Yoga today is often treated like a subject—like engineering, music, or philosophy. Some people spend years immersed in it, adopting the appearance, terminology, and lifestyle of the spiritual path. They come to see themselves as the rightful bearers of its flame. But something interesting happens when people from outside this so-called circle—scientists, artists, office-goers, even homemakers—enter into yoga sincerely and begin to show genuine spiritual growth. Their very presence disturbs the traditional field. They are sometimes viewed as line breakers, people who didn’t follow the system, didn’t put in the years, yet are somehow touching deep truths. The inner reaction of some so-called yogis is subtle but bitter: “They haven’t walked through fire like us. They can’t just skip the line.” But yoga isn’t a line, and there’s no gatekeeper.
The real issue often lies in the mind of the practitioner who feels left behind. When one spends a decade or more in practice but doesn’t taste inner silence, the natural tendency is to blame others. It’s easier than questioning oneself. But maybe the truth is harder. Maybe the practice was wrong. Maybe it was all ego—effort without surrender, imitation without understanding. The robe was worn, the postures mastered, the chants memorized, but the core remained untouched. Then one day, someone from a completely different walk of life sits in stillness for a few minutes and drops into the very space you’ve been chasing for years. That kind of humility is hard to swallow.
Yoga was never meant to become a badge. It is not a religion, not a profession, not a caste. It is a simple, sincere movement inward. When anyone—absolutely anyone—turns within and becomes still, they are doing yoga. It doesn’t matter if they come from the world of commerce, cinema, farming, or politics. Consciousness doesn’t care about resumes. It only responds to authenticity. What hurts is not their success. What hurts is our comparison, our belief that effort deserves reward, that time equals progress, that lineage equals realization. These are spiritual illusions.
Many people who have practiced for long years get trapped in subtle spiritual pride. It creeps in unnoticed. The more external the practice becomes, the more likely this pride will grow. When it goes unexamined, it slowly transforms into jealousy disguised as righteousness. We begin to believe others are not qualified to feel what we think we’ve earned. But yoga, in truth, is not something anyone earns. It is something that reveals itself the moment we stop trying to possess it. And in that revelation, there is no ownership.
If we feel disturbed by someone else’s spiritual growth, it’s a sign to pause—not to judge them, but to turn inward again and examine the roots of our own journey. Are we truly practicing yoga, or are we wearing it? Are we holding on to our suffering as a proof of depth? Are we resentful because others are touching peace without our kind of struggle? These are hard questions, but necessary ones.
A true yogi is not threatened by others waking up. A true yogi feels joy when anyone touches light. Because that light is not theirs—it’s everyone’s. If there is any “line breaking” happening, it is only the breaking of the illusion that enlightenment belongs to a certain group or path. The ones who grow rapidly are not enemies—they are reminders that grace does not follow our timelines. It flows wherever the heart is open.
The moment we believe we are spiritual, we’ve already lost something of the spirit. The moment we believe we deserve more because we’ve struggled longer, we’ve missed the essence of yoga altogether. Yoga is not a competition. It is not even a journey from here to there. It is the deep, honest willingness to meet ourselves as we are—stripped of identity, image, and pride. That kind of willingness can belong to anyone. And when it arises, yoga begins—quietly, truly, and freely.
Demystifying Kundalini 