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The last one year has been a crucifying one, of involution, and it has been the toughest one in terms of practice, including in the regularity of it, the duration of it. Added to this, the excruciation of wakefulness, where often entire nights have been wished away without a wink of sleep. Then, to wake up to project not just normalcy, but even buoyancy.Then, the worst: the sense of being so very detached -- and to make up for that disinterest you whip up a flurry of cheeriness and curiosity and zeal, all exact opposite to what one is feeling:)
I know why that is so too:)
That half-a-percent lurking attachment where 100 per cent was demanded of you. That gate left a hair-width open; to let the furies back in. The raging fire not all put out, where a single spark continues stubbornly, with the danger of a conflagration re-appearing in its glow.
Here is a story, that may make sense:
Sage-poet Nakkirar who was deep in meditation on the banks of a holy river. Suddenly, he sees a wondrous sight of a leaf splitting in two, and each half becoming a fish and bird respectively. And each half struggling with the commonness they share as a leaf but also trying to realize their animated individuality now. This magical struggle tilts Nakkirar's mind away from his intense absorption with the Self or the divine (which is actually the goal of yoga). A demon, who had similarly tricked 999 other yoga bhrashtas (also referred to as tapo bhrashta or one who falls in austerity practices) with his magical distractions, whisks away Nakkirar to his prison till Lord Shanmuga, the lord of the seven hills, rescues him. Here Nakkirar's fall is triggered by a harmless mental wavering. But when one falls in yoga, the reason is irrelevant. The fall always lands us far away from the path.
I know why that is so too:)
That half-a-percent lurking attachment where 100 per cent was demanded of you. That gate left a hair-width open; to let the furies back in. The raging fire not all put out, where a single spark continues stubbornly, with the danger of a conflagration re-appearing in its glow.
Here is a story, that may make sense:
Sage-poet Nakkirar who was deep in meditation on the banks of a holy river. Suddenly, he sees a wondrous sight of a leaf splitting in two, and each half becoming a fish and bird respectively. And each half struggling with the commonness they share as a leaf but also trying to realize their animated individuality now. This magical struggle tilts Nakkirar's mind away from his intense absorption with the Self or the divine (which is actually the goal of yoga). A demon, who had similarly tricked 999 other yoga bhrashtas (also referred to as tapo bhrashta or one who falls in austerity practices) with his magical distractions, whisks away Nakkirar to his prison till Lord Shanmuga, the lord of the seven hills, rescues him. Here Nakkirar's fall is triggered by a harmless mental wavering. But when one falls in yoga, the reason is irrelevant. The fall always lands us far away from the path.
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