Alchemy

    Sanskrit is spiritually nuanced or even transformative in a way that modern spoken languages are not…

          Saṁskṛta or Sanskrit means “well-prepared,” “polished,” or “perfected” – and it’s not hard to see why.  This language is rife with evocative words that carry double or even triple meanings, and its collapsible verb endings eliminate all the extra syllables and bulky clauses required by English. As such, Sanskrit verse is compact, nuanced, poetic, and therefore very difficult to translate. Many yogis claim that Sanskrit words capture yogic concepts more eloquently than modern spoken languages ever could; for example, spiritual ideas like ahiṃsā, brahmacarya, and dharma are far too complex to be expressed concisely in English. Thus, one might elect to say a Sanskrit word rather than trying to find or develop an accurate English translation.

          Moreover, in many Tantric yoga traditions, Sanskrit mantras are said to carry transformative properties that can aid yogis on their spiritual paths. Many of the surviving Tantric yoga texts from medieval South Asia (roughly 5^th – 15^th centuries CE) describe yoga as a practice of alchemy, prescribing a series of rites by which practitioners can transmute and purify their energies – both subtle and physical.  Through proper use of Sanskrit mantras and other Tantric formulae, these texts claim, yogis can transform their bodies, for the sound of Sanskrit can alter physical matter. Interestingly,  these Tantric texts identify the yogic body and the elements contained therein (water, fire, earth, air, and aether, or ākāśa) with various metals, such as mercury. Thus, just as alchemists seek to transmute mercury into gold by manipulating the elements (often through herbal or metallic medicines), yogis seek to attain supernatural powers, perfect their physical bodies, and even gain immortality through Sanskrit mantra. For yogis who believe in these alchemical principles, translation is a poor substitute.

    BUT mindless memorization of Sanskrit words promotes misinformation…

         One of my favorite Sanskritists, Wendy Doniger, warns that translation cannot be both beautiful and faithful – and I am inclined to agree. Indeed, when we cite the aesthetic beauty and supposed spiritual properties of Sanskrit, we often make excuses for incomplete linguistic research.

          Let’s take, for example, our beloved namaste. I have heard an array of definitions for this term in my years of practicing yoga, and for a long time, I used to conclude my classes by saying: “the divine light in me respects and honors the divine light within you. Namaste!” But let’s look at the etymology of the word:

          नमस्ते (namaste) = नमस् (namas) + ते (te)

          नमस् (namas): bowing; to bow; adoration (by word or gesture); a gesture expressing deferential respect.

          ते (te): you; second person pronoun.

          When we put those together, नमस्ते (namaste) means “bowing to you,” perhaps with adoration or deferential respect. Nothing in this word translates as “light” or “divine” within anyone. In modern spoken Hindi, namaste is synonymous with “hello;” it is used as a simple, largely secular greeting!

          Unfortunately, when we can’t comprehend a language enough to even recognize its basic grammatical functions, we are prone to making erroneous (and oftentimes embarrassing!) errors in translation. Personally, I think this common namaste mix-up is harmless, but when used in certain contexts or in certain company, such insensitive use of spiritual terminology can create awkward situations and even offend your students.

          Moreover, if we can’t understand or even read written Sanskrit, how do we expect to grasp these nuanced spiritual concepts? Ahiṃsā, brahmacarya, and dharma are not just yogic terms – they are complex ideologies that are informed by and entrenched within broader frameworks of power in South Asia. Ahiṃsā, for example, featured prominently in the discourse of Indian Independence, championed by nationalist leader Mohandas Gandhi. And yet, even for “non-violent” yogi Gandhi, ahiṃsā was not just a precarious culmination of self-restraint but also the inevitable eruption of violence that follows. In the context of Indian nationalism, you’ll rarely see ahiṃsā translated as simply “non-violence.”

          These concepts cannot be divorced from their histories; if we are to draw on their spiritual weight in our yoga classes, we must also be able to accurately translate, define, and contextualize their manifold meanings.

    AND misinformation breeds pseudoscience and ‘conspirituality.’

          The yoga community is plagued by less-than-factual, conspiratorial bogus. My personal favorites include: “twisting postures detox your liver” and “harmful bacteria can’t survive in 95-degree heat.” These claims are easily debunked by modern science – yet, we yoga teachers happily peddle this snake oil to our students because it wears the guise of ayurveda or yogic alchemy. Let me put it this way: just because some old guy wrote it in Sanskrit doesn’t mean it’s true!

          You can incorporate the alchemical principles of Tantric yoga into your personal practice as you see fit, but understand that many of these ideas are not supported by scientific empiricism. To help limit the spread of misinformation, and to prevent the further proliferation of conspirituality (conspiracy + spirituality), we yoga teachers have a responsibility to provide accurate, thorough information to our students – and that often means we must trust the findings of scientific experts over the musings of medieval philosophers.

Visit the Inspiration tab to read about my embodied experience of Alchemy in modern yoga →

Metamorphose

          “We begin in tāḍāsana – mountain pose.”

          The instructor’s cue is a shockwave that rips through the studio. I am one peak among many who burst forth from the flat earth, our bodies called into formation by a force naught short of tectonic disruption.

          I spread my toes wide, press them one-by-one-by-one down into the ground. Powered up by the earth, I stand tall, feeling the firmness of my bones as they stack over each other. Acquainted I slowly become with these sturdy structures of mine, they which support my soft tissues and hold steadfast my spirit.

          My mountainous form is made of sharp angles, straight lines, hard edges. Tough to the touch. In this liminal stillness that lingers before flowing movement, I marvel at the impossibility that my stiff-as-board body might yet bend without breaking. At my center, I feel fragile, prone to shatter or perhaps snap.

          Breath blossoms in my belly and begins to swirl through the deep, cavernous echoes of my abdomen. This life force resonates through the chamber of my ribs, bouncing hollowly off my heart and my diaphragm and my spleen as it travels further into cramped passageways, inflates and expands the rocky tunnels of my limbs. I drop into the still depths of my body – darkness illuminated by prāṇa’s path.

          Colossal stone plates begin to slide beneath my rooted soles. They take my feet with them and groan as they go, stretching the land painstakingly whither thither. The plates drift slowly, unhurried, over a lazy river of fizzy fluid; even still I find myself clenching my stomach to keep myself upright in this precarious split-leg position.

          For eons, it seems, I stand still. Unmoving, unwavering, though my belly quakes and my legs ache with a fatigue that weighs heavy like gravel. I am a timeless landmark, anonymous amidst the patches and the pockets of our planet. I watch curiously as the underground plates meander past one another, exposing the pool of bubbled brew underneath. Then, by gentlest graze, just the whisper of a touch, the plates kiss.

          Forced into uneasy proximity, these disparate sections of earth clash violently. They abandon the horizontal plane and climb instead upwards; layers of land smashing and grinding and folding over one another, summoning a mighty mountain range that crumples the rugged surface of the earth. It shakes me to my core, though I stand ever still.

          The textured terrain trembles. The ground fractures and faults. Their tremors erode me down, chisel me open. They disintegrate my dense defensive crust, dimpling the desert with divots and dunes as they fling fractions of my form far and wide. My insides vibrate with a frightening vigor.

          Once more the earth wrinkles. With a deafening crunch, the tallest mountain gapes open towards the sky. It spews forth a torrent of dazzling lava: an unfathomable multitude of microscopic glass shards, not grinding cacophonously against one another but gliding unctuously, majestically, as though held together by clear, viscous glue. This river of glittered magma winds its way through the trenches of the young range, patiently carving clean cliffs from rough ridges.

          Then, reaching the cracked plains, this elixir of life weaves through the creases of my skin and the fissures in my bones. It seeps into my bloodstream. One-by-one-by-one, my cells morph – their dull walls transfused with a sparkly sheen. The glitter lava consisting my body begins to reach and stretch, a blistering exfoliant that sands the roughness from my muscles and the tightness from my joints. It peels back layers of my rigidity until I have none left. This geological marvel that sculpts the features of the landscape, so too does it melt and meld the hard surfaces of my being, softening me to a gummy dough. I am laid bare – tender, transformed.

          From softness, I am reformed, like clay caressed in potter’s grip. The current carries me comfortably cross-country, its wetness and warmth continually molding my sharp angles into rounds. To be formless, to be nameless, if only just ‘til I reach the sea. I breathe.

          Finally, the tributary of glitter glue deposits me gently back onto my mat. My fuzzy limbs rediscover their skin-and-bones shapes, though the sensation of glittered gooiness lingers in the spaces between my cells, my being bound together by bubbles.

          Stillness. The mountain from whence I started is now hardly a memory, lost to the vastness of geologic time. In the process of my practice, I have become something other; something new; something better. And yet, the old, craggy pieces of me remain – not replaced or repaired, but rejuvenated; restored. As I sink back into the familiar earth, my first home, my resting place, I have become more myself.  

Visit the Practice tab for actionable tips, self-reflection questions, and resources to learn more about Alchemy in modern yoga →

Practical Tips for Yoga Teachers:

• For each Sanskrit term you use in your classes, do thorough research on its literal meanings as well as its broader socio-cultural implications. For example: dharma is often defined in American yoga classes as “divine duty,” but in modern spoken Hindi, dharma can refer to one’s religion or even more simply, a routine obligation.
• When selecting Sanskrit mantras or passages to recite in class, compile several different translations to compare the various interpretations. If there are major discrepancies, investigate why. Consider selecting a translation that honors the form of Sanskrit verse (meter, rhyme, literary techniques, etc.) in addition to its content.
• When choosing a translation of a Sanskrit term or phrase, perform basic background research on the translators. Carefully evaluate their biases – to this day, many seminal yoga texts have only ever been translated by 19^th century European Orientalists, fervent Hindu extremists, and other individuals who have something to gain (or nothing to lose) by *tweaking* the Sanskrit texts through translation.
• ALWAYS fact-check any questionable claims you hear in yoga class, and don’t be afraid to ask your teachers to cite their sources!

Questions for Reflection:

• When (if ever) do I use Sanskrit in my yoga classes? Why or why not?
• If asked to provide translations for Sanskrit terms that I use in my yoga classes, could I do so on the spot?
  • Who wrote those translations?
  • Why did I choose those translations, specifically?
  • Why do I use the Sanskrit words, rather than their English translations?
• Do I draw on any alchemical or pseudo-scientific ideas in my yoga practice/ teaching?
  • How do these ideas enrich my practice/ teaching?
  • Have I fact-checked these ideas using reputable sources?

Resources for Further Learning:

Alter, Joseph S. “Modern Medical Yoga: Struggling with a History of Magic, Alchemy and Sex.” Asian Medicine (Leiden, Netherlands) 1, no. 1 (2018): 119–46. doi:10.1163/15734218-00101007.

Bronner, Yigal. “Sanskrit Aesthetics.” In Encyclopedia of Aesthetics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014.

Christopher D. Wallis. “Alchemical Metaphors for Spiritual Transformation in Abhinavagupta’s Īśvarapratyabhijñāvimarśinī and Īśvarapratyabhijñāvivṛtivimarśinī.” In Śaivism and the Tantric Traditions, 144-. BRILL, 2020. doi:10.1163/j.ctv2gjwvrz.14.

Eliade, Mircea. Yoga: Immortality and Freedom. 2nd ed. Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press [for Bollingen Foundation, New York], 1969.

O’ Flaherty, Wendy Doniger. “A New Approach to Sanskrit Translation.” Mahfil 7, no. 3/4 (1971): 129–41. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40874438.

Padoux, André. “Mantra.” In Wiley Blackwell Companion to Hinduism, 505–16. Hoboken, NJ, USA: John Wiley & Sons, Inc, 2022. doi:10.1002/9781119144892.ch27.

Ray, Prafulla Chandra. A History of Hindu Chemistry from the Earliest Times to the Middle of the Sixteenth Century A.D.: With Sanskrit Texts, Variants, Translation and Illustrations: C.1 v.2. Vol. 2. India: Chuckervertty, Chatterjee, [1904-1909], 1909.

Ward, Charlotte, and David Voas. “The Emergence of Conspirituality.” Journal of Contemporary Religion 26, no. 1 (2011): 103–21. doi:10.1080/13537903.2011.539846.

White, David Gordon. The Alchemical Body: Siddha Traditions in Medieval India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996.

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