In the story we are focusing on, Baba Muktananda tells us what the saint says to his body as the time of his death approaches. The saint expresses regret for the suffering he has inflicted on his body. “I have often inconvenienced and frightened you,” he says. “Knowingly and unknowingly, I wronged you many times.”1 He acknowledges how his body remained steadfast all the while, and he thanks his body for what it allowed him to attain—namely, the experience of God, through sadhana.
In the pursuit of God, people have subjected their bodies to all manner of hardship. Often they are simply following the practices prescribed or advised by the religious tradition they belong to. They stand on one leg on a mountaintop. They fast for days on end; they deny themselves sleep. They walk barefoot to sites of pilgrimage—sometimes for hundreds of miles, sometimes up steep and rocky mountains, their limbs sore, their feet bleeding. In his own search for God, the saint in Baba’s story may well have done one or more of these things.
I’d imagine that even those who do not consider themselves to be particularly religious or spiritual can relate on some level. Most people are using their bodies to achieve some form of perfection or self-actualization for which they need to become new, better, more improved versions of themselves. And the ideal they seek always seems to be just out of reach. Or maybe it is achievable in their view, but not, perhaps, without their pushing themselves beyond a reasonable limit.
The issue I see with this approach—and I understand the saint to be implying as much—is that it tends to be premised on a rejection of ourselves. Our bodies cannot just be what they are. We cannot just be who we are. Instead of accepting the form we’ve been given as our baseline, and from there, discovering—and rediscovering, and continuing to rediscover—its many innate quirks and capabilities, we view it as a hindrance. An obstacle to overcome. All of the many tests we put it through seem to arise from the same unspoken question: “Can I be this, do this, accomplish this in spite of my body?”
On the Siddha Yoga path, Gurumayi and Baba Muktananda have encouraged us to ask a different question of ourselves. How can we make use of this body, and the many gifts it has endowed us with, to realize our goals? Specifically, how can we use our body to know God? Siddha Yoga sadhana absolutely requires discipline. It takes effort. But this is an effort that has us work with, rather than against, our bodies. As Gurumayi has said, “You don’t need to become someone or something else to follow the Siddha Yoga path. You don’t need to be anyone other than yourself to love the Guru.”
I therefore wish to ask: Do you have any indicators for yourself of when you might be pushing yourself too far in the name of perfection? Do you have a barometer by which you gauge the intensity of your efforts and assess those efforts against the results they produce? In the midst of all this, are you still making time to breathe in the spirit of spring—to let its essence touch, and soothe, every part of your being?
1Swami Muktananda, Play of Consciousness: A Spiritual Autobiography, 3rd ed. (S. Fallsburg, NY: SYDA Foundation, 2000), p. 270.
I am so grateful for Eesha’s questions, as well as all the shares from fellow Siddha Yogis. They are making me more aware of how I am treating my body and where change is needed.
As a result, I am making a more conscious effort to listen to my body and assess my inner state, as one affects the other. I realize that even something that might be good, like exercising my body, needs to be done with awareness and moderation, especially taking into consideration that I am in my golden years.
Willemstad, Curacao
Eesha’s meditation on Baba’s words “Befriend the Body” speaks deeply to something my own body has been teaching me.
Some years ago I went through a challenging health condition, and I chose to live my recovery as a “reset”—an opportunity to return to my body with tenderness, respect, and awareness. I am very well now, yet I have noticed that, at times, I am still asking my body to meet an unrealistic ideal of perfection.
The saint’s words to his body—”I have often inconvenienced and frightened you”—made me realize how often, even for the sake of health and strength, I have pushed myself beyond sensible limits.
Contemplating this teaching has invited me to befriend my body as it is: a faithful companion, not a project to be perfected. Grounded, strengthened, and sustained by my Siddha Yoga sadhana, I will exercise, nourish, and care for my body so that my daily life may be full, vital, and joyful.
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Reading “Befriend the Body” inspired me to respect and take better care of my body. So I resolved to go to bed by 8 p.m. From the first day, my children were happy with my resolution, because they were excited to listen to Siddha Yoga stories, chants, and music before going to the realm of dreams.
I observe that now I wake up early in the morning with ease, without any alarm or reminder. I realize that for more than three decades, I pushed my body to do a lot of unnecessary exertion. I find that this resolution makes my early morning sadhana easy.
I am grateful for Baba’s love and the opportunity to put his words into action. I have bought his book Play of Consciousness in the Marathi language for my children, so they will read aloud and bathe in his teachings with ease. I feel that I am fulfilling both Gurumayi’s intention and my intention to care for my body, as I walk toward the supreme Self and “breathe in the spirit of spring.”
Pune, India
After reading “Befriend the Body,” I sat on a park bench during my morning walk and reflected deeply on what serves as my “barometer.”
When I first began following the Siddha Yoga path thirty-five years ago, my legs would start to ache almost immediately during meditation, and I would meditate while enduring that physical pain.
Now, when I sit down to meditate, I immediately find myself in a stable posture. The stillness of the morning flows directly into my body. Along with this stable posture, I focus my awareness on my breath, enter a state of deep stillness, and remain in that stillness for as long as possible.
I believe this ease of posture and breath has become one of my “barometers.”
Tokyo, Japan
A number of years ago I attended a weeklong Siddha Yoga retreat. At the end of the retreat, as I was about to leave, I decided to have darshan with Baba in front of one of the pictures at the Ashram. During this darshan my heart was so full, and then I distinctly heard Baba say, “Let me in!”
When I heard those words, I realized I had been holding the shakti around my heart. I’ve had digestive issues all my life, and gradually over the years I’ve come to realize how I have withheld the awareness of the shakti in my body—especially in the digestive area. Heeding Baba’s words, I allowed the shakti to spread into my whole body, and my journey home became magical.
This experience showed me that when I allow my awareness to spread into my whole body, everything is better—inside and outside of me.
Minnesota, United States
In reflecting on how I treat my body, I noticed that I was often hurrying from one mundane activity to another in my effort to reach the “most important” activity for that hour…or day… or week…or season. I had the sense that I was being unfriendly to my body by this hurrying.
So, now whenever a mundane activity arises, which is quite often, I say, “Thank you, God, for this activity.” Then I immerse myself in it, realizing that this is where I belong—right in this moment, doing whatever I am doing right now. It could be driving to the grocery store, waiting in a line, washing the dishes, vacuuming the floor.
I do admit that I sometimes forget and my hurry habit reappears. When I remember, my day is full of moments of happiness.
Maryland, United States
Before I began following the Siddha Yoga path, I was undisciplined. After receiving shaktipat, I practiced the opposite. For years I strove to live up to my ideal of a yogini and pushed myself—body and mind—to the limit.
For the past few years, as I’ve grown older and developed more self-love, I’ve increasingly found the middle path, which I have to redefine anew every day.
It often feels as though I am walking a tightrope and my task is to maintain my balance. If I lean too far to one side, I feel uncomfortable and heavy. I think these feelings are my barometer, which I use to check how I can find my own personal balance again.
Konolfingen, Switzerland
I so love this reflection on Baba’s words. For much of my life, I have felt ambivalent about my body’s need for appropriate rest and nourishment. This reading of Baba’s words affirms for me that by caring for my body—with rest, nourishment, exercise, and fresh air—I am able to give my best to whatever task is at hand. I find that, in this optimal state, I am better able to give to others and to the world around me.
I feel it is my calling to imbibe the wisdom of the Guru’s teachings. I can perceive the vital role that my physical body plays in fulfilling this aspiration.
Virginia, United States
For many years, I neglected my biological needs in favor of external pursuits—pushing through tasks while ignoring my body’s signals. It reached a point where I was often rushing and feeling lightheaded because I had not paused for basic care.
I am now in a season of honoring my body and prioritizing its needs. I regularly check in, releasing tightness and tending to nourishment, hydration, rest, movement, and quiet. While it’s humbling to see how often I must interrupt old patterns, each pause is a return to myself.
As a result, I feel more attuned, grounded, and calm. Without the sense of rushing, I’m more present, able to receive what is here and make clear, discerning decisions.
Practicing this regulated way of living feels like a profound gift of grace—honoring my body and, in doing so, the God within.
Maryland, United States
I related to the saint’s words when he says to his body, “I have often inconvenienced and frightened you.”
For a number of years, if I had fearful thoughts, I would feel my body gripped with fear. The feeling of fright in my body could seem immobilizing, and it, in turn, caused my mind to be even more worried.
Thankfully, over time, I learned I could work with my mind to address the fear rather than allow it to flood my body. I began to connect with a wise and steady part of myself that could calm and guide my mind. I began to trust that this wise part of me could figure out what to do in whatever situations came up and that God would always help me find my way.
Now, if I begin to notice fear in my body, I know to pause and connect with the part of me that is worried and see how I can reassure and soothe it. In this way, I create more ease in my mind and body.
California, United States
I love Gurumayi’s teaching “You don’t need to become someone or something else to follow the Siddha Yoga path.”
As a young adult, I was under the impression that if I were truly a great Siddha Yogi, I would not have asthma. So I tried many things to rid myself of asthma. I also rejected the idea of taking the usual medications for asthma. So, I was not breathing well and ironically was not focusing on my sadhana well.
I asked Gurumayi for guidance, and she referred me to speak with someone who had gained wisdom on this matter. To my surprise, the woman said that there are saints who have had asthma. She guided me in a reflection, and I realized, on my own, that the best thing for me was to take the recommended medications. I realized there was no shame in having asthma; it made me no less of a Siddha Yogi. Once I began taking the medications, I felt great! I could breathe easefully and pursue my sadhana with enthusiasm.
California, United States
I can relate to Eesha’s question: “Do you have any indicators for yourself of when you might be pushing yourself too far in the name of perfection?” Yes, I do—the search for bodily “perfection” has shaped much of my adult life.
Before reading this installment, I was reflecting on how, in relation to my weight, I had never quite reached my ideal—gaining and losing pounds over the years, yet never meeting my own expectations. For a long time I had exercised regularly, motivated mainly by the desire to achieve a certain look or project a particular image of myself—to myself and to others.
Over time, my motivation has shifted toward cultivating a healthy body that supports my sadhana and my daily life. I’ve come to realize that simple, moderate exercise offers tremendous benefits. I now follow a regular routine of gentle hatha yoga, stretching, and enjoyable walks. I have found that these activities support my life profoundly. And they help me “breathe in the spirit of spring” all year round!
Montreal, Canada
After reading Eesha’s installment, “Befriend the Body,“ I decided to implement what I had read by taking a bike ride through the exuberant spring countryside with the intention of “making time to breathe in the spirit of spring.“ Whenever I chose a route, I considered its length and difficulty. My “barometer“ was my awareness of my physical condition, which caused me to take a satisfactory pace.
Once these practical elements were well defined, I was able to focus my attention on the landscape and the flow of my breath. This enabled me to maintain a feeling of ease within me. Along the way, I was happy to recognize many varieties of flowers, culminating with my sighting of three majestic asphodels. I enjoyed the fresh air, the luxuriant green meadows, the brilliant yellow rapeseed fields, and the prana in all the nature around me.
As I take care of my body, I maintain a dialogue with this dear friend. In this friendship, my body and my soul—while remaining two—are one.
Rodez, France
Shortly before reading Eesha’s installment, “Befriend the Body,“ I had been considering constructing a handmade book to hold some photos that are sacred and precious to me. When I awoke this morning, I felt ready to carry out that intention, filled with love and a comfortable level of energy.
However, soon after that, my energy level plummeted. This was my “barometer” on this occasion. It alerted me to the recognition that I was clearly about to overstep what my body could handle. Instead, what my body needed was nourishment (rather than hunting for supplies and tools) and to postpone the project for the time being. In this instance, I allowed grace to show me that I needed more rest in order for some healing to continue.
I love contemplating these words of Baba’s we heard in the Easter satsang. It is like hearing the Truth played on a celestial harp. These days I find that my “barometer” usually takes the form of a message from within the body—my very own temple of the heart.
California, United States
In answer to Eesha’s concluding questions, the “barometer” that I use is implementing a “capacity check-in.” I ask myself if my body is strong enough to undertake the action I am contemplating. I also check what kind of state I am in mentally and how I am doing emotionally.
I appreciate that there is a difference between not having the capacity at all to do something versus having the willingness and ability to stretch beyond my comfort level, which can help me to grow.
Years of doing sadhana have taught me to trust that, if my body does not have the capacity, that is all right—since I am not indispensable. More than once, when I have turned down an opportunity, I have seen someone else step up and thrive in carrying out the assignment. On the other hand, when I do have the wherewithal for a task, the action so often flows naturally. And I am likely to delight in it!
