Tag: wellness

Does Breathing Have a Double Role? A Yogic Reflection on Prana, Oxygen, and the Hidden Purpose of Breath

A Question That Arose During Meditation

For many years I accepted the common explanation that breathing exists mainly to supply oxygen to the body and remove carbon dioxide. This explanation is obviously true and is supported by modern science. Yet repeated observations during meditation, daily life, intellectual work, emotional disturbances, and states of deep calm gradually led me to wonder whether breathing might be performing a second function as well.

This is not an attempt to reject science. Nor is it an attempt to prove ancient yogic theories through speculation. It is simply a reflection born from observation. My intention is not to offer proof but to present a clue that may inspire further thought.

An Observation About Oxygen

One observation repeatedly attracted my attention. The human body does not absorb all the oxygen present in inhaled air. A significant portion of oxygen still remains in exhaled air.

This naturally raised a question in my mind.

If oxygen delivery were the sole purpose of breathing, why did evolution not push the respiratory system toward extracting a much larger percentage of available oxygen from every breath?

The body certainly had millions of years to improve efficiency.

Instead, nature seems to have created a system in which large amounts of air continuously move in and out while only a portion of the available oxygen is actually utilized.

Of course, there are well-known scientific explanations involving safety margins, carbon dioxide regulation, diffusion processes, changing metabolic demands, and many other physiological factors. Yet the observation itself remains interesting.

The body appears designed not merely to absorb oxygen but also to maintain continuous movement of air.

A Simple Thought Experiment

This observation led me to a simple thought experiment.

Suppose the body extracted nearly all available oxygen from every breath.

In such a case, very little airflow might be required under many circumstances. Rapid breathing could potentially create excessive oxygen loading and other imbalances.

Instead, nature appears to prefer a design in which substantial airflow continues even though only part of the oxygen is utilized.

This does not prove anything about prana.

However, it raises an interesting possibility.

What if breathing serves purposes beyond oxygen exchange alone?

The Yogic View of Breath

According to Yoga, breath is closely connected with prana.

Prana is not exactly the same thing as oxygen. A person may breathe oxygen yet still feel exhausted, emotionally disturbed, mentally scattered, or energetically depleted. Yogic traditions therefore distinguish between the physical air and the subtle life force associated with it.

From this perspective, breathing performs two functions simultaneously.

The first function is physical. It supplies oxygen, removes carbon dioxide, and sustains biological life.

The second function is energetic. It helps distribute and regulate prana throughout the system according to changing needs.

Whether one accepts this view or not, it provides an interesting framework for interpreting many common experiences.

Breathing Changes With Every Mental State

One fact is difficult to deny.

Breathing changes continuously according to mental and emotional conditions.

When a person becomes angry, breathing changes.

When fear appears, breathing changes.

When desire becomes intense, breathing changes.

When anxiety increases, breathing changes.

When love arises, breathing changes.

When concentration deepens, breathing changes.

When meditation becomes profound, breathing changes.

When deep sleep arrives, breathing changes.

When intellectual work becomes intense, breathing changes.

Breath appears to participate in every major shift of consciousness.

If breathing existed only to supply oxygen, this extraordinary sensitivity to mental and emotional conditions seems worthy of reflection.

My Own Observations

Repeated observation led me to notice that fast and agitated breathing was often accompanied by increased mental chatter.

Thoughts became more active.

Emotions became more reactive.

Old tendencies such as attachment, anger, greed, desire, jealousy, ego, impatience, and restlessness seemed to find greater expression.

The mind became scattered.

In contrast, when breathing became slow, calm, and consciously directed, something different occurred.

Old impressions still surfaced, but they surfaced in a more orderly way.

Instead of becoming trapped in them, I could witness them.

The witnessing itself seemed to weaken their influence.

As this process continued, qualities such as patience, compassion, love, understanding, contentment, and inner balance appeared to grow naturally.

This observation does not prove a theory, but it strongly suggests that breath participates in processes far deeper than oxygen exchange alone.

Prana Regulation and Nervous System Regulation

Modern science explains many of these effects through the nervous system.

Breathing influences heart rate.

Breathing influences stress responses.

Breathing influences attention.

Breathing influences emotional regulation.

Breathing influences brain activity.

Breathing influences states of calmness and arousal.

Yoga explains similar observations through the language of prana, nadis, and chakras.

Science speaks of nervous system regulation.

Yoga speaks of prana regulation.

The words are different.

The practical observations often appear remarkably similar.

This raises an interesting possibility.

Perhaps these are not necessarily competing explanations.

Perhaps they are different ways of describing different aspects of the same living reality.

A Clue Rather Than a Conclusion

I do not claim that unused oxygen scientifically proves the existence of prana.

Nor do I claim that modern neuroscience has already validated ancient yogic descriptions of chakras and nadis.

My purpose is much simpler.

I am merely presenting a clue.

The clue is that breathing appears far too intimately connected with thought, emotion, attention, awareness, and consciousness to be viewed as nothing more than an oxygen pump.

Science explains part of this mystery.

Yoga explains another part.

Perhaps both perspectives still have more to learn.

Final Reflection

The deeper I observe breathing, the more difficult it becomes to separate body, mind, emotion, attention, and energy into independent categories.

A disturbed breath often accompanies a disturbed mind.

A calm breath often accompanies a calm mind.

A scattered breath often accompanies scattered attention.

A balanced breath often accompanies balanced awareness.

Whether one prefers the language of neuroscience or the language of Yoga, one fact remains undeniable: breath occupies a unique position between the physical and psychological dimensions of human life.

For this reason, I increasingly view breathing not merely as a mechanism for survival but as a bridge between body and consciousness.

The idea that breath may simultaneously support oxygen exchange and the redistribution of prana remains only a hypothesis. Yet it is a hypothesis born from repeated observation, and perhaps that is how many worthwhile investigations begin—not with certainty, but with a simple clue that invites deeper exploration.

Midnight Dhyana, Breathless Awareness and Ekarnava: My Deepest Meditation Experience Between Night Silence and Morning Consciousness

How Physical Tiredness, Breathless Dhyana and Night Silence Changed the Depth of Meditation

Recently I observed a very interesting difference between my late-night Dhyana and early morning Dhyana. The difference was not merely about meditation timing, but about the entire condition of consciousness, sensory withdrawal, breathless awareness, environmental influence, and the subtle relationship between effort and Ekarnava-like absorption.

One day I had a long tiring journey by car to and fro my hill office. Along with that there was heavy checking work related to some recruitment forms. The body and nervous system were naturally tired. Still, all work was being done with a background feeling of quantum-darshan-like nonduality. At night I had eaten slightly undercooked broken maa-chana pulse, which created some gastric disturbance. Sleep broke around one-thirty to two o’clock at night. Instead of sleeping again, I sat for Dhyana around 2 AM.

That late-night Dhyana became very deep, peaceful and Ekarnava-like. There was a natural inward merging and continuity in awareness. Breath gradually became very subtle and breathless intervals arose naturally. There was no aggressive attempt to force concentration. The awareness simply moved inward in a very complete and unified manner.

After meditation I did some book work on the laptop for around half to one hour and then slept on the ground. At that time I felt that perhaps I should not sleep because sleep might weaken the continuity of the meditative state in memory and awareness. Later I woke around five-thirty in the morning. After waking I did full yoga and pranayama practice. Then I again sat for Dhyana from around seven to eight-ten in the morning.

Why Morning Dhyana Felt Different from Night Meditation

During the morning meditation, deep breathless pauses again appeared at intervals. However, the quality of awareness was different from the night experience. At night awareness had moved naturally toward Ekarnava, but in the morning there was more complexity.

Initially I thought perhaps trying to put awareness into Ekarnava was creating dullness in the breathless awareness. But later I observed more carefully and realized the opposite was happening. The intentional movement toward Ekarnava was actually preventing dullness. Without that intentional inward merging, awareness would become somewhat dull or less vivid. The willful movement toward nondual continuity was helping preserve luminous awareness.

But there was also a side effect. Along with that intentional inward movement, thoughts and mental images also started expressing themselves. During this morning meditation, images connected to the previous day’s work environment, including boss-related impressions, started appearing. Interestingly, even small environmental sounds or sensory inputs were able to slightly interact with awareness.

At night this had not happened. During the 2 AM meditation there was no dullness, and even when awareness moved toward Ekarnava there was no strong expression of thoughts or mental imagery. The absorption was smoother, more silent and less fragmented.

This led to an important observation. The difference was not necessarily psychological stress from work itself. The real difference appeared connected to the sensory and environmental field.

The Role of Night Silence, Darkness and Sensory Withdrawal in Deep Dhyana

At 2 AM the environment was naturally silent and dark. There were no daytime activities, social interactions or sensory disturbances. Darkness itself reduced visual processing. Silence reduced orienting responses of the nervous system. The social identity connected to daytime functioning was weaker. Awareness therefore moved inward more easily and continuously.

In contrast, the morning environment contained passive sensory activity. There was light, bird chirping, subtle sounds and environmental movement. These were not emotionally disturbing sounds. They were natural and peaceful. But even peaceful sensory inputs create subtle differentiation inside awareness. They create multiple points of attention.

During the morning meditation, the disturbance was not active mental stress from work. It was the passive sensory richness of the morning atmosphere itself. Light, bird sounds and subtle environmental stimulation continuously kept some part of sensory mapping active in consciousness.

This created an important distinction. At night awareness flowed directly toward Ekarnava. In the morning awareness was simultaneously trying to maintain unified continuity while also interacting with a more active sensory field.

The interesting thing was that the intentional inward movement toward Ekarnava was not weakening awareness. It was strengthening and sharpening it. It was preventing meditation from slipping into tamasic dullness or blankness. But because the morning nervous system was already more alert and externally activated after yoga, pranayama and environmental stimulation, the same intentional force also kept subtle cognitive activity alive.

Thus two simultaneous processes were happening together. One process preserved luminous breathless awareness and prevented dullness. The second process allowed subtle thought-expression and associative imagery to remain partially active.

Breathless Awareness and the Difference Between Clear Stillness and Dull Stillness

This experience revealed a very subtle distinction between clear stillness and dull stillness. Sometimes meditation becomes quiet not because consciousness has become deeply unified, but because awareness becomes energetically dull or passive. In my experience, the intentional inward merging toward Ekarnava in the morning prevented such dullness.

However, unlike the night meditation, the morning state also allowed thoughts to express alongside the expanded awareness. Thus breathless awareness alone was not the determining factor. Deep pauses in breath appeared in both sessions. The difference lay in the structure of awareness itself.

At night there was effortless inward continuity with minimal thought expression. In the morning there was luminous inward awareness along with subtle cognitive activation.

This also showed that external sound itself is not always the real disturbance. The deeper issue is whether awareness is functioning inside a sensory-empty field or a sensory-active field. Even peaceful natural sounds like bird chirping maintain subtle duality because they continuously stimulate object-awareness and directional attention.

This explains why many meditators throughout history preferred caves, darkness, midnight meditation, or pre-dawn silence. The purpose was not hatred of nature or sound, but reduction of sensory multiplicity so that awareness could remain in a more unified state.

How Yoga, Pranayama and Morning Activation Changed the Meditation State

Another observation was related to the role of yoga and pranayama before morning meditation. Full yoga practice and pranayama increased bodily activation, sensory sharpness and alertness. While this helped create strong breathless pauses, it also increased outward orientation of the nervous system.

Therefore, even though breath became very subtle, consciousness itself was more externally distributed compared to the night meditation. The morning state balanced between absorption and wakeful cognition.

At night the system had already moved naturally toward inward withdrawal due to exhaustion, silence, darkness and partial sleep interruption. Therefore no additional effort was needed to sustain vivid awareness. The inward movement happened almost spontaneously.

In the morning, however, awareness needed intentional inward direction to remain vivid and unified. Otherwise it risked drifting into dullness. Yet because the nervous system was more awake and sensory-active, thoughts could also arise alongside that intentional merging.

My Final Understanding About Ekarnava and Dhyana

This entire experience taught me something very subtle about Dhyana. Not every deep meditation arises through force or intense control. Sometimes deep absorption emerges naturally when the external sensory field becomes quiet and the ordinary operational personality weakens.

At the same time, complete absence of intentionality can sometimes produce dullness instead of luminous awareness. A certain inward intentional movement toward Ekarnava may preserve clarity and continuity. However, under sensory-active conditions this same force may also keep subtle thought-capacity alive.

Thus the issue is not simply effort versus effortlessness. The real issue is the total condition of consciousness, environment, sensory activity, bodily state, nervous activation and the quality of awareness itself.

My late-night Dhyana revealed effortless inward continuity without much thought-expression. My morning Dhyana revealed luminous breathless awareness preserved by intentional inward movement, but accompanied by subtle sensory and cognitive activation. Both experiences revealed different dimensions of meditation, nonduality and Ekarnava.

The experience also deepened my understanding that breathlessness alone does not define the deepest state. Sometimes ordinary quiet breath inside a deeply withdrawn consciousness can produce greater continuity than aggressive breath-control inside a sensory-active environment. However, breath and state of mind are deeply interconnected. Changes in consciousness naturally influence breathing, and changes in breathing also influence consciousness. When awareness becomes inward, unified and deeply absorbed, breath often slows down, softens or temporarily pauses naturally. When the mind becomes externally active, sensory-engaged or thought-oriented, breathing usually becomes more noticeable and dynamic. In my experience, the deep night Dhyana created effortless breathless awareness because the mind had naturally moved toward inward continuity and Ekarnava. In contrast, the morning environment with light, bird sounds and subtle sensory activity kept some cognitive and sensory engagement alive, which slightly altered both the state of mind and the rhythm of breath together. Thus breath and awareness were not functioning separately, but as two interconnected expressions of the same meditative process.

I also observed that during the morning meditation, the breath stasis felt slightly forced compared to the natural breathlessness of the night Dhyana. This appeared to influence the quality of awareness itself. When breathlessness arose spontaneously during deep inward absorption at night, the void-like awareness remained clear, luminous and naturally unified. In contrast, when breath retention became even slightly effortful in the morning, the void awareness developed a mild dullness despite remaining deep and quiet. This suggested that the more spontaneous the breathless state becomes, the greater the clarity, vividness and continuity of awareness. Forced or partially controlled breath stasis may quiet the mind externally, but it can also introduce subtle heaviness or dullness into consciousness, whereas naturally arising breathlessness during genuine Dhyana preserves both stillness and clarity together.

These observations continue to refine my understanding of Dhyana, awareness and the movement between individuality and nondual continuity.

Meditation, Diet, and Inner Clarity: A Veterinarian’s Journey from Grass to Conscious Eating

The First Question: Can Life Be Sustained on the Simplest Form of Nature?

The inquiry began with a very fundamental and almost ascetic curiosity—whether a human being could survive entirely on grass, especially soft, succulent green grass with the least fiber, and even whether cooking it could make it suitable for human consumption. This was not merely a nutritional question but a deeper exploration into minimal living, purity of intake, and the possibility of aligning the body with the most basic form of nature. However, it soon became clear that regardless of tenderness or cooking, grass remains primarily composed of cellulose, which the human digestive system cannot process. Unlike ruminants, humans lack the necessary enzymes and microbial systems to break down cellulose into usable energy. Cooking may soften grass, but it does not transform its fundamental nature into digestible nutrition.

From Grass to Vegetables: Understanding What the Body Accepts

This led naturally to the question: if grass is also a plant, then how do vegetables nourish us? The answer revealed a fundamental distinction. Not all plants are equal in their nutritional design. Grass is structural, meant for survival and resilience, whereas vegetables are specific plant parts—leaves, roots, and flowers—that are softer, water-rich, and contain accessible nutrients. Over time, humans have also cultivated vegetables to enhance digestibility and nutritional value. Thus, while both grass and vegetables belong to the plant kingdom, their usability for human nutrition differs profoundly.

Grains and Seeds: Nature’s Stored Energy for Life

The exploration then moved toward grains, which are also plant-derived. The key realization here was that grains are seeds, designed by nature to store energy for the growth of a new plant. Unlike grass, grains are rich in starch, which the human body can easily convert into glucose. Cooking further enhances this process by breaking down the structure of the grain, making nutrients readily accessible. Thus, grains serve as a primary energy source for humans, unlike grass, which remains indigestible.

Legumes, Cooking, and the Hidden Barriers to Nutrition

The discussion deepened into legumes such as dal, chana, and rajma. These too are seeds but contain protective compounds like phytates, lectins, and enzyme inhibitors. These anti-nutrients make raw legumes difficult and sometimes harmful to consume. Cooking becomes essential, as it breaks down these compounds and unlocks the protein and nutrients within. This introduced the important concept that nature often protects its nutritional reserves, and human intervention through cooking is necessary to make them usable.

Soaking and Sprouting: Awakening the Seed

Further insight emerged through the processes of soaking and sprouting. Soaking activates enzymes within the seed, reduces anti-nutrients, and prepares it for digestion. Sprouting takes this transformation further, breaking down complex nutrients into simpler forms and increasing vitamin content. This stage represents a transition from dormant seed to living plant, making the food lighter and more bioavailable.

Vegetarian Diet: Possibility and Limitations

The conversation then shifted toward whether a person can live entirely on vegetables, especially in cooked or uncooked forms. It became evident that while a plant-based diet can sustain life, it must be properly structured. Merely consuming leafy vegetables is insufficient. A complete vegetarian diet requires a balance of grains for energy, legumes for protein, vegetables for micronutrients, and some fats for overall function. Without this balance, deficiencies and weakness can arise.

The Question of B12 and the Nature of Vegetarianism

A deeper philosophical question emerged regarding vitamin B12. Since B12 is not naturally present in plant foods, does dependence on it imply that humans are not truly vegetarian? The understanding clarified that B12 is produced by bacteria, not plants or animals. Historically, humans likely obtained B12 from soil, water, and less sanitized food sources. Modern hygiene has removed these natural pathways, making supplementation necessary. This does not negate vegetarianism but highlights a shift in environmental conditions.

The Veterinarian’s Inner Conflict: Profession and Personal Choice

As a veterinarian, the presence of animal farming systems raises an internal question. If animals are being raised for consumption, why not participate personally? This is not merely a dietary question but a matter of alignment. The clarity that emerged was that working within a system and making a personal ethical choice are not contradictory. A veterinarian’s role is to care for and reduce the suffering of animals, while choosing vegetarianism is a personal stance of non-participation in consumption. These two roles can coexist harmoniously.

Occasional Non-Veg: Experience of Energy and Satisfaction

The discussion then returned to lived experience. Occasional non-vegetarian food, even in small weekly amounts, seems to provide a unique sense of energy, satisfaction, and completeness. This experience was acknowledged as real. The explanation lies in the dense nutritional profile of animal foods—complete proteins, B12, iron, and certain compounds that are easily absorbed. If a vegetarian diet is slightly lacking, non-veg can act as a quick correction, producing a noticeable boost.

Meditation and Diet: The Shift from Activity to Stillness

The most refined insight arose in relation to meditation. Non-veg food, while energizing, introduces a certain heaviness that can reduce clarity in advanced meditative states. It may support dynamic or active phases of practice but becomes less suitable as one moves toward deeper stillness. Lighter, vegetarian food supports subtle awareness and sustained attention. This is not a moral judgment but a functional observation based on experience.

Toward a Balanced Understanding

The journey leads to a simple yet profound conclusion. There is no absolute dietary rule that applies universally. Instead, diet evolves with one’s stage of life and inner practice. Non-veg may serve a purpose in earlier stages, while a well-balanced vegetarian diet becomes more aligned with advanced meditative states. Supplementation, particularly for B12, ensures that nutritional completeness is maintained.

Ultimately, the path is not about rigid categories but about awareness. The body provides feedback, and the mind interprets it. When both are understood clearly, diet becomes not a source of conflict but a tool for alignment with one’s deeper pursuit of clarity and stillness.

Yoga Grows in Action, Not Escape: A Personal Realization That Changed My Understanding of Spiritual Practice

The Misconception That Yoga Needs a Workless Life

There is a very common belief that yoga requires a silent, withdrawn, workless life to truly succeed. Many people assume that unless one steps away from worldly responsibilities, real yogic progress is not possible. This idea sounds convincing on the surface, especially when we hear about sages meditating in isolation, but my own direct experience has shown something completely different. I have come to see that yoga does not grow in the absence of life, but rather in the midst of it. In fact, some of my deepest inner shifts and breakthroughs have occurred not when I was resting, but when I was fully engaged in intense work, growth, and activity.

Yoga and the Role of a Hardworking Life

My observation has been simple yet powerful: yoga seems to grow more strongly when life is active, demanding, and full. A hardworking phase does not obstruct yoga; instead, it appears to nourish it. This goes against the usual narrative, but it aligns with what I have lived through. During periods of intense work, the mind naturally becomes more focused. There is less unnecessary thinking and more direct engagement with the present moment. This creates a kind of natural concentration that resembles meditative absorption without deliberate effort. It is as if life itself starts doing the work of yoga.

At the same time, effort and pressure bring hidden patterns to the surface. When one is dealing with real situations, responsibilities, and challenges, the mind cannot hide behind artificial calmness. It reveals itself more honestly. This exposure becomes a powerful opportunity for inner clarity. Without such friction, many tendencies remain dormant and unnoticed.

Understanding Stillness and Movement in Yoga

A deep question arose during this exploration: how can something already still be made still? If stillness is the goal, then what exactly are we trying to still? The answer became clearer with reflection. It is not awareness that needs to be stilled, because awareness is already still. What moves is the mind. Thoughts, reactions, and mental patterns are constantly in motion. Yoga is not about forcing stillness onto something that is already still; it is about recognizing the difference between what moves and what does not.

When this is understood, the idea of “stilling the mind” changes meaning. It is no longer about suppression or control. It becomes a process of seeing the movement so clearly that one stops being carried away by it. The stillness is not created; it is revealed.

One who tries to still the mind cannot truly do so, because the mind continues to remain in the background in a latent or impression form. If one is identified with the mind, then even after stilling it, one remains identified with it and does not experience the freedom of awareness. Therefore, breaking identification with the mind is the only way to transcend it.
Once identification is lost, the mind moves within awareness like clouds in the sky. When the mind becomes still—or dissolves, as its very nature is movement—awareness rests in itself, no longer attached to the imprints of the mind. However, if awareness is already attached to the mind, then even when the mind becomes latent, self-awareness remains subtly bound to it and does not experience its omnipresent and blissful nature.
This is why forceful dhyana and samadhi, practiced through yoga while still living an attached lifestyle, often produce an unsatisfying feeling. Experienced yogis, therefore, enter dhyana slowly and naturally, allowing it to deepen into a breathless state while simply witnessing thoughts with natural, spontaneous breathing. In this way, meditation slips on its own into real and blissful dhyana, because the practitioner first detaches from thoughts and thus remains free even from their latent forms.

Patanjali defines yoga as the stilling of the mind. Therefore, it may be argued that a moving mind is a prerequisite for yoga, just as motion is a prerequisite for stillness. In other words, Patanjali’s definition shows that yoga concerns the stilling of mental movement. Movement does not create stillness, but it makes the process of stilling meaningful and observable.

The Real Meaning of Yogic Progress

Another realization emerged: yoga does not depend on whether one is busy or free. It depends on the quality of awareness present in any situation. A fully engaged life can accelerate growth if awareness is present. However, activity alone does not guarantee anything. Without awareness, busyness can simply create more distraction and deeper identification with mental patterns.

Similarly, reducing activity does not automatically lead to stillness. In many cases, less work leads to dullness, inertia, or subtle restlessness. The mind may appear calm on the surface, but internally it continues its movements. This is not true stillness but merely a lack of external stimulation.

Breakthroughs During Peak Activity

Looking back, I noticed a clear pattern. My major breakthroughs in yoga did not occur during passive or quiet phases. They happened during times when I was deeply involved in work, growing, and pushing my limits. During these periods, attention became naturally one-pointed. There was less room for unnecessary thinking. Energy was active and flowing. The ego had less space to dominate because the focus was on doing rather than on self-image.

There was also an interesting effect of exhaustion. After intense effort, a certain openness appeared. The usual resistance of the mind weakened. In that state, even a small practice, like a few rounds of spinal breathing, became deeply effective.

A Direct Experience with Breath and Energy

One such experience stood out clearly. After becoming mentally tired from updating my old writings to newer standards, I paused and practiced a few spinal breaths. The effect was immediate and surprising. It brought satisfaction, released body stress, and created a sense of fulfillment that was far deeper than what I usually experience in a rested state.

In contrast, when I practice breathing techniques like anulom vilom or kapalbhati in a workless condition, they do not feel as energizing or blissful. But in that moment of exhaustion, the same practices felt alive. There was even a sensation that resembled a rise of pleasure from the base of the spine, something that could easily be interpreted as sexual bliss.

However, on closer observation, it became clear that this was not ordinary sexual energy. It was a movement of life energy, a natural upward flow that the body interpreted in familiar terms. The key difference was that it did not lead outward into desire but inward into fulfillment.

Why Breath Works Better After Effort

This experience revealed an important mechanism. After intense work, the system becomes open. Resistance reduces, and the mind is less cluttered. When breath is introduced at that point, it penetrates deeper. Energy flows more freely, and the effects become more noticeable.

This does not mean that one should depend on exhaustion for progress, but it shows how effort can prepare the ground. Work creates the conditions, and practice directs the outcome.

The Balance Between Work and Awareness

A crucial understanding developed from all this: it is not work that creates yoga, but the state of consciousness during work. A busy life can either support or hinder growth depending on how one engages with it. If work is done with awareness, it becomes a powerful tool. If it is done mechanically or compulsively, it becomes another layer of distraction.

The same applies to rest. A quiet life can either deepen awareness or lead to stagnation. Neither activity nor inactivity guarantees progress.

Refining the Insight

The initial conclusion that yoga succeeds after a fully engaged life needed refinement. It is not that engagement alone leads to success. It is that engagement, when combined with awareness, creates powerful conditions for transformation. The real factor is not the outer situation but the inner relationship to it.

Final Clarity on Work and Yogic Growth

The most accurate understanding that emerged is this: less work does not always lead to yogic growth, and more work does not block it. What matters is whether awareness is present and whether identification with mental movement is reducing.

Yoga is not about escaping life or intensifying it blindly. It is about remaining steady within both. A truly mature state is one where the same clarity remains whether one is active or at rest.

Closing Reflection

What began as a simple observation has turned into a deep shift in understanding. Yoga is not confined to quiet spaces or special conditions. It is not dependent on withdrawal from life. Instead, it unfolds through the way one lives, works, observes, and breathes.

The real journey is not about choosing between action and stillness. It is about discovering a stillness that remains untouched by action, and an action that does not disturb stillness. When this balance begins to emerge, yoga is no longer a separate practice. It becomes the very nature of living.

Riding Over Sleep

The very next day, my sleep broke at 2:30 a.m. I left the bed and sat on the ground in asana. The breath was agitated but not as rocket-like as the previous day. After trying for an hour, I did yogasana for the next half hour, followed by spinal breathing. Then I again tried dhyana for an hour — no success, though the witnessing of buried thoughts continued with a sense of bliss. But how can the mind be satisfied with that once it has tasted the deep breathless dhyana?

Afterwards, I ate a bowl of khichari, a ripe apple, and some herbal tea. However, the herbal tea, being strong, caused a little acidity, so I decided not to use it in a strong ratio in the future. Then I sat again for half an hour, but there was not much improvement. The morning light has grown outside. After that, I did chakra meditation on each chakra. A blissful yogic pressure arose, and I felt dhyana ripening. There was some throat obstruction, so I did jala neti. At various moments during the entire sitting since beginning, pranic energy was rushing upward.

Then deep dhyana launched — the breath became very shallow, and there was a partial entry into pure awareness. For a moment or two, the breath stopped completely, with total merging into pure awareness, but it was too transient. Suddenly, the face of a man seemingly practicing distorted tantra appeared with a strange, cursing expression—though silent, it felt as if he were speaking ill behind my back. This vision dislodged me from that dhyana despite my attempt to remain unaffected.

A new understanding emerged — Dictatorial control, even if positive in intent, should not be held in mind toward such selfstyle people. The amazing thing is that it becomes little bit difficult to reopen the pranic channels and flow energy inside them even after just a few days of yogic inactivity or worldly involvement, or both. Moreover, sexual energy had also been drained away to clean and freshly refill the reservoir. This, too, had slightly slowed the upward movement of energy. Truly, successful yoga depends on many positive contributing factors, not just one. Each factor adds gradually, culminating in a unified whole. Like bricks coming together to build a sturdy home, all these elements combine to create the full structure of yoga practice. Let us now pick up the formal yoga blog next.

Riding Over Sleep

There’s something I keep noticing — sleep and yoga feel almost the same sometimes. When I sit quietly, some people around me say I’m not meditating, just sitting and pretending while actually dozing off. They don’t know how thin that line really is.

In a jagrata, during an all-night bhajan or kirtan for Mata or Shiva, something similar happens. You ride on the wave of sleep instead of letting it swallow you. The body is tired, but you don’t collapse. You stay alert through music, rhythm, and devotion. Slowly the boundary between waking and sleep melts. If you manage to stay aware at that edge, you touch a state that feels like Nirvikalpa — awareness without thought, just stillness watching itself. However if one is highly tired, he may sleep too while sitting in meditation pose. Moreover, it is better to meditate at a sufficient distance from such kirtans; otherwise, the loudspeaker’s sound can be disturbing. However, it should still be faintly audible so that its sattvic vibrations can have an uplifting and purifying influence.

Spiritually it makes sense. The repetition of divine names and surrender quiets the usual noise of the mind. Consciousness stays bright though the body is dull. You hover right between wake and sleep — the thin doorway the scriptures call Turiya, the state behind waking, dream, and deep sleep.

Even physiologically it fits. Chanting soothes the nerves, slows the breath, and keeps you relaxed but awake. Sleep pressure builds, yet rhythm and emotion don’t let you slip into full sleep. The brain rests while awareness stands guard — a soft, glowing balance that scientists call a hypnagogic state, and yogis call bliss.

So yes, jagrata can really open that doorway if the inner condition is right. Not everyone reaches Nirvikalpa through it, but the path runs that way.

The Mandukya Upanishad describes this beautifully. It speaks of four states — waking (jagrat), dream (svapna), deep sleep (sushupti), and the fourth one, Turiya. The first three come and go, but Turiya stays untouched. When you are at that sleepy edge during bhajan yet remain aware, you are already brushing Turiya.

Yoga Vasistha echoes the same truth. Sage Vasistha tells Rama that a wise person “sleeps even while awake and is awake even while asleep.” It means a yogi’s awareness doesn’t blink, no matter what the body does. What ordinary people call rest becomes conscious rest for the yogi. The body may be half asleep, yet awareness shines quietly. This is Yoga Nidra or Jagrat Sushupti — wakeful deep sleep, the art of riding over sleep instead of sinking into it.

Now, look at it through the Kundalini–Tantra eye. The state between waking and sleep — jagrat sushupti sandhi — is where prana turns inward. Usually energy flows outward through senses. In sleep it withdraws, but awareness also fades. If, by mantra or kirtan or still meditation, awareness stays awake while energy turns inward, you catch the serpent of sleep consciously — that’s Kundalini entering Sushumna, the central channel. This edge is the real turiya-dwara, the doorway to the fourth state.

During long chanting or meditation, breath evens out, emotions settle, Ida and Pingala — the left and right flows — come into balance, and Sushumna opens. Energy that once fed thoughts now rises upward. When awareness is pure and surrendered, it merges into silent consciousness — Nirvikalpa-like stillness. When awareness wavers, it still brings a wave of bliss or devotion, though not full samadhi.

Tantra says nothing is to be rejected, not even sleep. “Whatever binds you can liberate you, when seen rightly.” Even sleepiness can help if you meet it consciously. At that edge, Muladhara energy melts upward, the Ajna and Sahasrara light up. A tired body with wakeful awareness is fertile ground for spontaneous samadhi. That’s why many saints reached awakening through music, love, and surrender rather than severe austerity — their prana rose gently, effortlessly.

If you learn to watch yourself at the point where waking becomes sleep and stay aware with devotion or mantra, that small passage turns royal — it takes you straight toward Turiya. Nothing to force, nothing to do, just don’t fall unconscious.

The same energy that pulls you into sleep can, when met with awareness, lift you into samadhi.

It all began from a simple feeling that yoga and sleep seem alike. Yet behind that simple resemblance hides a deep secret — both touch the same doorway. In jagrata or devotional wakefulness, sleep stops being an enemy. It becomes a wave to ride — one that can carry you beyond waking and dream into that luminous stillness where only awareness itself remains.

Morning Dhyana: My Journey Through Nirvikalpa and Heart-Space Purification

Recently, I noticed a new development in my morning sadhana. Immediately after rising from bed, I concentrated on the Ajna and Sahasrara chakras, with subtle awareness of breathing seemingly rising from there. My mind waves began dissolving into a vast background space, leaving a sense of stillness. It felt effortless, as if the nirvikalpa-type dhyana was happening naturally without any prior yoga or preparatory practices.

After about an hour, my awareness shifted downward to the heart area. There, I felt a heavy darkness, which I realized was the emotional weight stored over time. Slowly, emotions and thoughts associated with those impressions emerged into my awareness, making the space lighter. It felt like an inner cleansing, a natural process of emotional and karmic purification.

From a Kundalini perspective, this process shows a beautiful rhythm: first, energy rises to higher centers, giving freedom from thought and and bringing waveless awareness. Then, it naturally descends to integrate higher consciousness into the emotional body. The darkness I felt in the heart was dense energy, now being slowly dissolved. This combination of upward transcendence and downward integration is rare, as many practitioners rise without cleansing the lower centers.

From a psychological perspective, the heaviness in the heart reflected unconscious or repressed emotions. By observing them in awareness, they surfaced without resistance and gradually lightened. This is a natural catharsis — the mind sees what was hidden, allowing tension and stored impressions to dissolve.

This experience made me question whether my usual physical asanas, cleansing techniques, and pranayamas were necessary before morning dhyana. I realized that if nirvikalpa absorption arises naturally, intense or long practices could drain the subtle energy needed for it. Gentle, minimal preparation, however, can support the body and subtle channels without interfering with the natural flow.

My guru had suggested a few practices: Jal Neti, Vastra Dhouti, Vaman, sneezing, Kapalbhati, Anulom Vilom, Sarvottan Asan without stretching, Greeva Chalan, Skandh Chalan, Nabhi Chalan (10 forward + 10 backward), and Sarp Asana. Upon reviewing them, I found them light enough if performed gently, slowly, and briefly. Vaman should only be done when advised or needed for it may be heavy in gerd; Kapalbhati should be mild; movements should be smooth and relaxed.

I created a light, energy-preserving morning prep routine to complement my dhyana: start with 3–5 minutes of gentle cleansing (Jal Neti, Sneezing, Vastra Dhouti), then 4–6 minutes of light movements (neck, shoulder, and core), followed by 3–5 minutes of gentle pranayama (Anulom Vilom and mild Kapalbhati), a short Sarvottan Asan without stretching, and finally 2 minutes of settling into stillness. After this, I enter nirvikalpa-type dhyana, focusing first on Ajna and Sahasrara for 15–20 minutes, followed by heart-space descent for 5–10 minutes to observe and release emotional heaviness. I end with integration and gentle awareness for 2–3 minutes.

The guiding principle is simple: let the dhyana arise naturally and effortlessly. Pre-dhyana practices exist only to prepare the body and subtle channels, not to produce forceful energy. Overdoing movements, pranayama, or cleansing can drain the subtle prana that fuels morning absorption. Consistency and gentleness are more valuable than intensity.

However, this is not always true. Most often, my rigorous energy work with strong āsanas, spinal breathing, and chakra meditation creates such potential in the brain that, after deep nirvikalpa dhyāna within five to ten minutes, I feel the āsanas themselves become perfected. When the same āsanas are practiced for many years, they seem to make the nāḍīs flow better, whereas new or even complicated āsanas do not have the same effect. Of course, these are simple ones like leg lifts, shoulder turns, and similar stretches. Probably, the nāḍīs develop in better alignment with the direction of those habitual āsanas with time. Interestingly, the guru-given effective āsanas did not work as well for me as my own simple stretching poses, which I had been doing for decades. No doubt, the guru’s prescribed āsanas will also become perfected with time, perhaps in an even better way. Thus, time and habit seem to be the main factors. When I am sufficiently tired, simple dhyāna starts by itself; when I am fresh and energetic, energy work leads to better dhyāna with greater awareness.

Through this approach, I am learning to harmonize high consciousness in the brain and subtle emotional purification in the heart. Simple Thokar practice also helps heart a lot. The upward flow gives bliss and waveless awareness, while the downward flow clears the unconscious, leaving a light, integrated, and balanced inner state. Observing my own responses allows me to adjust pre-dhyana practices, ensuring that maximum absorption and minimal energy drain occur every morning.

This journey teaches me that advanced sadhana is not about more effort but about precise awareness, gentle preparation, and letting the natural currents of energy and mind guide the practice. By honoring this rhythm, the heart opens, the mind rests, and the subtle energy supports a consistent and deepening nirvikalpa experience. However, all of this is relative. The definition of effort, energy, and practice may vary from person to person. So the approach is simple: try, observe, and practice — the “TOP” formula.

My Experience with Dhauti, GERD, and Food Sensitivity

The other day when I practiced vastra dhauti, I noticed something very interesting. As I started to draw out the cloth, it felt like it was being gripped from inside. When I kept a constant, light pull, it didn’t slide out smoothly. Instead, it came out in small pulses, as if something inside was releasing it little by little.

The Haṭha Yoga Pradīpikā (2.24) and Gheraṇḍa Saṁhitā (1.16–18) describe Vastra Dhauti as a practice where a moist, clean strip of cloth is swallowed and later withdrawn, purifying the stomach. The texts say the stomach “grasps and pulls it in”, which should not be taken literally; rather, once throat resistance is overcome, the natural peristaltic movement of the esophagus and stomach muscles carries the cloth inward, giving the yogi the feeling that the stomach itself is drawing it inside. It purifies the stomach, removes excess bile and phlegm, and prepares the yogi for subtler practices.

That made me wonder: was the cloth stuck in my stomach? Or was some sphincter muscle holding it?

After thinking over it, I realized the esophagus has two main sphincters. One is the cardiac (lower esophageal) sphincter, which sits just above the stomach, and the other is the pyloric sphincter, which sits at the stomach’s exit into the intestine. The pulsative grip I felt was most likely from the cardiac sphincter. This sphincter naturally prevents food or foreign objects from falling freely into the stomach, so the entire cloth cannot simply slip down and get trapped.

That discovery was a relief. It meant that if one end of the vastra is held in the hand, even a beginner should be able to withdraw it safely, though slowly and with patience. The pulsating contractions and the irritation from the cloth itself help in gradually pushing it upward.

Then another thought struck me: if my cardiac sphincter can grip the vastra this strongly, does it mean my sphincter is not weak? I’ve been dealing with GERD (acid reflux), and one common explanation is that the lower esophageal sphincter gets weak. But maybe in my case, that isn’t the whole story. Perhaps there are other reasons for my reflux.

This is where the question of food sensitivity came up. I wondered if gluten sensitivity might be a hidden factor, mainly in ankylosing spondyloarthritis like me. Gluten can irritate the gut lining in some people and worsen reflux or bloating, even when the sphincter itself is working fine.

But then I noticed something else: even when I ate jwar (sorghum) roti, which is gluten-free, it felt hard to digest. Although I found relief with it when well cooked, thin and in small to moderate quantity. This made me realize that digestion is not just about gluten. Foods like jwar, bajra, and chana are heavy, high in fiber, and too much can sit in the stomach longer, which can sometimes worsens reflux.

I considered mixing grains: jwar + bajra + chana multigrain roti. This could balance heaviness with variety, but it may still feel dense if digestion is already weak. On the other hand, lighter options like oats + kutki (little millet) seem easier on the system.

Yet, I have a deep habit of eating roti every day. It’s cultural, emotional, and satisfying. So the challenge is not to quit roti, but to find the grain combination that gives me both digestibility and comfort.

From this whole journey, my learnings are:

  • The body has natural safety mechanisms (like the sphincter grip in dhauti).
  • GERD is not always about a weak sphincter; food type and sensitivity matter a lot.
  • Heavy gluten-free grains can also be tough, so light mixes may be better.
  • Habits like roti can be kept, but with smart substitutions.

In the end, the practice of dhauti not only helped me cleanse but also gave me a direct insight into how my sphincter works. That, combined with my experiments with roti and grains, is slowly teaching me the personal balance I need for both yoga practice and digestive health.

I got help in meditative Dhyana, relief from GERD, and an improvement in personality through it. I felt I had come to know enough of the interior of my body. Dhouti Vastra was like a narrow clinical gauze bandage, about 1.5 feet in length. The throat resists it and propels it out with coughing; it only enters the stomach if enough normal saline water is drunk along with it. The outer end should never be swallowed, otherwise it may be lost inside and surgery could be required to remove it. Therefore, this is a serious practice and should be done cautiously, under the guidance of an expert.

Chapter 9 – Healing from the Inside Out

Human life is not just a chain of days and events. It is a flow of patterns, shaped by awareness, taking form as the body and mind we live in. In the last chapter, we saw how consciousness links experiences together and turns possibilities into reality. Now, we look deeper—into the body’s power to heal itself from the inside out.

Most of us are taught to think of illness as something that “attacks” us from outside—a virus, a germ, an injury. But seen more deeply, illness is often a disturbance in the body’s natural balance. It is like a musical note going slightly out of tune. The instrument is still there; it just needs the right vibration to return to harmony.

The human body is not just flesh and bone. On a finer level, it is a field of information. Every cell and atom follows a kind of invisible blueprint. That invisible blueprint can be understood as the subconscious mind, because the subconscious stores the deep patterns, memories, and beliefs that quietly shape how the body functions, heals, and responds to life—often without our conscious awareness—acting like the hidden master plan the body follows. When this blueprint is clear, the body is healthy. When it is disturbed—by stress, shock, or unprocessed emotions—the body’s image of health becomes blurred. Real healing happens when that inner pattern is restored. Then, the body’s physical parts follow naturally. The inner pattern or blueprint means the subconscious mind’s pattern becomes clearer through meditation and spiritual practices like dana (charity), tapa (discipline), and vrata (sacred vows), which purify hidden impressions and restore the mind-body field to its natural harmony, allowing the body to heal more easily.

Modern medicine sees disease as a chemical imbalance or physical damage. That is true, but these are often the surface effects of a deeper cause—the disturbance in the body’s energy or information field. I refer to the subconscious mind as the body’s energy or information field because it silently stores and transmits the mental-emotional patterns as information and energy that influence the body’s chemistry, cell behavior, and overall balance—acting like an invisible control network that links mind, energy, and physical form. Quantum physics tells us that many possible states exist at once. In the body, this means every cell can “choose” between states of health or illness. The choice depends on the signals it receives from the surrounding field.

From this point of view, the work of a healer is not only to fight the disease, but also to guide the body back into its natural rhythm. A certain threshold of subconscious clarity is needed for the body’s natural rhythm to hold; when clarity drops below that point, distortions build up in the mind-body field, and disease begins to appear. This is why some therapies—sound, light, gentle touch, meditation—can help. They are not magic; they are ways of sending the “right song” back into the body so it remembers how to be well.

Even the so-called placebo effect is proof of this. When someone truly believes they will heal, the belief itself changes the body’s energy blueprint. “Blueprint” is just a metaphor to make the idea visual, but it directly means the body’s energy field or subconscious pattern that belief can influence and change. It is not the pill but the mind’s certainty that triggers the body to repair itself. Far from being “just imagination,” it is one of the clearest examples of the mind’s healing power.

Deep spiritual states also create a powerful healing field. For example, Nirvikalpa Samadhi is often misunderstood as withdrawing from life and sitting in emptiness. But it is really about living and acting with the understanding that the doer, the action, and the result are one. When the sense of doer, action, and result being one is realized, stress and inner conflict drop sharply, which prevents new subconscious disturbances from forming—helping the body stay in its natural state of health. Simply saying, nirvikalp samadhi clears the subconscious mind. A person in this state naturally radiates balance and calm. Just being around them can help others’ patterns return to harmony.

In yoga, practices like Yam and Niyam are not strict rules but ways to keep the body’s field clear and steady. They prevent disturbances before they appear. A karmayogi—someone who works in the world with selfless awareness—may look fully engaged in life, but inside they are in deep alignment, already healing themselves and influencing others.

Healing and self-realization meet in the quiet space between thoughts. When we pause and rest in awareness, the mind’s noise settles, and distortions fade. This is not emptiness in the dull sense, but a full and alive silence where the body remembers its original state of balance. It means that in moments of pure awareness—when thoughts pause like in keval kumbhak—the mind becomes still, the subconscious clears, and the body naturally returns to its healthy, balanced state; this silence feels vibrant and alive, not blank or lifeless.

The brain adds another mystery. Neurons send electrical signals in two-dimensional patterns, yet we experience a rich, three-dimensional world. This shows that depth and reality are not purely in the brain’s matter, but in how consciousness shapes information. In a hologram, if the source plate is clear, the image is clear. Healing works the same way—clarify the blueprint, and the whole picture changes. It means that just as a hologram’s image depends entirely on the clarity of its original recording plate, the body’s health depends on the clarity of its inner pattern or subconscious; when that inner “source” is clear, the outer physical condition naturally improves.

Life also gives us natural phases of alignment. In youth, energy flows strongly, and engaging fully with life strengthens harmony. Later, as the body slows, deeper stillness and states like Nirvikalpa come more easily, keeping the field aligned with less outward action. It means we have a better opportunity in youth to experience energy-awakening–based Savikalpa Samadhi, while in later life, silent Savikalpa Samadhi and even Nirvikalpa Samadhi can naturally arise as a result of the earlier energetic awakening.

In physics, the wavefunction holds all possible realities. What becomes real is chosen by the conditions at the moment. Healing is about tuning the conditions so the healthiest possibility becomes the natural choice. It means that, just as physics says all outcomes exist until conditions decide which one appears, the body also holds many possible health states, and by creating the right mental, emotional, and physical conditions, the body naturally “chooses” the healthiest state to manifest.

To heal from the inside out is to remember that the body is not a machine needing only external repair, but a living hologram in constant contact with infinite intelligence. At any moment, the song of the field can change—and when it does, the atoms follow. Whether through belief, sound, selfless work, or deep silence, we can invite the body back into its natural rhythm.

True healing is not about escaping the world or clinging to it. It is about walking through life as both healer and healed, knowing that the blueprint of wholeness is always present. Every mindful step strengthens the song of health. Every breath taken in awareness is a gentle return to balance. In this way, healing becomes not a struggle, but a natural expression of living in tune with who we really are—a spark of consciousness, shaping itself into the form of a healthy, living human being.

Living Samadhi in All Seasons of the Day

I have come to realize that Samadhi is not something to be locked inside a meditation room or reserved only for those rare moments when the world is quiet. For me, it has become a rhythm — like breathing in and out — flowing through the morning, afternoon, evening, and even into the busiest parts of the day. It’s not just about the cushion; it’s about carrying that awareness like a fragrance that lingers wherever I go.

My mornings begin with yoga, the body stretching and opening like the petals of a flower at dawn. The energy starts to hum in the spine, and before it dissipates, I let it settle in meditation for a full hour. This is not a forced concentration, but more like stepping into a quiet lake and letting the ripples fade on their own. The body is still, the mind settles, and the space between thoughts becomes more vivid than the thoughts themselves. I can feel the energy in the Ajna Chakra — steady, blissful — and this alone is enough to keep the mind detached from the usual noise of the day. Morning energy work creates a potential that lasts throughout the day, making it easier to enter deep dhyana during later meditation sittings, and sometimes even bringing brief, samadhi-like naps at intervals throughout the day.

Afternoons are different. Just after lunch, I sit in Vajrasana for about 30 minutes. This is a calmer, grounding period — digestion for both the body and the soul. Vajrasana itself is steadying, and I find that meditating right after a meal in this posture helps the body stay relaxed while the mind quietly tunes itself. It’s not as intense as morning practice, but it carries a deep, homely stillness, almost like a midday nap for the inner being — except you stay fully awake. I feel the downward spinal breath is more prominent during eating dhyana due to the downward movement of life force aiding digestion. However in early morning when belly is empty, the upward movement of breath seems more prominent.

Evenings are my favorite. About three hours after dinner, just before sleep, I give myself another hour. Here, there is no need to prepare the mind — the day has already done its work of tiring the body and mind. I simply sit, and the awareness slips into its place like a familiar old friend returning home. Often, this is the deepest session of the day because the body has nothing left to demand, and the mind knows there’s no more work to be done. The transition into sleep from this state feels like slipping from the banks of a quiet river into the open sea. When you fall asleep directly, the mind may stay restless, leading to light sleep and vivid dreams, which prevents full mental rest. But if you first slip into dhyana and then let sleep come naturally, the mind is already calm and inwardly settled. This allows sleep to be deeper, more blissful, refreshing, and satisfying.

But it doesn’t end with these sitting periods. My way of Karma Yoga — through Sharirvigyan Darshan — has become the thread that keeps it all stitched together. While working, I remain aware of the body as if it were an atom: the brain as the nucleus, the electrons as shifting personalities, thoughts as orbiting patterns that I don’t need to catch or control. The body works, the mind thinks, but I stand a little apart, like the witness. In this way, the practice is not interrupted by activity; it is activity that becomes part of the practice.

There is a sweetness in this rhythm. Morning freshness, afternoon grounding, evening melting into stillness — and in between, the flowing stream of Karma Yoga. Each session is like cleaning a window so that the view stays clear. Over time, I have learned that Samadhi is not only found in long stretches of sitting but also in these shorter, daily touchpoints that keep the awareness polished and alive. When combined, they become a continuous current, humming quietly beneath the surface of everything I do.

It is important to understand that while dhyana or samadhi itself is not dependent on the mind, the mind is still required to prepare the ground for it. In the early stages, mental focus and clarity are essential to enter the state. This is why being fresh, alert, and well-rested allows dhyana to establish more quickly and with greater depth. Once true samadhi is reached, it becomes self-sustaining — the mind in that state neither tires nor drifts into drowsiness or sleep over time. By contrast, if one attempts meditation in a dull or drowsy condition, the practice is likely to slide into yoganidra or ordinary sleep rather than samadhi.

Public demonstrations such as being buried underground for days cannot be equated with samadhi. These feats are often the result of advanced pranayama skills such as keval kumbhak (effortless breath retention) or other survival-oriented techniques. While impressive, they do not necessarily reflect inner absorption, and the ego investment in performing such displays can become a subtle obstacle to genuine spiritual advancement. True samadhi, as described in the yogic tradition, is free of exhibition and rooted in inner stillness.

Calm Your Mind with Water: A Simple Meditation Technique

Sometimes, ancient wisdom meets inner intuition, and something powerful yet simple emerges. That’s exactly what I experienced with a small but deeply calming practice I stumbled upon—holding a sip of water in the mouth while meditating. Over time, I noticed that this little act had a profound ability to pull my rising energy down, especially during moments when I felt heavy pressure in the head, stuck in thoughts, or uncomfortable upper body energy that wouldn’t settle.

The idea is extremely simple. Sit calmly with a glass of clean, room-temperature water beside you. Take a small sip—not a mouthful, just enough to comfortably rest in your mouth. Then, gently close your eyes and simply meditate on the presence of water inside your mouth. No breath control, no visualization, no technique—just awareness of the water. Let the breath be fully natural and free.

After a while, you may notice something amazing. Without any force, the body starts responding. Soft, involuntary pulses begin around the lower abdomen. It feels like a gentle version of Kapalbhati Pranayama, but it happens naturally. It’s not a forced kriya, just a downward pull, like the body wants to balance itself. The overcharged head space begins to lighten, the throat relaxes, and you can actually feel energy shifting down toward the navel and below.

One of the best parts is that you don’t have to hold the same sip of water for ten minutes. That would be uncomfortable. Just when the sip feels enough, either swallow or spit it out and take another fresh sip. Keep the cycle going for 5 to 15 minutes, depending on what feels good. It’s totally body-led and effortless. There’s no stress on the mind, no pressure on the stomach, and no disturbance to the breath. The water seems to anchor the mind and body together.

For someone like me, who has experienced occasional GERD or acid-related discomfort, this method came as a relief. Unlike deep breathing techniques or aggressive kriyas, this is safe, cool, and calming. There’s no strain on the diaphragm, no holding of breath, and no reflux triggered. The coolness of the water balances the heat inside, and the grounded awareness pulls prana down from the chest and head. It’s also useful for spiritual practitioners who often experience excess energy in the head after meditation or pranayama. It gently rebalances without any intense effort.

This simple water-holding meditation can be used before sleep, after meals (with a 1–2 hour gap), or anytime when you feel too much mental chatter, pressure in the forehead, or a rising kind of energy that needs settling. But best time is empty stomach immidiately after morning yoga when brain pressure is high, then it lowers excess energy very effectively. It’s safe, soothing, and so intuitive that you might wonder why this hasn’t been talked about more.

A word of caution—use only clean drinking water. Don’t overdo it or hold water too long if you feel uncomfortable. Avoid doing this with a sore throat or if you’re feeling cold. But generally, it’s a harmless, soothing practice that works like a charm when done with quiet awareness.

What began as a random experiment became one of the most grounding techniques in my personal toolkit. It’s not from a book, nor taught in any formal yoga class, but it’s one of the most peaceful meditative hacks I’ve found. Water, attention, and a little bit of stillness — that’s all it takes to reconnect with the body and feel balanced again.