threading light from Yogic wisdom
Two thousand years before Alo leggings and 7 a.m.“sculpt” classes, Yoga was born as a system of philosophy, not a workout.
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, compiled between the 2nd and 4th century CE, form one of the most foundational guidebooks for understanding ancient yogic wisdom. In 196 aphorisms (sutras, or “threads”), the Sutras weave together a map of the mind along with its distractions, conditions and possibilities.
By the fifteenth page of my first assigned reading for yoga teacher training, I felt like I was handed a manual I never knew I was missing. It’s one of those rare works that has the power to very quickly rewire your entire conception of what it means to exist.
The Sutras give very little space to what we often think of as “yoga” today. The physical postures we practice in studios are mentioned only in passing – and always as a means to an end. A steady body allows for a steady mind.
Portrait of a woman with lotus signed in Devanagari to bottom right "Satya", possibly Satya Gosh (20th century) | Instagram: @desiartcollective
In the midst of our dopamine-driven, A.I.-ridden, polarization-core, war-torn present-day state of affairs, the Yoga Sutras feel more urgent than ever. Many passages feel eerily prescient, almost addressing the very challenges we face today.
I’ve come to see the heart of the Sutras reflected in four central themes: discernment, detachment, selflessness and liberation. Each one a compass as much as it is a philosophical meditation.
Discerning what is from what is not
Book 1, Sutra 3: Tadā draṣṭuḥ svarūpe avasthānam
“Then the Seer abides in its own true nature.”
A lot of the time, we have very little autonomy in the fluctuations of our own consciousness. According to the Sutras, the mind’s primary job is to create vrittis – mental fluctuations, modifications and commentary. These mental movements aren’t inherently bad; they are the mind doing what it does. Yoga’s first promise is this: you are not your thoughts. Enter the practice of metacognition as a discipline.
Viveka, or discriminatory discernment, is the capacity to distinguish what belongs to the eternal (the unchanging field of consciousness, or Purusa) and what belongs to the ephemeral (the restless world of matter, sensation, and the mind itself, or Prakriti). There is an awareness that lives behind what your mind tells you.
In an age of hyperconnectivity, infinite scrolling and algorithmic manipulation, the ancient practice of viveka has never been more essential. Our interactions with technology mold our perceptions of reality and subject us to incessant context-switching on an hourly basis. Discriminatory discernment is not just spiritual practice. It is a necessary act of modern self-preservation. Without it, we are at the mercy of every passing narrative.
Observing thoughts as they come, like watching boats drifting by, rather than jumping aboard each one is the only way we can aspire to stay true to everything that lives behind our eyes.
The art and science of detachment
Book I, Sutra 15: Dṛṣṭānuśravika-viṣaya-vitṛṣṇasya vaśīkāra-saṃjñā vairāgyam
“Detachment is the mastery of desire for seen or heard objects.”
If discernment teaches us to observe objectively, detachment (vairāgya) teaches us to let go. Detachment is the process of loosening the grip that objects, outcomes and even identities have on our consciousness. We don’t need to renounce the world around us. We just need to reconfigure our relationship with it.
Our economies are built on the promise of satisfaction, convenience and gratification. It’s all just one click or one purchase away. We’ve been trained to become perpetual seekers; always a little bit dissatisfied. It’s never been easier to give in to our every desire for pleasure and comfort. At our fingertips lie “solutions” to even the most minor of inconveniences. Detachment introduces the possibility of equanimity. Maybe we could participate in life more fully if we weren't being ruled by never-ending cycles of desire and aversion.
The Sutras say that loosening our dependence on desire itself is the first step to spiritual evolution. We need a lot less than we think.
The radical economics of selflessness
Book 2, Sutra 37: Asteya-pratiṣṭhāyāṁ sarva-ratna-upasthānam
“To one established in non-stealing, all wealth comes.”
This Sutra speaks not only to the individual yogi but to the very fabric of human civilization. It reminds us that nothing actually belongs to us in permanence – land, resources, possession, time. Even air.
Patanjali defines stealing as the withholding of what is abundant. By this definition, late-stage capitalism thrives on theft. It propagates extraction – from the earth, from labor, from each other. Planned scarcity and price stabilization through crop destruction steals from the mouths of the hungry. In wealthy cities around the world, homes and commercial real estate stand empty as speculative assets while people sleep on sidewalks.
Imagine an economic order that accounted for the sheer luck with which we are born into our circumstances. A society where land is not parceled off as property but held as collective inheritance. The only reason this concept might feel like a utopian fantasy is because yogic ethics are so radically at odds with the economic systems we now systematically inhabit. Material wealth abounds, yet scarcity runs rampant. Armed with innovation, we’ve systematized suffering. The Sutras don’t just highlight a personal moral choice, they expose very relevant moral fissures of an economic system that prizes accumulation over equity.
In the discipline of selflessness lies not loss, but an unimaginable inheritance: the wealth of a world shared.
The liberation of remembering
Book IV, Sutra 18: Tad-ātma-pratyaya-śuddhāt
“By the purity of mind’s reflection, the Self’s true nature is realized.”
All the threads of Patanjali’s system ultimately converge on a single destination: liberation (kaivalya). It’s described as the complete disentanglement of one’s consciousness from mental fluctuations, fleeting thoughts, material attachments, superficial fears and desultory desires. The recognition of and the connection to the unchanging awareness that has and always will be free.
This might feel abstract or even unattainable. But it’s really just about practicing a type of presence that is unclouded by illusion and unburdened by compulsion.
Mohini On A Swing, Raja Ravi Varma, 1894
We’ve become tethered to output, results, productivity and performance. In this sense, liberation is both spiritual and countercultural: a reminder that the value of our lives cannot and should not be reduced to metrics, possessions or accomplishments. We always have the option to liberate ourselves from the arbitrary ideas society insists on. Each time we do, we slowly loosen the knots that bind our consciousness to the endless churn of doing and having.
What I love the most about the Sutras is that it describes liberation as a natural state. It’s not something that has to be achieved, but something that can be naturally uncovered. Beneath the noise lies a mind that is already luminous, already free.
In this way, the journey of yoga is less about self-improvement and more about self-connection.
Closing thread
The Sutras are living coordinates. They remind us that clarity, detachment, selflessness and liberation are not lofty abstractions but opportunities for daily practice. They call us back to equilibrium. They cut through the relentless speed of the world today. They invite us to see thought for what it is, to loosen our grip on the transient, to share what is not truly ours and to recognize the eternal Self that unifies us all. Two thousand years later, the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali feel less like history and more like instruction for how to live well, right now.
See clearly. Release what binds.
Give without grasping.
Return to the Self that was never lost, was with you all along.
