The Longest Practice Ever: How Yoga Prepares Us to Have More Love, More Peace, and More Peace of Mind

Last month, a yoga instructor in New York noticed something curious: She looked out the window and noticed nothing but sunlight, pink sand, and palm trees. Why was she still practising her yoga pose? Despite the utter peace at the mind/body intersection, we don’t naturally tend to have it 24/7.

It’s important that we have a balance of some kind; these additional moments of peace of mind are simply a matter of diligence and a readiness to experience them.

But what if there was a way to enhance these moments without formally having them? What if there was a way to learn to trust that there would always be another moment of peace and pleasure to explore?

So imagine you and your teacher are driving to some beautiful place and suddenly a terrific storm—a gigantic sea of big splashes and screams—storm descends on you, and you suddenly find yourself in your vulnerable place, unable to hold still, unable to experience the rain or touch your hands to the ground, unable to breathe properly.

Could it be possible that it isn’t the mechanism of this incident but rather the state of mind that sustains the safety and the toleration of this destabilizing storm? Are we OK just being totally in our vulnerable places so long as we have learned to surrender fully into this wonderful moment?

The long-term study of health and wellness around the world indicates that most of us fail to cultivate these intimate connections we so desperately need.

At the dawn of yoga as a practice, one of its most important principles is that a moment of intense conscious practice is precisely the moment in which the practitioner has the greatest chance to find a sense of inner peace by moksha mantra. And this deeper sense of peacefulness prepares us to evolve physically—into greater strength, more flexibility, a stronger awareness of our body’s natural function—and spiritually.

Buddhism calls this experience of “ultimate yogic” bliss; it is best expressed by teachers who still speak to that experience years later:

“You know the feeling that arises when you are lying down and feeling deeply tired and very weary, and there’s a sudden sensation of acute awareness of the universe? Like it’s actually there? It’s like there is a burning inside of you and you can’t move out of it, but you can’t go back, so you feel compelled to commit to that experience. That’s a state of mind where the body feels that it’s totally aware of the state of the breath, all your nerves, muscles, arteries, and breathing—and now you feel that the ultimate self—i.e., nothing but your authentic self—is tingling inside you.”

Emmanuel Twining’s profound work, called “Celebrate the Unconquered Self,” says this best:

“That spirit of yogic awareness is the frontier beyond which all other experiences can safely journey. The greatest yogic moment in an individual’s life is the experience that he or she is gazing upon this frontier. The waking consciousness of the body and mind can then revel in a form of holistic wholeness as the totality of the whole being.”

As I write these words, the day is overcast, so we can safely reach the threshold of India, much as the ancient Indian medics often did when they retreated into their meditation centres. But our brave Indian friends would otherwise be observing their daily rituals of prayer and meditation. Instead, they would be praying.

To live fully in this state of mind gives us the ability to focus our attentions on the present moment without planning ahead, to know ourselves with clear eyes, and to sense the divine.

Suddenly the waves roll in. The snoring in the passenger seat of the car is a few notches less convincing because we know that the ocean is crumbling beneath our feet.