Yoga With Gregory Angell

At approximately 1913 tonight, 91% of the Sun will disappear from the sky.

And yet the Sun itself will remain completely unchanged.

There’s the teaching.

Our peace can become obscured.

Our wisdom can become obscured.

Love can become obscured.

Our sense of who we are can become obscured by fear, memory, ego, grief, and endless vṛtti.

But yoga asks us to recognise:

Obscuration is not destruction.

The cloud is not the sky.

The thought is not the Seer.

The shadow is not the light.

And when what obscures passes… what was always there reveals itself again.

— Yoga Sūtra I.3
तदा द्रष्टुः स्वरूपेऽवस्थानम्
Tadā draṣṭuḥ svarūpe vasthānam
Then the Seer rests in its own true nature.

Perhaps Patañjali gave us the teaching long before tonight’s sky provided the illustration🙏💙😌✨

What maturity gradually teaches us about where to place our energy.

Not becoming colder. Not becoming guarded. Simply becoming more discerning about what deserves our attention, explanation and participation.

The Fine Art of Growing Older

There comes a point in life when growth is no longer so much about becoming more.

It is about refining.

Keeping the warmth, but losing the need to please.

Keeping the honesty, but losing the need to say everything.

Keeping the courage, but losing the need to enter every battle.

Keeping the kindness, but becoming more discerning about where we place it.

With enough years behind us, we begin to understand a few things.

Not everyone needs access to us simply because we are kind.

Not every poor behaviour needs correcting.

Not every misunderstanding needs explaining.

Not every criticism needs answering.

Not every awkward silence needs filling.

Not every invitation needs accepting.

Not every relationship needs preserving.

And not every ending needs a post-mortem.

Perhaps we also become more willing to let people be who they are.

We begin to recognise how easily personal preference disguises itself as moral judgement.

‘I wouldn’t have done that’ quietly becomes ‘They shouldn’t have done that’.

‘That isn’t how I behave’ becomes ‘That behaviour is wrong’.

But maturity teaches us that people are allowed to be different from us.

To communicate differently.

To live differently.

To make choices we would not make.

To possess qualities we may not particularly enjoy.

We do not have to approve of everything.

We do not have to invite everything into our lives.

But neither do we have to turn every difference into a judgement.

Sometimes the most generous thing we can offer another human being is the freedom to be themselves, while giving ourselves the same freedom to decide how close we wish to stand.

We learn that sometimes the most graceful response to unpleasantness is simply to remove ourselves from it.

That another person’s behaviour does not automatically become our responsibility.

That we can allow people to misunderstand us without embarking upon a campaign to change their minds.

We become slower to react.

Less interested in having the final word.

Less willing to spend an evening discussing someone who disappointed us.

Less inclined to carry yesterday’s encounter into tomorrow.

We begin to understand that being open does not mean being available to everyone.

Being honest does not mean saying everything we think.

Being strong does not mean confronting everything we dislike.

And being kind does not require us to remain where kindness is repeatedly absent.

Perhaps one of the privileges of growing older is discovering that peace does not always come from resolving things.

Sometimes peace comes from no longer participating in them.

So we keep the open heart.

We keep the humour.

We keep the curiosity.

We keep welcoming people.

We keep loving generously.

But we become a little more careful about where we place our precious time and energy.

Not because we have become harder.

Because, finally, we understand their value.

Perhaps maturity is not learning how to win every battle.

Perhaps it is learning how few battles were ever ours to fight.

‘We do not have to approve of everything. We do not have to invite everything into our lives. But neither do we have to turn every difference into a judgement’.

We can think ‘that’s not for me’, without needing the additional egoic step of ‘and therefore there’s something wrong with you’🙏💙😌✨

The Critic

Not everyone who criticises us is against us.

And not everyone who praises us is our friend.

Some criticism is a gift.

It reveals what we cannot see.

It challenges complacency.

It sharpens our understanding.

It helps us grow.

The wise learn to receive this kind of criticism with humility.

But there is another kind.

The criticism that rarely builds, only diminishes.

The critic who habitually finds the fault before the beauty.

The mistake before the effort.

The weakness before the strength.

For some, criticism becomes a way of feeling taller by making someone else feel smaller.

And that teaches us something too.

The Bhagavad Gītā describes the person established in wisdom as one

‘from whom the world is not disturbed, and who is not disturbed by the world.’ (12.15)

There is a beautiful balance here.

Do not become someone whose words continually disturb others.

But neither surrender your peace to every opinion directed towards you.

The critic teaches us to develop viveka, discernment.

When criticism comes, we do not need to immediately defend ourselves.

Nor do we need to immediately believe it.

We can pause.

Listen.

Examine.

Ask: Is there truth here?

If there is, receive it.

Learn from it.

Be grateful for it.

If there isn’t, let it pass.

Because another person’s opinion of you is not automatically the truth about you.

And sometimes criticism reveals very little about the person being criticised, and a great deal about the person doing the criticising.

The same discernment must also turn inward.

Most of us carry an inner critic.

The voice that says: Not good enough.

Not clever enough.

Not successful enough.

Not attractive enough.

Not yet.

Yoga asks us to notice that voice too.

Not to silence every opportunity for self-reflection, but to recognise the difference between self-examination and self-attack.

One helps us grow.

The other keeps us small.

Offer

Listen without becoming defensive.

Reflect without becoming diminished.

Take what is useful.

Leave what is not.

You don’t have to swallow the whole cup

to taste whether it contains medicine.

Today’s reflection

Whose criticism still has more power over you than it deserves?

And when you criticise another, are your words intended to help them grow, or simply to express your dissatisfaction?

Today’s practice

The next time criticism comes your way, resist the urge either to fight it
or absorb it.

Pause.

Take one slow breath.

Ask: What, if anything, is mine to learn here?

Take the lesson.

Leave the judgement.

Notice that maturity is not becoming immune to criticism.

It is becoming wise enough to recognise which criticism deserves our attention.

The critic may reveal a blind spot, or simply reveal themselves. Wisdom is knowing the difference🙏💙😌✨

Work with your digestion, not against it🙏💙😌✨

My beloved Katy has just launched her new website, and I’m delighted to share it with you. 💙

Sukha Health

A modern village for Ayurvedic health, nourishment and seasonal living.

“Health was never meant to be cultivated alone.”

Katy has created a beautiful space rooted in nourishment, connection, community and the wisdom of Āyurveda.

If that resonates with you, please do take a little look:

Wishing Sukha Health every success as this new chapter begins. 🙏💙😌✨

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Yoga Sūtra I.12

अभ्यासवैराग्याभ्यां तन्निरोधः

Abhyāsa-vairāgyābhyāṁ tan-nirodhaḥ

‘Their cessation is brought about through sustained practice and non-attachment.’

Sūtra I.12 is one of the great turning points in the Yoga Sūtras. Having spent the opening sūtras identifying the various movements (vṛttis) of the mind, Patañjali now answers the obvious question:

How do we quiet them?

For the past seven sūtras, Patañjali has carefully introduced us to the movements of the mind.

Right knowledge.

Misunderstanding.

Imagination.

Sleep.

Memory.

He has shown us what the mind does.

Now he tells us what to do about it.

The answer is remarkably simple.

Not quick.

Not easy.

Simple.

Two qualities.

Abhyāsa - Steady practice.

Vairāgya - Non-attachment.

Practice without non-attachment easily becomes striving.

We become attached to progress.

Attached to achievement.

Attached to becoming someone.

Non-attachment without practice can become passivity.

A beautiful idea… without transformation.

Yoga asks for both.

Keep showing up, and let go.

Again.

And again.

Modern psychology tells us that lasting change comes through repeated behaviours rather than occasional bursts of motivation.

Patañjali recognised this long before the language of habits and neuroplasticity existed.

We don’t become peaceful because we understand peace.

We become peaceful because we repeatedly practise returning to it.

And we stop clinging to everything that pulls us away.

Perhaps this is why yoga is called a practice.

Not because we haven’t mastered it.

But because returning is the path.

Every breath.

Every posture.

Every meditation.

Every difficult conversation.

Another opportunity to practise.

And to let go.

Today’s reflection

Where in your life are you relying upon hope, when what is really needed is steady practice?

Today’s practice

Choose one small practice today.

Perhaps one conscious breath before speaking.

Perhaps five minutes of meditation.

Perhaps an act of kindness.

Do it wholeheartedly.

Then let go of any need for it to produce a particular result.

Practise.

Release.

Repeat.

Sometimes the greatest transformation doesn’t happen because we try harder.

It happens because we keep practising while holding life with an open hand.

I particularly love the elegance of this sūtra. After analysing the whole landscape of the mind, Patañjali doesn’t offer a hundred techniques. He offers just two. Everything that follows in the Yoga Sūtras is, in many ways, an unfolding of these two words: abhyāsa and vairāgya.

A beautiful lesson in keeping yoga simple. 🙏💙😌✨

The Controller

The controller doesn’t teach us how to control life. They teach us how precious freedom really is

Not everyone who seeks control is controlling.

We all like life to go our way.

We all seek certainty from time to time.

But some people organise their lives around controlling others.

Their opinions become rules.

Their preferences become expectations.

Their fears become everyone else’s responsibility.

The controller reminds us that the need to control often grows from fear.

Fear of uncertainty.

Fear of change.

Fear of losing what feels safe.

Understanding this may help us feel compassion.

It does not require us to accept controlling behaviour.

The Bhagavad Gītā reminds us:

“Established in yoga, perform your actions, abandoning attachment to success and failure.” (2.48)

Notice what Kṛṣṇa asks us to establish.

Not control over life.

Not control over other people.

Control over ourselves.

The controller often believes peace will come when everyone else behaves as they wish.

Yoga gently reminds us that peace has never depended upon controlling another person.

The controller teaches us that there is a profound difference between influence and domination.

Love invites - Control demands.

Wisdom guides - Control insists.

The more someone needs to control others, the less peace they often carry within themselves.

And if we continually surrender our peace to preserve theirs, both people lose.

Compassion helps us understand how controlling behaviour develops.

Discernment helps us decide how close we should stand to it.

Sometimes the most loving response is not another explanation. Not another argument. Not another attempt to keep the peace.

Sometimes it is a calm, clear boundary… kept without anger, without guilt, and without apology.

The sun does not argue with closed curtains.

Offer

Remain calm.

Remain kind.

Remain rooted.

You are not responsible for carrying another person’s need for control.

Today’s reflection

Where in your life are you trying to control what isn’t yours to control?

And where might someone else’s need for control be inviting you to strengthen your own boundaries?

Today’s practice

Today, notice one moment when someone attempts to pull you into their need for control.

Pause.

Take one slow breath.

Instead of reacting, quietly ask yourself, ‘What would steadiness choose here?’

Notice…

…that peace is not found by controlling another person.

Nor is it found by allowing another person to control you.

It is found by remaining established in yourself.

Understand the controller. Don’t become the controller. And don’t become controlled🙏💙😌✨

The Entitled

Not everyone who receives feels grateful.

Some believe the world owes them.

Some mistake kindness for obligation.

Others notice only what they didn’t receive, rather than the abundance they did receive.

The entitled teacher reminds us that gratitude is not a response to having everything.

It is the ability to recognise what has already been given.

A roof.

A meal.

A friend.

A sunrise.

A helping hand.

A second chance.

The smallest blessings often become invisible when we begin to expect them.

The Bhagavad Gītā reminds us that peace doesn’t arise from getting everything we want.

It arises when we become free from craving, possessiveness, and the belief that happiness depends upon life giving us more.

“That person attains peace who is free from craving and selfish expectation.” (Bhagavad Gītā 2.71)

The less we expect…

the more we begin to appreciate.

Entitlement quietly asks,

‘Why wasn’t more given to me?’

Gratitude gently asks,

‘How did I become so fortunate?’

One heart is rarely satisfied.

The other continually discovers reasons for joy.

The entitled teacher also offers us a mirror.

If we look honestly, we may notice moments when we expected recognition, assumed another’s generosity, or forgot to say,

‘Thank you’.

Awareness softens entitlement into humility.

But there is another lesson.

When generosity is repeatedly met
with expectation rather than gratitude, the kindest response is not always to give more.

Sometimes the greatest gift is allowing another person to discover responsibility, gratitude, and self-reliance for themselves.

Compassion does not require us to feed entitlement.

Nor does kindness require us to abandon healthy boundaries.

Sometimes love says,

‘Yes’.

Sometimes love says,

‘Not this time’.

Both can be acts of compassion.

Offer

Practise gratitude.

Give freely.

Receive gratefully.

Protect generosity from those who continually mistake it for obligation.

The happiest people are rarely those who receive the most.

They are often those who appreciate the most.

Today’s reflection

Where in your life have expectations quietly replaced appreciation?

And where might your kindness have become obligation in someone else’s eyes?

Today’s practice

Today, thank someone for something you have come to take for granted.

Then notice one place where a gentle boundary might protect both your peace and another person’s opportunity to grow.

Notice…

…that gratitude transforms what we receive, while discernment protects what we have to give.

Entitlement asks, ‘What more do I deserve?’ Gratitude asks, ‘How can I honour what has already been given?’ Wisdom knows the difference.’🙏💙😌✨

The Giver

Not everyone who gives gives for the same reason.

Some give to be admired.

Some give because they expect something in return.

Some give because they cannot bear to disappoint.

But then there are the givers…

Those rare people whose generosity quietly makes the world a better place.

They remind us that life isn’t made richer by what we keep.

It is made richer by what we share.

A smile.

A meal.

Time.

Encouragement.

Forgiveness.

Presence.

The greatest gifts are often the ones that cannot be wrapped.

The Bhagavad Gītā teaches that the highest form of giving is offered simply because it is the right thing to do.

“That gift which is given simply because it is right to give, at the proper time and place, to a worthy recipient, without expectation of return, is considered sāttvic.” (Bhagavad Gītā 17.20)

Notice the four qualities.

It is given:

* because giving is the right thing to do.
* at the appropriate time.
* to someone who can genuinely benefit.
* without expecting recognition, repayment or praise.

In other words…

The greatest gift is not measured by its size.

It is measured by the purity of the heart from which it comes.

That, I think, is the heart of The Giver.

It doesn’t seek applause.

It simply seeks to serve.

The giver teaches us something extraordinary.

Generosity is not measured by how much we possess…

but by how willing we are to let love flow through us.

Yet even generosity needs wisdom.

A river nourishes because it keeps flowing.

If we ask it to give every drop,

it can no longer sustain life.

The same is true of us.

Boundaries are not the opposite of generosity.

They are what allow generosity to continue.

Offer

Give generously.

Receive gratefully.

Know when to rest.

The world needs your light…

not your exhaustion.

Today’s reflection

When you give…

does your heart feel lighter…

or emptier?

Today’s practice

Today, offer one act of kindness that no one will ever know came from you.

Notice how different generosity feels when it seeks no reward.

The greatest givers are not those who give the most. They are those whose generosity quietly leaves the world gentler than they found it🙏💙😌✨

Yoga Sūtra I.10

अभावप्रत्ययालम्बना वृत्तिर्निद्रा

Abhāva-pratyayālambanā vṛttir nidrā

‘Sleep is a movement of the mind based upon the experience of absence.’

We live in a world that often celebrates doing more and sleeping less. Yet rising levels of stress, anxiety, burnout, and exhaustion remind us that rest is not a luxury, it is part of our wellbeing. Yoga recognised this long before the modern world gave it a name. A peaceful mind doesn’t simply improve meditation; it also allows us to rest, recover, and meet tomorrow with greater clarity.

Today, Patañjali turns to something we all experience every day.

Nidrā, sleep.

At first, it seems an unusual subject for a yoga text.

After all, when we’re asleep, aren’t we free from the movements of the mind?

Patañjali suggests otherwise.

When we wake, we often say,

‘I slept deeply.’

Or

‘I hardly slept at all.’

Somehow, the mind has experienced the absence of waking awareness.

Sleep is not the absence of the mind.

It is one of its movements.

This is a remarkable insight for a text written over two thousand years ago.

Today, science is revealing just how closely the mind and sleep are connected. Chronic stress can disturb our sleep, and poor sleep in turn affects our mood, concentration, emotions, immunity, and physical health.

The ancient yogis didn’t have sleep laboratories or brain scans.

But they understood something profound.

The condition of the mind follows us into the night.

And the quality of our nights shapes the quality of our days.

Yoga reminds us that rest is not a luxury.

It is part of living well.

Perhaps this is why so many yoga practices invite us to slow down before we go to sleep.

Not because sleep itself is yoga…

…but because a peaceful mind rests more deeply.

Sometimes the most loving thing we can do for ourselves isn’t to achieve more.

It’s simply to rest.

Today’s reflection

When you wake in the morning, do you usually feel restored…

…or simply relieved that the night is over?

Today’s practice

As you prepare for sleep tonight, put your phone aside a little earlier than usual.

Take three slow breaths.

Allow the events of the day to settle.

Rather than replaying tomorrow…

…simply be grateful for today.

And before you close your eyes, let go of one thought that doesn’t need carrying into tomorrow.

Sometimes the deepest rest begins…

…when we stop trying to solve tomorrow before today has ended.

There’s something deeply human about this progression.

Patañjali isn’t simply analysing the mind.

He’s teaching us how to care for it.

One movement at a time🙏💙😌✨