Tapas: Working with Dedication

by Nina

Cloud and Sunset by Brad Gibson

When my mother broke her hip in her mid-seventies, she surprised me with her ferocious dedication to working toward a full recovery. She did her physical therapy exercises every day, soon worked her way up toward walking around the block with a walker, and eventually over time regained full use of her new hip. From then on she was able to walk easily and with no aids almost until the end of her life. I was remembering this the other day because I was thinking about how when we get older it can sometimes take a lot of work to stay physically independent. And some people find it easier just to give up.

Another family member recently told me that even though she was not yet 60, she could no longer get up and down from the floor, so she had just stopped trying to do it. Concerned, I asked if she was having knee problems or.... She said it was just that her legs were no longer strong enough to make the movements. Have you tried using a chair for support? I asked. She replied that this seemed too awkward, and shrugged it off, adding that she preferred just to give it up. A bit alarmed at the thought of a woman her age not being able to get up off the floor—what if she fell when no one else was around?—I said that I thought she should reconsider, that maybe this skill was too important to let go of so easily. With practice, this skill is probably something she could regain. You're probably right, she agreed, but I could tell she wasn't fully convinced or perhaps was just unwilling.

While someone like Shari might be able to come up with a yoga routine for my relative to do that would help her build the strength and agility to relearn getting up and down from the floor—and maybe I'll be asking Shari to come up with one—the kind of yoga I had in mind for this woman was the practice of tapas. I imagined her just starting to practice every day or even several times a day getting up and down from the floor with some kind of support until eventually she would need less and less support. In other words, like my mother learning to walk on her own again, she could through grit and determination do the hard work that something like this requires. Babies do this naturally and instinctively of course, but somehow relearning these skills can feel like too much work to some older adults.

In his post on the niyamas (see The Second Branch of Yoga: The Niyamas (Your "To Do" List), Ram defined tapas as "a burning desire or a disciplinary approach to achieve one’s aims and aspirations." Practicing tapas is how we reap the rewards of yoga, whether through a regular meditation practice or doing asana five or six days a week. I sometimes accompanied my mother back when she was walking through her neighborhood with that walker—clearly struggling both with the physical difficulty of it as well as the emotional toll—and even at the time I was struck with admiration at her commitment to the task at hand. She couldn't know for sure that she was going to succeed at learning to walk again but she was going to give it her damnedest.

I've always thought of tapas as the yang to santosha's (contentment) yin (again, see Ram's post on the niyamas). Yes, we need to cultivate contentment with what we have and with what we don't have but we also have our work to do. That's what Krishna explains to Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita when Arjuna asks why, if we shouldn't be attached to the outcomes of our actions, we should even try to do anything. 

Not by not acting in this world
does one become free from action,
nor does one approach perfection
by renunciation only.
Not even for a moment does
someone exist without acting.
Even against one’s will, one acts
by the nature-born qualities.

We need to work to support ourselves and our families, we need to work for the good of our communities, we need to work on our spiritual development, and we need to do the work required to keep our bodies as strong and healthy as possible to enable us to do the rest of our work. After all, that is why Hatha yoga was initially developed. Ancient yogis knew a strong and pain-free body was helpful for spiritual growth, as being distracted by illness or pain might interfere with spiritual practices (of course, this does not mean that people with illnesses or pain cannot practice yoga). So doing what we can to maintain our health is an essential part of our work.

Set thy heart upon thy work, but never on its reward.
Work not for a reward; but never cease to do thy work.
Do thy work in the peace of Yoga and, free from selfish desires, be not moved in success or failure. Yoga is evenness of mind—a peace that is ever the same. — translation by Juan Mascaro

I don't know if my message got through to my relative but I really hope it did. She's a wonderful, good-hearted person and I would love to see her stay strong and independent for as long as possible.