Tapas, the third of Patanjali’s Niyamas, means austerity. Not the kind of austerity born of suppression or denial of our desires, but a kind of self-discipline motivated by love; love of self, love of family and friends, love of the world perhaps.
This is a concept I have been considering lately as I repeat the word; “tapas, tapas, tapas” as I drag myself out of bed at 6:30 each day to do sets of kapalabhati, force my always stiff, always short, always screaming hamstrings through surya namaskar a and b, utthita trikonasana, parivrtta trikonasana, utthita parsvakonasana and my mortal enemy, the pose that exposes my strength based transitions as silly tricks, parivritta parsvakonasana.
I have wrestled, practiced boxing, muay thai, Brazilian jiu-jitsu and judo for many years. I’ve, on more than one occasion, trained until I’ve thrown up. I’ve been choked unconscious, dislocated fingers, torn my ears open, and otherwise damaged my body in countless ways. Why did I do this to myself? Tapas?
Hardly. I did it out of a strange urge to never, ever, ever give up. To push myself beyond what I thought I was capable of. If I collapsed, got sick, died in the process, I was willing. Determination, grit, willpower; I have this. What I was lacking was Tapas. I wasn’t doing all this out of a sense of self-love, of improving myself as a gift to myself. There was an edge of hate, of wanting to escape being the skinny kid who couldn’t play hockey (yup, that’s ice hockey to non-Canadians), an urge to destroy myself. A cathardic exercise in pain endurance.
This is not Tapas.
This is a concept I have been considering lately as I repeat the word; “tapas, tapas, tapas” as I drag myself out of bed at 6:30 each day to do sets of kapalabhati, force my always stiff, always short, always screaming hamstrings through surya namaskar a and b, utthita trikonasana, parivrtta trikonasana, utthita parsvakonasana and my mortal enemy, the pose that exposes my strength based transitions as silly tricks, parivritta parsvakonasana.
I have wrestled, practiced boxing, muay thai, Brazilian jiu-jitsu and judo for many years. I’ve, on more than one occasion, trained until I’ve thrown up. I’ve been choked unconscious, dislocated fingers, torn my ears open, and otherwise damaged my body in countless ways. Why did I do this to myself? Tapas?
Hardly. I did it out of a strange urge to never, ever, ever give up. To push myself beyond what I thought I was capable of. If I collapsed, got sick, died in the process, I was willing. Determination, grit, willpower; I have this. What I was lacking was Tapas. I wasn’t doing all this out of a sense of self-love, of improving myself as a gift to myself. There was an edge of hate, of wanting to escape being the skinny kid who couldn’t play hockey (yup, that’s ice hockey to non-Canadians), an urge to destroy myself. A cathardic exercise in pain endurance.
This is not Tapas.