Bhakti Yoga Becoming Love Itself

Human beings, like all living creatures, are designed to adapt to their environments. Yet, unlike most other animals, we have taken this adaptation beyond survival, transforming our surroundings to serve not only our needs but our wants. In doing so, we have reshaped the natural world to such an extent that we have severed our intuitive relationship with creation. This separation has not only alienated us from the earth but also from the energy of creation itself—the divine, which is called by many names.

In our contemporary culture, the divine has been confined to forms, images, and structures. God is often depicted as a man, worship is confined to buildings, and devotion is dismissed as irrational or outdated. Yet, true divinity cannot be limited in such ways. God is not a figure or a place; God is the energy of creation, present everywhere, within everything. The divine is not bound by gender, space, or time. It exists in the relationships between beings, the rhythms of nature, and even the unseen connections that extend beyond what we can sense. Bhakti, the practice of devotion, is the path that helps us dissolve these artificial limitations and return to an authentic experience of the sacred. Within each of us lies an intimate connection to the divine: our breath. While the audible sound of breath is a “struck” vibration, born from the movement of air, it serves as a gateway to something deeper. In yogic philosophy, the “unstruck sound,” or anahata nada, is the subtle vibration of life—the resonance of omnipresent energy that arises without external cause. Through chanting to the divine, we engage the struck sound of our breath and body, creating vibrations that ripple through our being. Each chant becomes a sacred offering, a bridge between the physical and the subtle. As the chant subsides and silence arises, the awareness cultivated in the practice deepens. In this stillness, one can attune to the nādam . This unstruck sound, ever-present within us, is not heard with the ears but perceived with the heart—a resonance that reveals the eternal connection to the energy of creation. Every breath and every chant leads us closer to this essence, where the struck dissolves into the unstruck, and the outer merges with the inner. Chanting and singing are extensions of this sacred vibration. When we chant, we amplify the unstruck sound, giving it form and intention. In my own practice, I haveexperienced how chanting mantras opens the heart. At first, the words felt like beautiful sounds, external to me. But as I immersed myself in the practice, these vibrations began to dissolve the walls around my heart. They became a bridge—a way back to the divine energy that exists not only within me but everywhere. With each repetition, the separation between “self” and “other” faded, and I began to feel the presence of the divine in all things.

The essence of Bhakti lies in this experience of unity. It is not merely about worshipping a deity or following a prescribed ritual. Bhakti is the practice of dissolving the ego, of recognizing that love is not something we possess but something we are. When the heart opens through devotion, whether through chanting, singing, or acts of selfless service, we begin to see the divine everywhere.

The boundaries between “I” and “you,” “human” and “nature,” “sacred” and “ordinary” begin to blur. We are taught to compartmentalize the sacred—to see it in specific places or forms. But Bhakti teaches us to see divinity in every aspect of existence. It reminds us that the energy of creation is not confined to temples or altars; it is alive in the trees, the wind, the animals, and the people we encounter every day. It is present in our own breath, the unstruck sound that sings within us, guiding us back to the heart of creation.

For me, Bhakti has been a journey of unlearning the limitations imposed by the culture I was raised in and reconnecting with the divine through experience. It is through practices like chanting and singing that I have been able to feel this reconnection most deeply. In those moments, the mind quiets, the heart softens, and the walls of separation fall away. What remains is a profound sense of unity—a knowing that the divine is not something outside of me but something I am immersed in, always.

Through Bhakti, we remember that God is not a distant figure or an abstract concept but the living energy that animates all beings, places and objects. We return to a state of love—not as a fleeting emotion but as the essence of our being. This return is not only a personal transformation but a collective healing. As we awaken to the sacredness of life, we begin to live in harmony with creation, honouring the divine in every breath, every being, and every thing.

To live a life of Bhakti is to see the world not as a collection of separate parts but as an interconnected whole. It is to recognize the sound of my breath as the song of the divine, the reminder that I am never truly apart from the sacred. When I live this way, I not only come closer to love; I become love itself

In my experience, the standing sequence in Ashtanga Yoga is a profound space for cultivating harmony—not just physically, but on a much deeper, internal level. While yoga is often viewed through a physical lens, as a workout or a means to achieve certain postures, the true essence of the practice goes far beyond what can be seen on the outside. It’s the subtle, internal work within the body that leads to the most significant growth in self-awareness and understanding.

When we engage in the standing sequence, we explore what it means to balance, not only on a physical plane, but mentally and emotionally as well. The body moves through different postures, occupying space, but the real exploration is internal. The space we inhabit within our body, and the stability we strive to maintain in each posture, becomes a reflection of our mental state.

At the heart of this sequence is vinyasa krama—the practice of consciously placing oneself on an intentional path. In Ashtanga Yoga, this path is illuminated through the integration of breath, bandha, drishti, and intention. Together, these elements transform the practice from a series of movements into a moving meditation. Each breath consciously guides us into the next movement, each gaze point anchors us in the present moment, and each posture becomes an intentional expression of stability and awareness.

In each pose, we are tasked with maintaining not only physical alignment but also mental composure. As we settle into the posture, we are brought to a drishti, a gazing point for the eyes, that anchors us in the present. At the same time, the ujjayi breathing provides an internal rhythm, an audible focus that keeps us grounded. Additionally, the practice of bandhas, particularly mulabandha (the root lock), creates a steady foundation from which balance and awareness can arise. Mulabandha engages the pelvic floor, creating stability in the body’s core while simultaneously directing energy upward. This subtle lock encourages us to connect deeply to the body’s center, cultivating a feeling of lightness and strength. When ujjayi, drishti, and mulabandha are combined with intention, they embody the principle of ashtanga vinyasa—a system that invites us to move with conscious alignment of body, breath, and purpose. These elements act as anchors, allowing us to maintain steadiness even as we navigate the varying challenges of the standing sequence.

This integration of breath, gaze, and locks brings the senses inward, fostering deep concentration and awareness of both body and mind. The physical form of theposture is only part of the experience; what truly matters is how we feel within it, and how we respond to the subtle shifts in balance and tension.

Yoga in the modern world is often sold as a physical practice, focusing on flexibility, strength, or achieving a particular aesthetic. While there is nothing wrong with wanting to cultivate these qualities, it is important to remember that these are only surface-level experiences. The true depth of yoga emerges when we begin to move beyond the external appearance of a posture and explore how it feels to inhabit the body in that moment.

As we work through the standing sequence, the real challenge is not achieving the perfect pose, but rather maintaining a sense of calm and focus as we encounter different physical stresses. These postures, though physical, become tools for cultivating awareness. The body serves as an anchor for the mind, and through each movement, breath, and lock, we are given the opportunity to stay present and composed. This is where the real growth happens—not in the outward form, but in the internal experience. The subtle practices within the physical postures—the focus on breath, the use of drishti, and the activation of bandhas—are what lead to the most profound transformation in as asana practice. It’s not about achieving a specific look in a posture; it’s about learning how to stay steady and aware amidst the fluctuations of the body and mind. This steadiness translates into our daily lives, as the awareness we cultivate on the mat becomes a tool for navigating challenges off the mat.

As we move through the standing sequence, we learn that how we feel in a posture is far more important than how it looks. When we stop trying to force ourselves into a particular shape and instead focus on our breath, our balance, and our mental state, we find a sense of freedom. The practice becomes less about performance and more about self-exploration, allowing us to approach each pose with curiosity and openness rather than judgment.

Ultimately, the standing sequence in Ashtanga Yoga is a tool for self-exploration and growth. While the physical postures are important, they are simply a starting point. The real work happens on a much subtler level, as we learn to cultivate awareness, balance, and steadiness within ourselves. When we approach the practice from this perspective, yoga becomes more than just a series of movements. It becomes a way to develop mental clarity and self-awareness, to navigate the challenges of life with composure and grace. This is the true essence of yoga—not what we look like in a posture, but how we feel and move through the practice.

Patanjali Yoga Sutra 3.28

चन्द्रे ताराव्यूहज्ञानम् || ३.२८ ||

Candre tārā-vyūha-jñānam

By performing samyama on the moon, knowledge concerning the arrangements of the stars in gained.

—translation by Shri Bhranamanda Sarasvati (RamamurtiS. Mishra M.D.)

This sutra invites us to deepen our relationship with the mind by likening it to the reflective quality of the moon. In yogic philosophy, the moon symbolizes the mind—passive and reflective, not generating its own light but simply reflecting light that illuminates it. Similarly, our mind reflects the impressions of our experiences, relationships, and environments, casting light on what occupies our consciousness.

The phases of the moon offer a profound lesson about the fluctuating nature of the mind. Just as the moon waxes and wanes, so too does our consciousness shift and change. The stars in the night sky add another layer to this metaphor, representing the endless stream of thoughts and impressions that move through the mind. Just as stars appear to shift and rearrange themselves across the heavens, so too do our citta vrittis—the fluctuations of the mind. Each experience, person, or place we encounter leaves an impression, a samskara, shaping the movement of our thoughts and creating patterns within our consciousness. These patterns are not random; they are like constellations, forming a unique map of our existence, revealing how our external and internal worlds are interconnected.

Yet, the deeper teaching of this sutra lies in recognizing that the true light—the Sun—is always present. The stars, though they appear to shine brightly, do not illuminate the earth or the moon; they are distant reflections. Similarly, the external things that occupy our minds—possessions, relationships, and environments—move and change, however strong they feel are really only transient impressions. Only the sun can truly illuminate the moon, just as only the spirit can truly illuminate the mind. This sun, the eternal presence within us, is not external but the ever-present light of our spirit. When we allow ourselves to be guided by external influences we obscure this inner light and lose sight of our true nature.

This sutra teaches us that by observing the ever-changing movement of the stars—our thoughts and impressions—we can develop discernment. We begin to recognize which patterns uplift us and which weigh us down, allowing us to transcend the habitual pull of samskaras. Through the practice of samyama on the moon, we steady the mind’s reflective quality, enabling us to see beyond the movement of the stars to the light of the sun within.

Ultimately, this sutra encourages us to shift our perspective, urging us to look beyond the surface level of things and recognize the underlying unity and beauty that is always present. Through deep meditation, we can fully know ourselves, perceive the luminous spirit within, and awaken to the extraordinary reality of who we truly are.

The philosophical depth of this sutra points us toward a mystical truth: the mind, when aligned with the spirit, has the capacity to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. By practicing samyama on the moon, we realize that our reflective mind, when focused with clarity and intention, can reveal the subtle, cosmic patterns of our life. We begin to understand that our experiences, no matter how mundane they may seem, are part of a larger, more profound movement. They are not random but are like stars in the sky, forming the constellation of our existence.