Thus, there is this conflict going on inside when we start yoga practice. And nobody
will know what is happening; only we ourselves will know it. It is practically
impossible for an ordinary mind to prevent the entry of external impressions in
respect of objects because years and years have been lived in a way which is in
harmony with the objects of sense; therefore, the impressions created by the past
experiences in respect of objects repeat themselves again and again, and seek entry
into the mind. In yoga, we try to do the opposite of it. The concentration aspect of the
mind, which is sattvic, tries to gain an upper hand over the rajasic and tamasic
vrittis. What feelings arise at that time, in the mind, are the contents of the
experience of the yogi himself. There is oftentimes a feeling of pleasure or joy; at
other times there is a feeling of depression and falling down. It depends upon which
vritti is strong. If there is a duel between two wrestlers, we cannot say at the very
beginning itself who is going to win because the duel will go on for a long time, for
hours together—one falling down and then getting up, and so on—so that we will be
witnessing the duel without being able to make a judgement as to what is going to
happen finally. Though it may look that someone is gaining, suddenly that one which
appeared to be gaining will fall down, and that one which fell down will rise up, etc.
This kind of thing will happen in the mind.
The sensuous vrittis may gain strength and put down the vritti of samyama, and
then there is distraction, agitation—an impossibility to concentrate. Then, after a
time, the sensuous vrittis will be put down and the concentration vritti may come,
and there is a feeling of strength, a mood of elevation and buoyancy of spirit. Then,
after some time, that may go down. This process will continue for a long time,
according to the nature of the mind, the case on hand—therefore, the sutra: vyutthāna
nirodha saṁskārayoḥ abhibhava prādurbhāvau (III.9). There is a coming in and going
out of the different kinds of vrittis in the mind. Thus samyama is not, as one may
imagine, a very happy, continuous, spontaneous process of a uniform fixing of the
mind.
In the beginning there is a hard tussle. The moment we think of concentration, the
mind will not go and sit there. It may appear as if it is going and alighting itself on
the object, but there will be repulsion immediately, and it will come back. So we have
to go once again and put it back upon the point. Yato yato niścalati manaś cañcalam
asthiram, tatas tato niyamyaitad ātmany eva vaśaṁ nayet (B.G. VI.26). A corresponding
sloka from the Bhagavadgita tells us almost the same thing: when the mind moves
away from the centre of concentration and directs itself to the objects outside, then
and there, at that particular moment, gradually it has to be brought back to the point
of concentration. This is exactly what the sutra of Patanjali also tells us in a different
language: nirodhakṣaṇa cittānvayaḥ nirodhapariṇāmaḥ (III.9). The involvement of the
mind at the moment of the interception of the vrittis—at the time it gains an upper
hand and puts down the vrittis of rajas and tamas—that moment of interception
with which the mind identifies itself is called nirodha parinama.
Nirodha parinama is that parinama, or transformation, which is equivalent to the
suppression of the vrittis which are distracting in nature. This requires continuous
practice. It is not a question of a few days, because the mind of an ordinary person is
not constituted of the concentration aspect, or the sattvic aspect. It is made up of the
rajasic and the tamasic aspects. This can be seen by the nature of the experiences we
usually pass through in life, the moods that arise in the mind, and the desires we
have in ordinary external life. Do we ever have a mood of concentration at any time