Yoga means union—the science of integration. Meditation is the highest peak of this science, the ultimate state of union with reality. In this inner journey, meditation is the heart of yoga. But over time, yoga has largely fallen into the wrong hands. And this is not a recent problem—it has been misunderstood and misapplied for centuries.
Some of the confusion begins with the foundational approach itself. Classical yoga, as structured in eight limbs, begins with the body. This is logical and methodical—because we live in the body, it makes sense to begin the journey there. Only after establishing a foundation in the body can one move toward the mind, and only after transcending both body and mind can meditation truly happen.
The problem is, most people never move beyond the first step. They remain entangled in the physical layer. This is why yoga today is often equated solely with postures—people twisting themselves into complex shapes, standing on their heads, or performing acrobatics. But this is merely the introduction, the cover page of the vast book of yoga. To mistake the introduction for the entirety is sheer folly.
The deeper caution that was needed was never clearly stated: Do not get stuck in the physical practices. For the majority, this warning would have been essential, because only a few ever move beyond the body. Out of a hundred, perhaps one will rise beyond the physical and enter the psychological dimension. And from a hundred in that space, only one may transcend the psychological and reach meditation.
Yes, physical yoga can bring immense health benefits. It can extend life, improve vitality, and enhance physical discipline. But a long life in itself is not a blessing—it only extends your current state. If your life is unconscious, foolish, or violent, you will simply prolong the same. A foolish person living for seventy years is unfortunate enough, but a foolish person living for two hundred years is a disaster.
There’s a story of a ruthless man who once asked an astrologer, “Is it better to live a short life or a long one?” The astrologer wisely replied, “It depends on the kind of person you are. If you are destructive, it’s unfortunate that you were even born. If born, you should die quickly. And if you must live, then it’s better you sleep all day and remain inactive.” His honesty shocked the man—but truth has that power. It disarms even the most hardened.
Yoga, in its physical form, may give you power over the body. The psychological dimensions of yoga may grant you powers of the mind: intuition, thought-reading, influence over others. But to what end? What is the use of knowing others’ thoughts when your own are still a source of misery? What do you gain by reading the noise in someone else’s head when your own mind is still cluttered and confused?
Real yoga is not about accumulating power—whether physical, mental, or mystical. Power always brings the danger of corruption. The essence of yoga is not power; it is transformation. And transformation comes through meditation.
This is the real core. Meditation is the flowering. Everything else—physical discipline, breath control, mental focus—is secondary. These are stepping stones, nothing more. Use them, but don’t become lost in them. Let them serve your deeper aim. Your movement should be one-pointed, like an arrow directed toward silence, stillness, awareness.
In this brief life, with limited time, limited energy, and endless distractions, only such one-pointed clarity can bring true inner flowering.
Once even a glimpse of meditation is experienced—not a theory or philosophy, but the taste of it—something fundamental shifts inside. A great unburdening takes place. Worries drop, tensions dissolve, and the mind no longer clings to its habitual anxieties. Even if you try to feel miserable again, you find it doesn’t work.
Once the mind has been touched by meditation, misery becomes almost impossible. Bliss becomes your natural fragrance. It begins to fall from you like a gentle rain of invisible flowers.
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