broad outline, the inner discipline of this Yoga or of

any other spiritual school. What is the purpose of it all? That a

man shall cease to be a slave of circumstance and become master of

himself and live according to the divine principle within him, which

will only reveal itself when he has acquired a pure enough vision -

that is the purpose. The Lord does not need any assistance from us

in order to permeate our being, but man must refine his senses if he

is to become aware of this communication and this is the purpose of

the yogic training. Music is permeating the atmosphere all the time,

but the would-be listener will only hear it if he manipulates his

wireless - the mind.

 

In order to live a dedicated life you do not need to retire from the

world, but you do need to live a retired life, by which I mean, an

unattached life. Retirement is a question for the mind, not the

body. It has always been the hallmark of the great Adhyatma yogis

that they can live and work in the world concealing their spiritual

eminence from all except their equals and their personal disciples.

Shri Dadaji, the Guru of our teacher, was a railway official, and

his fellow-workers simply knew him as a good man; only his disciples

knew him for what he was - an illumined man.

 

Now a brief explanation of the teachings of this Yoga on the mind

and its powers. We are told that man is born a builder. He must act

and therefore he must build, and he will either build an invisible

temple or he will build fetters for himself. It has been said that

the craving for expansion was implanted in his heart in order that

that which is within him might come into view, and so it is. He

reproduces his inner activity, his thoughts and his desires in an

outer form. If he fills his mind with cinema sins, he will

inevitably become as artificial as they are, and if he thinks with

imagination and identification on the lives of the great saints and

sages, his life will become creative and change its rhythm. It is of

course a platitude to say that thought is a most powerful and

creative force, but one of the definitions of a platitude is that it

is a statement which has been made so often, that the truth

contained in it has been forgotten. Here are some words from the

Mathnavi on the power of thought which are more compelling than any

platitude:

 

When you see that from a thought, every craft in the world arises

and subsists; that houses, palaces and cities, mountains and plains

and rivers, earth and ocean, as well as the sun and sky, derive

their life from it as fishes from the sea - then why in your

foolishness, O blind one, does the body seem to you a Solomon, and

thought only an ant? To your eyes the mountains appear great. To you

thought is like a mouse, and the mountain like a wolf. The material

world in your eyes is awful and sublime, you tremble and are

frightened at the clouds, the thunder and the sky; while, in regard

to the world of Thought, O lower than an ass, you are as secure and

indifferent as a witless stone. From ignorance you deem the shadow

to be the substance, hence to you the substance has become a

plaything and of slight account. Wait till the day when that thought

unfolds its wings without any veil. You will see neither the sky nor

the stars, nor any existence but God - the One, the Living, the

Loving.

 

The control and direction of thought, and therefore of action,

results in what can be called 'introspective living', that is, a

life which is based on the inner spiritual law. To live consciously

is to have a sense of direction, a direction towards a goal. In Yoga

this goal is liberation - liberation from the mortal nature and a

recognition of the divine nature, and entrance into it. This

conception is not purely an Eastern ideal; it is found in some

Western mystics as well. Meister Eckhart in one of his Sermons,

makes the Lord say: 'I became a man for you; if you do not become

God for me, you do me wrong.' 'To become God' - this is the purpose

for which man comes into the world, and he must fulfil that purpose.

 

The Yoga gives many practices which will hasten this end. It is

recommended, for instance, that in order to free himself from the

trammels of the world, a man should regard himself as a pilgrim

throughout his life. A pilgrim sleeps, cooks his food, talks with

his fellow pilgrims, but his heart is always set on his objective.

Chaucer's pilgrims entertained each other with tales, but their real

passion was Canterbury. So the yogi is taught to live among his

fellows, mutually giving and receiving assistance, enjoying what

comes, but using everything and every action he performs to help him

towards his longed-for goal. The true pilgrim is a lesson in

detachment and purpose, and so is the true yogi.

 

In order to become detached from anything, the mind, which is ever

seeking expansion and fulfilment, must be convinced that it can

obtain greater satisfaction from another source. Perfection is

attained through a series of self-disgusts, therefore at the outset

we do violence to ourselves, in the sense that we restrain the mind

and the emotions from their instinctive play, and bring them to bear

on those things which are of good report. To read about the

spiritually great ones of the earth and to ponder on their lives,

accustoms the heart to bear their finer rhythm, and reproduces in us

the light with which their hearts were filled. In this way the focus

is shifted and changes are brought about, which many think can only

be produced by time and austerity. In one of the Upanishads it

describes a disciple who has undertaken such a training:

 

Having settled down [meaning, having made his choice] let him study

the Truth, and sacrifice for the Truth. Henceforth he becomes

another, his fetters are cut asunder, he knows no expectation, no

fear from others, as little from himself.

 

When you think of the postures, incantations and practices of some

Yogas, such a discipline seems almost too simple; but this is a

delusion, I can assure you!

 

A true teacher does not give information to his disciple; he effects

a transformation in him, but only after that disciple has embraced

the traditional discipline, and thus purified himself. When he first

comes before his teacher, the world seems very real to him, and God,

or Brahman only a name, a conception to which he clings in times of

danger, or when there is something desirable to be obtained. When

the teacher has finished with him, the position is reversed. The

world now seems to be an appearance, a name, and God alone the

reality. About such a transformation, Saint Augustine says: 'If you

have received well, you are that which you have received.' In order

to 'receive well', all pre-conceived notions of what is to be

received, of how the teachings will be given and of what constitutes

teaching will have to be abandoned. 'Come what may' is the

watchword, and 'I will trust Thee even if Thou slayest me', the cry

of the true disciple.

 

There is an old story which tells how a teacher and his disciple

were on pilgrimage, and in the heat of the day they sat down in the

shade to rest. Soon the disciple fell asleep with his head in the

lap of the teacher. While he was sleeping peacefully, the teacher

saw a large and poisonous snake approaching and prepacing to attack

his sleeping pupil. He begged the snake to show mercy and the snake,

as is the custom in legends, understood his words and promised

faithfully to depart, if he could have a drop of the pupil's blood,

drawn from the throat. Quickly the teacher drew his knife and poised

it over the throat of his disciple. At this moment, the boy opened

his eyes and saw his teacher with the knife pointed at his throat.

Looking at him with love and trust, the disciple smiled, closed his

eyes and fell asleep again, and the snake departed, having received

its toll of blood.

 

In the Ramayana, which is a great spiritual epic, a devotee named

Hanuman, addresses his Lord and Master, the great avatar Rama,

thus: 'O Lord, when I think of myself as the body, I am thy servant;

when I think of myself as an individual soul, I am a spark of thy

fire; when I think of my real nature, I am one with thee, I am even

as thou art.'

 

In this short speech are set out three main stages on the spiritual

path. They are three states of awareness, three aspects of the yogic

life. First: 'When I think of myself as the body, I am thy servant'.

The disciple sees himself as an apparently free unit, an independent

body, but since he has already entered on the spiritual quest and it

is his discipline to serve, he serves with that body. Next, he

realizes that he is not independent, but a spark of the divine fire,

an emanation from a Source, dependent on that Source and impelled by

it, and, as that spark, he says he will burn and shine. Lastly he

knows, by direct experience, that he is one with that Source, that

he himself is the Source of all light, and as that Light he will

cease doing, he will simply be. The first two states are

preparations for the third. In fact, Yoga is the preparation made by

man to enable him to reach this state of certainty. When it is

reached, then Yoga is laid aside, for all systems have been

transcended, I and the man has become what is known as a jivanmukta,

one who has realized his Godhead in this very life - one whose

highest activity is now being, not doing.

 

When the disciple has reached his goal, how does he live? Does he

cut himself off from the world and retire into a cave to meditate?

In the tradition of Adhyatma Yoga, these enlightened ones become as

torches in the darkness to light their fellow men. Shri Shankara

travelled all over India, teaching, dictating his commentaries and

founding the great monasteries in the four corners of India. Shri

Dada, Swami Mangalnath, Swami Nirbhyananda - all modern jivanmuktas

of this Yoga - worked and taught until they passed from this world.

In the words of a Zen text: 'None knows of their inner life; they go

into the market place and consort with winebibbers and butchers, and

light the light under which all become Buddhas.'

 

Many think that the supreme consummation of life is union with the

Lord Incarnate as Rama, Krishna or Christ or with a saint of God.

This may be the consummation of experience, but the true

consummation is other than this. It is a direct knowledge that there

is no power outside yourself with whom to unite, that there is only

One without a second, no other, and that 'That Thou Art'.

 

Some imagine - perhaps one should say, fear - that when this stage

is reached - a state where all individual progress is at an end and

fulfilment has produced inner stillness and waveless consciousness -

man enters a void, and that what is known in the Buddhist scriptures

as nirvana, and in this Yoga as nirvikalpa samadhi, is in fact a

nothingness. One can be certain that this state would never have

been called 'the highest state' if it were a void, a vacuum, or a

nullity. The illumined sages have testified that it is a fullness

and a fulfilment.

 

The supreme Consciousness ever pervades all, and is the support of

all multiplicity and unity, being and becoming. The apparent

emptiness is in fact fullness, and forms the ground for the play of

the world-drama, maya. The teachings of Vedanta affirm that this

seeming emptiness is the hub of the three worlds and the cause of

their fascination and power. Here description and words must end,

for this state is hidden from our reason and the senses. Still, the

Great Ones, who have realized it, are compassionate, and try to give

some indication of its nature through stories and symbols. In the

Chandogya Upanishad a Guru is trying to reveal to his disciple the

fact of this supreme state. He tells his pupil to fetch him a fruit

from the nyagrodha tree. When the boy has brought the fruit, he is

asked what he sees within it. He answers that he sees extremely fine

seeds. He is then told to break one of these and describe what he

finds within. 'I find nothing at all, Venerable Sir.' The teacher

says: 'My dear, that subtle essence which you do not perceive,

verily, my dear, by reason of that very essence does this great

nyagrodha tree exist. Believe me, my dear, that which is the subtle

essence, in it the whole world has its Self. That is the true; That

is the Self, and That thou art, O Shvetaketu!'

 

In the West they also use symbols to describe the

indescribable. 'There is in God (some say) a deep, but dazzling

darkness', writes Henry Vaughan, and that mystic who is called

Dionysius the Areopagite talks of the 'radiance of the divine

darkness' and says: 'We pray that we may come into that darkness

which is beyond light; and that we may see and know, without seeing

and knowing, that which is beyond vision and knowledge.'

 

Reason turns away here, but at the point of contact in the high

samadhi, or at the moment of grace, the soul of man intuitively

recognizes that the end of its quest has come, and knowing this One-

without-a-second to be its own Self, in that moment loses its

finitude in identity.

 

Adhyatma Yoga - The Yoga of the highest Self

http://www.self-knowledge.org/key/yoga.htm