From the yoga perspective, it is likely you don’t know who you are. I appreciate this sounds preposterous because surely you have a name, an address, a Social Security number, and after you die hopefully your loved ones will write an obituary narrating what a nice person you were and all you accomplished. While these may be accurate, they are not true because they are not the real story.
Yoga philosophy puts it quite simply: if you don’t recall who you were before you were born, you are mis-understanding yourself. This amnesia, if you will, is called avidya, literally “a lack of wisdom.” It is not a sin or evidence of failure on your part, rather, it is a confusion arising from the nature of the spiritual play.
One can argue they didn’t exist before they were born but, from the yoga perspective, this is like saying you didn’t exist before you went to sleep last night. Chances are you remember little that occurred during the hours of slumber, but it’s hard to debate that you weren’t alive during that period. The problem in both cases isn’t existence; it’s memory.
It can be helpful in working to remember your identity to recognize how all the labels we apply to ourselves are temporary. For instance, you may have once been a student, held a certain job, had a style of haircut, or drove a particular car. These were all parts of your life but they didn’t define who you were. I have a 1998 Silverado truck. You could say I am a guy who drives a Chevy. If I sell it and get a Ranger, I then become a guy who drives a Ford. This is about the most superficial example I can think of but I hope it makes the point. All of our identities and roles in this world are impermanent and inconsistent, and this includes our bodies and minds.
One more example, which I use all the time so if you’ve heard it before, bear with me. Marlon Brandon played Don Corleone in the movie, “The Godfather.” During filming, he spoke with that heavy accent, affected certain physical traits, and did things like order “hits.” When the day ended and the Director yelled, “That’s a wrap,” Brando presumably went home and was Marlon again. If he continued to think and act like he was a mafia chieftain, his friends and family would perhaps tell him, “You are not a gangster, it is a role you adopted, now cut it out.”
This is what yogis are telling us: “You are not a mere human being, it is a temporary role you are playing, now cut it out.” The reason it is valuable to “cut it out” is because getting lost in our personalities causes us to suffer. The vicissitudes of life cut deep when we believe changes are threats to the core of our being. Again, if I am vested in being a guy who drives a Chevy, if something happens to the vehicle it feels like more than just a junky pickup; it feels like it’s happening to “me.” If I can’t be that guy anymore who I insist I am, then instead of simply dealing with a broke-down truck, I will panic over the loss of sense of identity.
It may be worth pointing out that the term “personality,” has its etymological roots in the Latin, “persona.” Personas were masks worn by actors when they played a part in a stage production. Our human personality — the whole shebang of body, mind, and social roles — are masks over who we are.
Our personal identities have the potential to be fantastic. This is the entry into the adventure of being human. But it’s enjoyable only if we accept the temporary nature of all we are, and all we do, while in this world. If we take it too seriously, we suffer. Not because we are bad people, but because we have no context to appreciate the love and mirth behind the whole cavalcade of human events.
Please don’t get me wrong, I know what it feels like to suffer. It’s terrible, and even worse when it feels like there’s no way out. I once had a big argument about this with my yoga guru, Baba Hari dass. I had been pondering the seemingly all-encompassing suffering in the world. That of mine and that of others. The large and small, the seemingly inevitable, the grossly selfish, and the numerous ways we acted unkindly to each other from simple human foolishness. I had it up to my eyeballs and I wanted an explanation.
Babaji had given a talk and it was time for questions. I thrust my arm upwards and I asked about the nature of suffering and why, oh why, was it so omnipresent? Babaji answered my question in an intelligent and caring way, outlining the yoga perspective.
This was all well and good, but I wanted more. I continued, “OK, but why suffering? Why must it be present? Why must there be so much pain and hurt in the world?”
Babaji replied, again. And, again, I wasn’t satisfied and continued my questioning, “Why, why, why?”
He talked about how suffering leads people to seek their way out of illusions and out of suffering.
This didn’t suffice for me. I asked, “But why, if God exits, isn’t there a better way?” I figured any fool could come up with a better system. I specifically said, “Couldn’t there be something jollier?”
A few people chuckled at this, but mostly the other several dozen people were murmuring for me to shut up and stop hogging the questions. A tension grew in the room.
Babaji said, “You have to accept the will of God.”
At this, I exploded. I stood up, pointed my finger to the heavens, and declared, “Such a God I will never worship!” I know it was a bit melodramatic, but I was really trying to get to the bottom of things. I was furious that God seemingly needed us to suffer oh so much, and I was a bit pissed off that Babaji didn’t have an answer for me.
With that, I stormed toward the exit to leave the room. My outburst had gone beyond any decorum of polite interaction with the guru. I didn’t care and, besides, I knew Babaji didn’t care, either. Better to have a sincere idiot as a disciple, I surmised, than a cloying sycophant.
As I reached the door, the fellow reading Babaji’s written communications called out, “Prem Prakash, don’t leave.” Babaji was indicating he had something else to say to me. He wrote on his chalkboard, which was then read aloud, “Relax, try to enjoy it.”
I had no ears to hear that! Relax? What the hell did that have to do with all the suffering! I stormed out of the room.
As the years have gone by, I am amazed at how much wisdom was contained in that teaching: Relax, try to enjoy. This is a lesson I am still learning.
On a practical level, here’s a couple of tips for which I can vouch. First, follow whatever breadcrumbs you can see through the forest which feel like they will lead you to your next step. You don’t need to know the whole journey, just walk towards the signpost that is now in front of you.
Second, develop a regular spiritual practice. Doesn’t matter what you, just do something. Whatever helps you cultivate a sense of love, harmony, and beauty. Grow your garden of delight and ruthlessly uproot the weeds of fear-based obstructions.
Third, don’t be afraid to make mistakes. You’re going to make them. Mistakes can be corrected. Most people die with regret over what they did not do.
Fourth, avoid the socially accepted paradigms that support suffering by blaming others. Outrage, guilt, and indignation are not allies. The effort to justify them is exhausting and futile.
Fifth, find friends to support you. No one is smart enough or brave enough to traverse this path without help. Be confident enough to boast when things go well — it ain’t bragging if it’s true — and be humble enough to lean on an understanding shoulder when you need.
Finally, ditch the phone. Unless you are the exception to most of what I see around, being available all the time is a case of the juice not being worth the squeeze. Cell phones don’t have cords, but they are often binding. Treat the phone as a powerful tool, like a chainsaw; use it when needed and be deliberate.
In conclusion, there is a realm of love, harmony and beauty that was once your home. You will return there. I promise. You will return! In the meantime, if you can remember your home while in this world, your suffering will greatly diminish and you will discover this world not only ain’t so bad, there’s a lot more fun and love around than many will tell you. And, if you see me getting uptight, be a friend and remind me, “Relax, try to enjoy it.”
