Pratyahara: the fusion of the senses
Pratyahara is the 5th step (or limb) of Patanjali's Yoga Sutra.
This step is fundamental in Yoga...
This step results from the work of the first 4 limbs, which are linked to will and effort.
In Pratyahara the Yoga practitioner plunges within, although this definition seems rather mistaken to me, since here we witness the end of the distinction between inner world and outer world. There is then no longer an inner or an outer world: this distinction disappears with Pratyahara in a boundless fusion.
So the Yogi is in a state where the senses (our 5 goddesses) no longer reach outwards but merge into a whole.
This state can be compared to one we all know, the state just before falling asleep: the inner and outer worlds no longer exist, yet consciousness is fully present for one who is vigilant, and outer elements (sounds, smells...) no longer reach consciousness.
This place becomes an extraordinary crossroads...
Either we let nature take its course and sink into sleep, or we enter there with a stronger intention, and it becomes possible to experience something other than sleep:
The Vijnana Bhairava Tantra speaks of it very well:
| 75. When sleep has not yet come and (yet) the outer world has faded, at the moment when this state becomes accessible to thought, the supreme Goddess reveals herself. In moments of relaxation when the boundaries of waking and sleep blur, thought remains lucid but the outer world fades, the senses stop working and mental fluctuations are momentarily suspended. This intermediate state (madhya), free of obstacles, is grasped by citi, pure thought, and does not differ from divine energy. The Kaumudi quotes a stanza on this: "This state that appears at the beginning of sleep and at the end of waking, if one evokes it, one will personally enjoy imperishable bliss." A famous kârikâ explains: "The fully illumined one always and constantly realises the Act of pure consciousness (spanda) in the three states (waking, dream and deep sleep). But the other (the partially enlightened one) enjoys it only at the beginning and end of these states", that is, according to Ksemarâja, only in the periods of transition between waking and sleep, when he enjoys a vigilant relaxation favourable to turning inwards. In a more advanced yogin, this half-sleep takes the form of yoganidrâ, the spiritual sleep well known to mystics. It is in this sense that Ksemarâja interprets our verse, which he quotes in another passage of his commentary on the Spandakârikâ. For him, the yogin not yet sufficiently awakened to mystical life (aprabuddha), rarely favoured with illumination, rests meanwhile in a twilight state where the body sleeps while the heart keeps watch. This lucid sleep is not weighed down by the torpor and unconsciousness of ordinary dream states. "The Master who upholds the universe," he says, "appears clearly and unveiled in the middle way of the yogin who reaches spiritual sleep (yoganidra) and who devotes himself unfailingly to vigilant and ardent meditation." And the Lord grants him all he desires. So, bathed in the intimacy of the Self, asleep to all that is not Siva, the yogin suddenly awakens to bliss, an incommunicable experience that must be felt for oneself. According to Sivopâdhyâya, this is the path of Siva. |
This in-between state also gives us a chance to understand that the 5 elements (Mahâbhuta) reabsorb into one another.
Earth is linked to the sense of smell.
Water to taste
Fire to sight
Air to touch
Ether to sound.
Earth, the densest element, enters water, water enters fire, fire enters air, air enters ether.
For the manifestation of the world to take place, these elements appear in the reverse order:
Sound manifests time and space, and therefore ether, which will contain everything. Sound tells us about time and space: for example, we count the seconds between a flash of lightning and its rumble to know how many kilometres away the storm is. Sound lets us perceive the volume of a room (remember the sound inside a church, or outside in the snow).
Sound cannot be touched, seen, tasted or smelt...
Air brings touch. Air is in the cardiac plexus (Anâhata chakra), and we place our hand there to say "he touched me" or "me", because the soul dwells in that place.
Air has a sound, the sound of the wind, of its movement, and we can touch it, but it cannot be seen, tasted or smelt...
With fire comes the sense of sight, and consciously or not we lend qualities to the eyes: a smouldering gaze, eyes flashing, and our superheroes have burning rays coming out of their eyes... An object that can be seen can be touched and has a sound, but not necessarily a taste or a smell. Example: a metal coin.
Water brings taste. Saliva is needed to taste. An object that has taste can be seen, touched and has a sound, but no smell...
For example, a chemical sweet
Finally, earth brings smell. Good soil has a lovely smell and a taste, can be seen and touched, and has a sound.
The world appears and disappears according to this order and, extraordinary as it is, once in this state between waking and sleep where the inner and outer worlds have merged, what will stop us falling asleep is the sound of a drop of water, which brings time and space back into manifestation, and with them the distinction between inner and outer worlds, putting the whole of manifestation back in place...
When we try to fall asleep, a smell does not bother us, nor a taste, nor sight since our eyes are closed; the bed and our clothes touch us; only noise keeps us from falling asleep.
We will have to go round a whole spiral again to try to return to this state in order to fall asleep, if we want to sleep...
So Pratyahara is the moment when the objective world disappears, and with it the mass of our endlessly swarming thoughts, and also lung breathing...
Silence falls, and the spirit is then clear and free to perceive itself. The silence that appears is of astonishing depth, and it brings the rising of the energies.
Lizelle Reymond speaks of it so well in her sublime little book: Shakti (1951)
"Whoever enters this dual silence of Shakti is like the mustard seed between the millstones that crush it to make oil. Afterwards, a slow process of purification will still be needed. This purification is more or less conscious."
The peace felt in Pratyahara with a pacified mind is beyond comparison with any other lethargic state of the human condition, although this state can be experienced through other events, such as stupefaction, but a person who is not prepared to live this state will not be able to keep it for long.
Here we must see the play of the Gunas, which offer an evolution from Tamas (inertia), which changes into Rajas (activity), which changes into Sattva, balance, before returning to Tamas.
So at the end of each fully accomplished action we could approach this sattvic state, luminous and full, but ordinary mortals quickly let this state disappear and fall back into the inertia and apathy of tamas.
We can then draw a simple diagram showing the ordinary person in their activities, going from Tamas to Rajas and from Rajas to tamas without having experienced Sattva.
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Tamas, inertia or torpor, is very present in the life of the ordinary person. Even overactivity does not allow them to know the balance and deep peace of the sattvic state. |
For the Yogi, used to seizing these moments of real peace and diving into them while maintaining them, life gradually turns towards the conscious and balanced light of Sattva, finding in every action (rajas) a sublime source of wonder. It can then be said that they make use of everything to find silence and light.
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As Sattva is experienced more and more often by the Yogi, the result will be a greater capacity to concentrate, perceive, understand... while having very strong and constantly renewed energy. |
One who then knows this peace and balance of Sattva will naturally have a greater openness of mind.
This state will be the gateway to the next step, concentration, Dharana.