The Mirror of Practice: What Six Weeks With The Niyamas Revealed

Over the last six weeks, we've been exploring the Niyamas in class. The Niyamas are the second limb of yoga from Patanjali's Yoga Sutras and are often translated as personal observances or practices. They offer guidance for the relationship we have with ourselves and the way we move through the world.

Whenever I teach a theme, I inevitably find myself studying it alongside the students. Whilst a teacher may stand at the front of the room, they are still a student of yoga. In many ways, I think this becomes increasingly important as we deepen our practice. The moment we believe we have understood something completely is often the moment we stop learning from it.

There is a concept in Zen Buddhism known as beginner's mind – approaching each experience with openness and curiosity, even when it feels familiar. I think yoga invites the same attitude. The teachings do not change, but we do. What struck me during this exploration of the Niyamas was not that I learned anything radically new. Rather, I found myself being reminded of things I already knew but had quietly drifted away from.

Saucha – What Needs Clearing Away?

When we began exploring Saucha, we translated it as creating space for clarity, ease and a more natural way of being. Whilst purity and cleanliness are the traditional translations, I found myself reflecting on what it actually means to feel clean. Most of us know what physical cleanliness feels like. A shower after a long day. Fresh bed sheets. Opening the windows and letting fresh air into a room that has become stuffy.

But perhaps the same can be true internally. What would it mean to have a clean breath? A clean movement? A clean mind?

As I reflected on Saucha throughout the week, I noticed how much energy can be consumed by things that add very little to our lives. Negative self-talk. Old stories about ourselves. Expectations that no longer serve us. The endless stream of mental commentary that accompanies so much of modern life.

What struck me was that clarity rarely arrived when I added something new. More often it emerged when I stopped adding. A little more space in the body. A little more space in the breath. A little more space in my thinking.

Perhaps Saucha is not about becoming something different, but clearing away enough of the clutter to experience life more clearly.

Santosha – What Am I Overlooking?

If Saucha invited me to consider what needed clearing away, Santosha invited me to consider what was already present but being overlooked. One of the reflections we sat with during the week was a Chinese proverb which suggests that people in the West are always getting ready to live. The more I reflected on it, the more uncomfortable it became.

How much of life is spent preparing for the next thing? The next holiday. The next achievement. The next stage of life. The next version of ourselves.

Around the same time, I started running and climbing regularly again. Neither activity is new to me. In fact, I know from experience that regular movement has a profoundly positive effect on my mental health and wellbeing. Yet when work becomes busy, these are often the first things I stop doing. The very things that help me feel most balanced are often sacrificed in service of something that feels more urgent.

The problem, of course, is that everything else is never dealt with. There is always another email to answer, another problem to solve, another responsibility to carry. Santosha reminded me that life is not waiting somewhere beyond the horizon. It is happening now, in the middle of all the unfinished business.

Perhaps contentment is not something we discover. Perhaps it is something we practise by noticing what is already here.

Tapas – What Needs Nurturing?

If Santosha encouraged me to appreciate what is already here, Tapas asked a more challenging question: what am I willing to do consistently in order to support what matters most? Tapas is often translated as discipline, but I have always been drawn to some of its other meanings: heat, fire and transformation.

That idea resonated deeply with me as I found myself returning to running and climbing. It reminded me that wellbeing is rarely limited by knowledge. Most of us already know a great deal about what supports our health and happiness.

The difficulty is not knowing what to do. The difficulty is doing it consistently.

Tapas reminded me that transformation rarely comes from dramatic changes. More often it emerges through small acts repeated over time. A single yoga class does not transform us. One run does not transform us. One healthy choice does not transform us. But these small actions accumulate.

The image we explored in class was that of a furnace. Not a destructive fire, but a steady and purposeful heat. A fire that gradually burns away what is unnecessary whilst revealing something more essential underneath. Perhaps the real invitation of Tapas is not to become harder or more disciplined for its own sake, but to nurture the habits, practices and choices that allow us to flourish.

The fire of Tapas is not a punishment. It is a commitment.

Svādhyāya – What Needs Understanding?

If Tapas asked what needs nurturing, Svādhyāya asked something deeper: what needs understanding?

One of the reflections we explored in class was the idea that yoga becomes a mirror. The postures themselves are rarely the point. What becomes interesting is how we respond to them. Do we become frustrated when something feels difficult? Do we compare ourselves to others? Do we lose patience? Do we push too hard? Do we give up too quickly? The posture simply reveals what was already there.

This was also a useful reminder for me as a teacher. Whenever I teach a theme, there can be a temptation to think of myself as guiding others through the material. Yet the longer I practise yoga, the less convinced I become that teaching and learning are separate activities. Each time I return to a familiar teaching, I find myself noticing something I had previously overlooked.

Wisdom is not the same thing as knowledge.

Knowledge can be accumulated. Wisdom requires experience, reflection and practice.

The moment we believe there is nothing more to learn, we stop looking closely. Perhaps that is one of the gifts of Svādhyāya. It reminds us that self-study is not about reaching a final understanding of who we are. It is about remaining curious enough to keep exploring.

The practice becomes a mirror. The challenge is having the courage to look into it.

Ishvara Pranidhana – What Needs Releasing?

If Svādhyāya invited me to understand myself more clearly, Ishvara Pranidhana invited me to consider what I might need to let go of. One of the questions we explored in class was how often we decide we have had a bad day simply because things did not unfold according to plan. A meeting overruns. The traffic is worse than expected. Someone behaves differently to how we hoped they would. A carefully thought-out plan begins to unravel.

What fascinates me is how quickly frustration can arise when reality fails to conform to the version of events we have already created in our minds. The challenge is not usually the situation itself. The challenge is the gap between what is happening and what we believe should be happening.

During the week, we explored Doug Keller's image of an ice cube floating in a stream. The ice cube is made from exactly the same water as the stream, yet it has become frozen into a fixed shape. In many ways, we can become like that too. We freeze around our expectations, our plans and our desire to control outcomes.

The image stayed with me because it highlights something I often forget. The goal is not to stop caring. It is not to stop making plans or striving towards things that matter. The ice cube does not need to leave the stream; it simply needs to soften enough to move with it.

There is a difference between being committed to something and being attached to it. One brings energy. The other often brings suffering.

Perhaps surrender is not about letting go of our goals, values or aspirations. Perhaps it is about releasing our grip on the belief that we can control every outcome.

Returning To Practice

As we move from the Niyamas into our next theme of Asana, I find myself carrying these reflections forward. Not because I have mastered them, but because I haven't.

The more I study yoga, the less it feels like a process of collecting knowledge and the more it feels like a practice of remembering. Remembering what supports us. Remembering what matters. Remembering to pay attention.

The Niyamas are not a checklist to complete. They are practices to revisit. The same can be said of yoga itself.

So whilst our formal exploration of the Niyamas has come to an end, the practice continues. I have no doubt that the next time I return to these teachings, they will reveal something different. Not because the teachings have changed, but because I have.