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| Withdrawal of the Senses |
My father used to tell a story about a man who claimed to be an expert at meditation, yoga or
whatever. As I recall the tale, this fellow said that he could remain in a state of deep meditation
for one hour. An acquaintance challenged the ability of the trance champion, and asked that he
prove his assertion. The man agreed.
He went through the steps that he had explained, sitting in the Lotus pose, taking a number of
deep breaths and closing his eyes.
The challenger had agreed to time the length of this event. After the man had been sitting in
apparent deep contemplation for one minute, the other fellow announced, "Time's up."
The man opened his eyes and expressed mild surprise that an hour had passed so quickly. At this,
the other fellow told him that he was a phony. Had he really been in some deep meditation, he
said, he would not have heard the words, "Time's up." He must have been faking it.
Withdrawal of the senses is indeed the fifth limb of Raja Yoga. Patanjali offers two aphorisms
concerning this:
These verses do not imply that we are to enter some kind of unconscious state in which our senses
have become numb. Meditation is a state of heightened consciousness. It is not at all the same as
being asleep or being in a coma.
Like the other limbs of Raja, we already have some ability to withdraw our senses. In fact, we do
it all of the time.
Our eyes, ears, nose, tongue and skin are constantly bombarded with inputs of light, sound,
fragrance, taste, pressure, friction and gravity. Were we to be equally aware of all of these
external vibrations we would find ourselves unable to function at all. We would be reduced to
dribbling idiots.
Instead, we have learned to focus. A mundane example might be a person eating a really good ice
cream cone. The taste is so fine that all of the other senses have taken a back seat. The tongue is
at the wheel, and, for the moment, everything else has faded into obscurity. The ability to see and
hear have withdrawn.
But they are not gone. If the fellow eating the ice cream cone is walking down the street on a
sunny day, he may very well have become unaware of the touch of warmth on his skin, the sounds
of the birds, the crowd, the traffic, the smell of flowers and the dazzling light that bounces from
every surface. He is focused instead on the flavor of the treat that he is blissfully consuming.
So far so good, but it's not so good if he starts bumping into other pedestrians, tripping on curbs
and obstacles or stepping in front of moving vehicles.
It is easy to imagine all of these things happening as our subject wallows in the pleasure of
gluttony, and sometimes they do. Usually, however, the ice cream-eater manages to avoid falls
and collisions. His conscious awareness may be focused exclusively on the flavor and texture of
the treat that he is consuming, but his other senses are still on the alert, doing their duty as they
guide him down the street on a summer day.
So it would have been with the yogi in my father's story. His state of deep contemplation would
not have disabled him. His senses would have withdrawn, but that's all. He still could see, hear,
smell, taste and feel if he so chose, but his focus was elsewhere.
The one who fails to hear the shouts, warning of fire in the church or the temple, is not the one
who is deep in some cosmic reverie. More likely it is the one who has fallen asleep during his
prayers or his meditation.
During the Vietnam war, there were a number of times when a Buddhist monk would choose to sit
peacefully in some public plaza, douse himself in gasoline and then flick his BIC®. During the
ensuing conflagration, while the tv cameras whirred and bystanders gasped in wonder and dismay,
the burning holy man would remain seated in placid contemplation. Whether this form of
demonstration was effective in shortening the war is moot. Self-immolation as a protest has been
around for centuries.
What people who saw these events on their televisions did wonder was how these monks sat in
apparent serenity as their bodies burned. Why didn't they writhe and scream in agony?
Speculations included the use of heroin or some other analgesic drug. Others concluded that,
because of their advanced mystical abilities, the monks had transcended pain. In short, they
could not feel the lick of the flame.
I prefer to believe that this man or woman who chose to sacrifice his or her body in protest
against the policies of the government of Vietnam certainly could feel the pain as the flames
consumed the clothing, hair and skin. But this person's focus was elsewhere, on her navel
perhaps, or the mantra OM, or the cosmic oneness, or nothing.
I earnestly recommend that no one ever burn themselves in protest or spite. I don't really think
it's a good way to get things done. I remember feeling consoled to learn that people like Joan of
Arc and all the witches and heretics who were burned at the stake probably lost consciousness due
to smoke inhalation before they suffered too much from the flames. I hope so.
Let's review for a moment. The eight limbs of Raja Yoga are:
So, where are we? We have a person who has been abstaining from:
In addition, this person has observed:
Now our Yogi is seated in a stable position, perhaps the Lotus, Adept's or Easy pose, or maybe he
or she is lying down. In any case, the subject is comfortable and relaxed, but alert.
Breathing has been watched, the ins and outs, until it has passed from conscious awareness.
Likewise the senses have withdrawn from attention. Light, sound, fragrance, flavor, pressure and
friction are no longer a bother.
What comes next?
whatever. As I recall the tale, this fellow said that he could remain in a state of deep meditation
for one hour. An acquaintance challenged the ability of the trance champion, and asked that he
prove his assertion. The man agreed.
He went through the steps that he had explained, sitting in the Lotus pose, taking a number of
deep breaths and closing his eyes.
The challenger had agreed to time the length of this event. After the man had been sitting in
apparent deep contemplation for one minute, the other fellow announced, "Time's up."
The man opened his eyes and expressed mild surprise that an hour had passed so quickly. At this,
the other fellow told him that he was a phony. Had he really been in some deep meditation, he
said, he would not have heard the words, "Time's up." He must have been faking it.
Withdrawal of the senses is indeed the fifth limb of Raja Yoga. Patanjali offers two aphorisms
concerning this:
- II, 54 "There is withdrawal of the senses, when they are detached from their own proper
business and are imitating, as it were, the nature of the mind."
II, 55. "From that comes complete obedience of the senses."
These verses do not imply that we are to enter some kind of unconscious state in which our senses
have become numb. Meditation is a state of heightened consciousness. It is not at all the same as
being asleep or being in a coma.
Like the other limbs of Raja, we already have some ability to withdraw our senses. In fact, we do
it all of the time.
Our eyes, ears, nose, tongue and skin are constantly bombarded with inputs of light, sound,
fragrance, taste, pressure, friction and gravity. Were we to be equally aware of all of these
external vibrations we would find ourselves unable to function at all. We would be reduced to
dribbling idiots.
Instead, we have learned to focus. A mundane example might be a person eating a really good ice
cream cone. The taste is so fine that all of the other senses have taken a back seat. The tongue is
at the wheel, and, for the moment, everything else has faded into obscurity. The ability to see and
hear have withdrawn.
But they are not gone. If the fellow eating the ice cream cone is walking down the street on a
sunny day, he may very well have become unaware of the touch of warmth on his skin, the sounds
of the birds, the crowd, the traffic, the smell of flowers and the dazzling light that bounces from
every surface. He is focused instead on the flavor of the treat that he is blissfully consuming.
So far so good, but it's not so good if he starts bumping into other pedestrians, tripping on curbs
and obstacles or stepping in front of moving vehicles.
It is easy to imagine all of these things happening as our subject wallows in the pleasure of
gluttony, and sometimes they do. Usually, however, the ice cream-eater manages to avoid falls
and collisions. His conscious awareness may be focused exclusively on the flavor and texture of
the treat that he is consuming, but his other senses are still on the alert, doing their duty as they
guide him down the street on a summer day.
So it would have been with the yogi in my father's story. His state of deep contemplation would
not have disabled him. His senses would have withdrawn, but that's all. He still could see, hear,
smell, taste and feel if he so chose, but his focus was elsewhere.
The one who fails to hear the shouts, warning of fire in the church or the temple, is not the one
who is deep in some cosmic reverie. More likely it is the one who has fallen asleep during his
prayers or his meditation.
During the Vietnam war, there were a number of times when a Buddhist monk would choose to sit
peacefully in some public plaza, douse himself in gasoline and then flick his BIC®. During the
ensuing conflagration, while the tv cameras whirred and bystanders gasped in wonder and dismay,
the burning holy man would remain seated in placid contemplation. Whether this form of
demonstration was effective in shortening the war is moot. Self-immolation as a protest has been
around for centuries.
What people who saw these events on their televisions did wonder was how these monks sat in
apparent serenity as their bodies burned. Why didn't they writhe and scream in agony?
Speculations included the use of heroin or some other analgesic drug. Others concluded that,
because of their advanced mystical abilities, the monks had transcended pain. In short, they
could not feel the lick of the flame.
I prefer to believe that this man or woman who chose to sacrifice his or her body in protest
against the policies of the government of Vietnam certainly could feel the pain as the flames
consumed the clothing, hair and skin. But this person's focus was elsewhere, on her navel
perhaps, or the mantra OM, or the cosmic oneness, or nothing.
I earnestly recommend that no one ever burn themselves in protest or spite. I don't really think
it's a good way to get things done. I remember feeling consoled to learn that people like Joan of
Arc and all the witches and heretics who were burned at the stake probably lost consciousness due
to smoke inhalation before they suffered too much from the flames. I hope so.
Let's review for a moment. The eight limbs of Raja Yoga are:
- Abstinences
Observances
Seat
Breath Control
Sense Withdrawal
Concentration
Meditation
Contemplation
So, where are we? We have a person who has been abstaining from:
- Injury
Lying
Stealing
Sensuality
and Greed
In addition, this person has observed:
Cleanliness
Contentment
Body Conditioning
Self Study
and Attentiveness to God
Now our Yogi is seated in a stable position, perhaps the Lotus, Adept's or Easy pose, or maybe he
or she is lying down. In any case, the subject is comfortable and relaxed, but alert.
Breathing has been watched, the ins and outs, until it has passed from conscious awareness.
Likewise the senses have withdrawn from attention. Light, sound, fragrance, flavor, pressure and
friction are no longer a bother.
What comes next?
| Yoga for Carnivores by Jay Dyck |