Ishvara Pranidhana

This last of the niyamas is usually translated as "surrender to God," or more generally, surrender to divinity. It's an important distinction to make that yoga isn't usually a religion, per se, but rather a practice and philosophy, so in this sense while this niyama might be similar at first glance to, say, the Muslim principle of surrender, rather it is a principle that could just as well be developed by an athiest.

In that sense, one doesn't have to believe in some specific credo or deity, but can work with the concept of their Self as a unique being, and that being divine in a more secular sense. It helps in that regard that this niyama points to the more general yogic concept of universal connection, and surrendering to that. To be perfectly honest, ishvara pranidhana is one niyama that's been very challenging for me to develop. For example, I think the easiest way into understanding it is through that idea of personal divinity and universal connection, in turn - it's just, I've had trouble trusting, for lack of a better word. It helps to remember that this niyama is also tied into the important concept of not being attached to the outcomes of one's desires and actions, but it also doesn't help that that's also one of the trickiest concepts.

When I was younger, I felt I had a faith that I think was something similar to this, that I could rely on, almost. But...now, I think I'm working to regain that, somehow. From that memory, and from the texts, I believe this is one of the most important niyamas to develop - the trick is, putting it into action. Which is where this interesting quote by Goethe comes into play, in my mind, but again - there's that issue of trust and surrender.

An introduction to basic yoga philosophy

Sweet Solitude - on loneliness

Svadhyaya

Svadhyaya, the second to last of the niyamas, is usually translated as "self-study." Interestingly, however, more literally, while "sva" does mean "self," "adhyaya" can also be understood to mean "education of," which points to something of the end result of developing this niyama.

In an external sense, a student might be reminded to develop svadhyaya if they are competitive with the other students; concentrating on being better than others in that sense is a way to escape really developing onself internally. Generally, however, svadhyaya is internally directed; for example, without some study of the self, one might never be aware of negative samskaras. That self-awareness is the true strength of svadhyaya, however much the phrase "ignorance is bliss" is bandied around - that may be true in some external sense, but hopefully is never applied to knowledge of one's self. And finding the dark corners of one's mind and spirit is one of the most tangible effects of developing self-study, as however painful it can be or whatever dark mood it might put one in temporarily, it can also make for life-changing growth and releasing of bad habits, unhealthy desires and painful memories that one might not have even been aware of, otherwise.

Interestingly, for as specifically internally directed as this niyama is, it also has the most to gain from outside aid. That might include texts, such as books or the great spiritual works, or a wise teacher, or even just a friend to bounce ideas off of; in a lighter way, questions that begin with phrases such as, "if you had one day to live," or, "if you had a million dollars," can also be an easier introduction to developing svadhyaya. It also benefits from the use of a 'prop,' such as a journal, but one might be careful that that sort of aid does not become narcissistic or altered to pander to the opinions of others, such as the stereotypical LiveJournal.
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“As Ray Bradbury, ‘The first thing you learn in life is you’re a fool. The last thing you learn is you’re the same fool. Sometimes I think I understand everything. Then I regain consciousness.’ Our worldly education doesn’t help much in meditation.”

identity game

To explore the ideas presented in the previous post, an interesting exercise is to use another person to bounce off of; in contrast, the more commonly known meditation for this purpose is to repeat the question, "Who am I?" and to keep delving for deeper layers of insight. One way of practicing with another person might be to set a time limit, such as fifteen minutes, and have one partner ask, "Who are you?" The other answers with whatever comes to mind - "John," "a man," "a teacher," "a fool," "alive" - and when their answer is finished, their partner simply asks again, "Who are you?"

With another person to ask, "Who are you?" there is some advantage to offset the disadvantages of things like one's relationship with the other person coloring one's thought. It's much harder to become distracted, as opposed to the ease in which one's own mind can be distracted by the smallest passing though. And having another person to actually speak to can improve the concentration of someone who is more socially bent, and might even draw out something they might not have been able or up to approaching on their own.
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"When did the lemons learn the same creed as the sun?
When did smoke learn how to fly?"
-Pablo Neruda

on identity

“In teaching, the Buddha never spoke of humans as persons existing in some fixed or static way. Instead, he described us as a collection of five changing processes: the processes of the physical body, of feelings, of perceptions, of responses, and of the flow of consciousness that experiences them all. Our sense of self arises whenever we grasp at or identify with these patterns. The process of identification, of selecting patterns to call ‘I,’ ‘me,’ ‘myself,’ is subtle and usually hidden from our awareness. We can identify with our body, feelings, or thoughts; we can identify with images, patterns, roles and archetypes. Thus, in our culture, we might fix and identify with the role of being a woman or a man, a parent or a child. We might take our family history, our genetics, and our heredity to be who we are. Sometimes we identify with our desires: sexual, aesthetic, or spiritual. In the same way we can focus on our intellect or take our astrological sign as an identity. We can choose the archetype of hero, lover, mother, ne’er-do-well, adventurer, clown, or thief as our identity and live a year or a whole lifetime based on that. To the extent that we grasp these false identities, we continually have to protect and defend ourselves, strive to fulfill what is limited or deficient in them, to fear their loss.

Yet, these are not our true identity. One master with whom I studied used to laugh at how easily and commonly we would grasp at new identities. As for himself, he would say, ‘I am none of that. I am not this body, so I was never born and will never die. I am nothing and I am everything. Your identities make all your problems. Discover what is beyond them, the delight of the timeless, the deathless.’” - Jack Kornfield, A Path With Heart

Tapas

Tapas, which means something in between 'heat' and 'perseverance,' is interesting because it is (as a word) is often used somewhat outside of the context of the niyamas in various ways, such as to describe a more physical aspect of yoga, the heat generated in the body by some kinds of practice, or in a more spiritual sense the 'burning' off of negative energies and karma through good works or personal development and dedication.

As a principle of self-control (the niyama context), tapas might be understood better as the effort put forth in developing one's self. In that sense, it's connected to phrases like, 'fiery determination.' Tapas is the quality that would take one from simply daydreaming about something, to willing it into being through effort and action. It is the name of the effort particular to making a dream real.

Interestingly, it's worth noting that over-doing effort can burn us out and lead straight towards being overly attached to desires and their outcomes. The solution to that is to develop santosha, contentment, concurrently, to keep from 'burning' ourselves (I suppose an analogy might be putting extra effort into massaging someone, and then wearing out one's own hands or hurting the other person). Of course, tapas then balances santosha in turn, helping to avoid the previously mentioned shadow of passiveness.
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"There are two parallel tasks in spiritual life. One is to discover selflessness, the other is to develop a healthy sense of self. Both sides of that apparent paradox must be fulfilled for us to awaken."

(inkling)

"Spiritual practice will not save us from suffering and confusion, it only allows us to understand that avoidance of pain does not help."

Santosha

The next of the niyamas is santosha, or contentment. I've always found this one to be a little deceptive, and I think in that also one that I need to particularly work on. The deceptiveness in my mind is that my initial impulse upon learning of the principle was to distrust it as something passive, in that I understood it as implying one should be content with unfair or bad conditions, and not try to do anything to make things (or, the world, or a relationship, whatever) better.

Rather, in inquiring more about santosha, in one sense it's rather more about embracing conditions that can't be changed, and being content instead of desiring to change something that can't be changed. If it just can't be changed, that desire will always go unfulfilled, and there will then always be suffering from that, in the Buddhist sense. One external angle one might look at this from is in terms of a relationship - one might want their partner to be different somehow, or have some idealized image of them, but the other person can't just be forced to change to conform to that. Rather, it makes for a healthier and happier relationship to be content with the person as they are; note, however that that doesn't mean to passively accept something negative in that context, one can approach that aspect of the relationship in a healthy way, and failing that, can always leave the relationship.

From another angle, santosha might be remembered, say, during a yoga class when one side is particularly stiff, or a social interaction when one is feeling inexplicably shy for the day. To embrace that feeling and accept it with compassion in that contentment is much healthier that stressing at wanting something that just is to be some other way, when it plainly isn't. It doesn't mean it's 'bad,' that just how things are in that moment, on that day, and recognizing that makes for a mindset with much better equanimity.

Niyamas and Saucha

The niyamas are the next limb of Patanjali's overview of yoga, and are another set of principles for living a healthy, happy life, but contrasted to the yamas, they are more directed internally.

Saucha, or cleanliness, is interesting because of the multiple levels it can be readily applied to; an obvious, physical aspect is in terms of hygiene, which directly relates to one's happiness and health, and also to being tuned externally like a yama, in interacting with other people. In a converse, abstract sense, cleanliness of one's self in an internal manner can relate to almost all the other principles, in not being swamped by, say, anger or jealousy or condescension.

In a more subtle, intermediate sense, something as simple as holding a mudra with one's hand might be interpreted as an expression of saucha, as opposed to twiddling thumbs or wringing hands nervously (the former is more calming and healthy, in the long run). Or, keeping a clean desk at work, which extends into and connects to a whole school of thought (feng shui), or similarly, a clean diet (ayurveda). Another example in this manner I've read of is the idea of organizing mats in a yoga class in clean, sensical lines or a circle, as (and one can readily recognize this upon experiencing it) somehow there is a synergistic effect of the people in the class coming together through that unity, as opposed to the separateness and disconnectedness of disorder.
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"Time is simply God's way of keeping everything from happening at once." - a bit flippant, but perhaps related