The Power of Yogic Breathing

In the depth of yoga practice—be it prāṇāyāma, āsana, or meditation—when connection to the body fades, existence hinges on the strength and duration of the breath alone. For a time, the breath becomes you.

In such a state, the fickleness of life is understood: when the breath is gone, you are either dead or liberated.

To breathe or not to breathe—and how to breathe—is a yogi’s perpetual dilemma. If the breath is unsteady, life becomes unsteady too. If we breathe too little, we may not be ready for the outcome.

The breath itself is a mantra, a sound invocation. Inhalation produces a “sā” sound and exhalation a “ha” sound. Together they form a rhythmic sa-ha which, in Sanskrit, becomes the invocation So’ham—“I am, I am.”

I am what? I am that life that hinges on the incoming and outgoing breath—a life that bounces on the strength of inhalation and exhalation. Call it a soul.

When “sā” and “ha” are consciously contemplated, they induce an introverted state in which the world—this perceived existence, this creation—diminishes in consciousness. Here the yogi arrests the breath and places it in the heart chakra, where retention ensues automatically, despite the continuation of breathing: consciousness remains in retention, in utter suspense of the world. This is how the breath is charged with mantra. When the mind reaches the heart chakra, it withdraws into isolation; a shift in frequency occurs, and one’s view of the world is fundamentally altered. Then the previous individual self becomes the Self—the Self of all—and perceives the world not as an enjoyer of minute pleasures, but as a creator of all that exists. The self, the soul that once rested on the “sā” and “ha” sound, becomes So’ham, complete—the swanlike entity that knows no boundaries. The retention of the breath cements it in the heart chakra; and while breathing continues, retention is felt as stillness of consciousness, aloof from the world. Here, inaction in action and action in inaction are the norm: all is done, yet the doer and the action are missing, because identification with the world has ceased. Such is the power of breath curation.

ūrdhvaṃ prāṇam unnayaty apānaṃ praty asyati |

madhye vāmanam āsīnaṃ viśve devā upāsate ||

 “He sends the prana upwards and throws apana downwards. All the gods worship that adorable One seated in the center.”

Kaṭha Upaniṣad 5.3

asya visraṃsamānasya śarīrasthasya dehinaḥ |

dehād vimucyamānasya kim atra pariśiṣyate | etad vai tat ||

“When this atman who dwells in the body, is separated from the body, He is freed from the body, what remains here of this body. That verily is That.”

Kaṭha Upaniṣad 5.4

na prāṇena nāpānena martyo jīvati kaścana |

itareṇa tu jīvanti yasminn etāv upāśritau ||

Not by prana, not by apana does any mortal live; but it is by some other, on which these two depend, that men live.

Kaṭha Upaniṣad 5.6 

The breath must be charged with a mantra, for only then does it propel us into the stratosphere where gods live. Then we—our very existence, our breath, our prāṇic life force—become their abode. Gods live in us, in our prāṇa, our vital air. Placing gods (imagine them as vehicles) into the life force (prāṇa) is a way to be transported into the abode of felicity, and from there the realisation of oneness (transcendence) is only a matter of time. Having attained such a state, one never returns.

na tad bhāsayate sūryo na śaśāṅko na pāvakaḥ |

yad gatvā na nivartante tad dhāma paramaṃ mama ||

 "Neither the sun nor the moon nor fire illumines that self-effulgent supreme abode. Having gone there, one never returns to this mortal world. 

That is My supreme abode."

Bhagavad-gītā 15.6

Crafting the breath is the domain of prāṇāyāma. There are many ways to practise prāṇāyāma, and understanding the oscillation between the flow in the right and left nostril is of paramount importance. They govern the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems: the electric current, the plus and the minus. When equilibrium is achieved between the two, the current of vital air moves into the middle channel (Suṣumṇā, the graceful). The middle channel is like a power grid that transports electricity to consumers; in this case, it transports power upwards, a vehicle for the abnegation of the mortal body and absolute stillness—which in practice means no rebirth.

 Some prāṇāyāmas strengthen the nervous system, purify and balance the mind, and cool or heat the body; others serve loftier aims—moving the prāṇic force to the upper regions of the body, thus forcing the soul to leave through the upper apertures at the time of death. Leaving the body through the crown of the head is auspicious, for it guarantees emancipation from continuous birth.

Prāṇāyāmas are simple and complicated; some are hard to master, others come with ease. Some complement āsana practice; others are best done apart from it. Some are used as preparation for meditation, yet others are meant for therapy—combating illness and maintaining wellbeing.

No matter what, the practice of prāṇāyāma brings a volte-face in personality.

 Breathing exercises can be practised with a host of sound invocations, inducing a cosmic, and then transcendental, state of oneness—from where we refuse to climb down, because having acquired a higher taste, everything below seems misery. Such is the power of breath regulation.

By lengthening vital force, we lengthen life, for the number of breaths given to us is limited. The yogi extends his vital force like a pizza maker stretches dough, garnishes it with the sound vibrations of gods—the mantras—or with careful regulation, and bakes it in the heat of penance and steady practice (sādhana). Such acts bring great felicity and the realisation of the divine, where the Self becomes the full contour of the creator—the creator Himself.

Remember,

If you breathe like a horse, you’ll live like a horse.

If you pant like a dog, you’ll live like a dog.

And if you breathe like a yogi, your life will be divine.

And if you breathe like a yogi, then the true self is reached and the joy of being insignificant is cosmic.