A few weeks ago, I wrote about the yogic view of the self. Yoga philosophy invites us to look more deeply into a simple yet fundamental question that has crossed our minds at some point: Who are we really? The answer yoga offers is this: you are a soul. You are not your thoughts or emotions. You are not the things you own, the roles you play in daily life, or the labels you carry. You are a soul. Eternal, conscious, and blissful (Sat – Chit – Ananda).
And yet… we seem to have forgotten this. As if something has come between us and this knowing, something that prevents us from living from this awareness. In yoga philosophy, it is said that the mind prevents us from remembering who we are. It is an inner layer that we often confuse with who we are.
The mind is not the same as the brain in yoga philosophy. The brain is physical and tangible, part of the body. The mind is subtler. It is the space where thoughts arise, where impressions are stored, and where identification takes place. In the same way, yoga philosophy also distinguishes between the heart and the soul. The heart is physical and tangible. The soul is that which is consciously present, that which sees and perceives. You could say: the mind is the continuous movement of thoughts and impressions… and the soul is that which sees and perceives. And it is precisely in these movements and fluctuations of the mind that we sometimes lose ourselves. This is why Patanjali wrote in the opening verses of the Yoga Sutras: “Yoga is the stilling of the fluctuations of the mind. And in that stillness, we rest in the truth of who we really are“.
So, how does the mind actually work according to yoga philosophy, and how does it get in the way of remembering who we really are?
The three layers of the mind
According to yoga philosophy, the mind consists of different layers that constantly interact with one another.
Manas – the lower mind
There is a part of the mind that reacts directly to the world around us. It feels hunger and thirst, seeks comfort, and avoids discomfort. This is Manas, the lower mind. It is purely driven by sensory input and immediate reaction. You could loosely compare it to the reptilian brain, the part that governs our instincts.
Ahankara
Above this lies perhaps the most influential layer: Ahankara, the ego. This is the part that creates identity. It says: this is me. From a yoga perspective, this is not seen as something “bad,” but rather something that can create confusion. This aspect of the mind can make us believe that we are our thoughts, our body, or even our roles and labels, instead of simply experiencing them.
Buddhi
And then there is a third layer, a quieter, clearer aspect of the mind: Buddhi. Buddhi is the faculty of discernment. The ability to see what is true and what is not, what belongs to you and what does not. It is that subtle inner knowing that says: this is a thought… but this is not me. In Sanskrit, this capacity for discernment is called viveka, meaning discriminative wisdom. And perhaps this is the beginning of remembering who we truly are. But even when this capacity is present, we still often feel caught up, not enough, always chasing something outside ourselves.
Samskaras
The mind is continuously shaped by all our experiences. Every experience leaves an imprint on the mind: every smell, every image, every conversation, every emotion. In yoga philosophy, these impressions are called samskaras. The mind is something soft and pliable, not a hard surface but more like clay. Every experience leaves an imprint, sometimes subtle, sometimes deep. Over time, these impressions form patterns. Patterns that shape the way we think, react, and see ourselves. And without even realising it, we begin to live from these patterns. But within this understanding lies something powerful. If the mind can be shaped, it can also be reshaped.
The senses
Everything that leaves an imprint on the mind comes in through the senses. What you see, hear, taste, and feel constantly enter your inner world and shape it. In the ancient yogic texts (Upanishads), the metaphor of a chariot is often used:
- The chariot represents the body.
- The horses represent the senses.
- The reins represent the mind.
- And you, the soul, are the one seated in the chariot.
When the horses run in all directions without control, you are carried away from one stimulus to the next, from one desire to another. Perhaps you recognise this: the feeling of your attention constantly being pulled outward. Toward something to see, to taste, to experience, to have or to possess. The senses are powerful. They can make the mind restless, impulsive, and constantly searching for the next thing. The world around us is often designed to stimulate the mind through the senses: advertisements, social media, and everything that pulls our attention outward, toward more stimulation, toward something new. The next phone, the next pair of jeans, the next dopamine hit. When the mind is carried away like this, a chain reaction often follows: desire, attachment, and frustration when we lose something or cannot obtain it… and eventually confusion. And somewhere in this process, we often forget: I am not all of this.
Material world vs consciousness / the spiritual
Yoga philosophy distinguishes between what is eternal and what is temporary. In Sanskrit, these two principles are called Purusha and Prakriti. Purusha is what we essentially are: consciousness, the soul, that which does not change and is eternal. Prakriti is everything that is changeable and temporary: the body, thoughts, emotions, and the world around us. In yoga philosophy, these are considered part of the material realm. This means that everything you think, feel, and experience is not who you are. It moves, it changes, it comes and goes. Everything we own, from jobs and titles to material possessions like clothing and phones, will eventually wear out and disappear. And perhaps this is also why suffering arises at times: because we become attached to something that is, by nature, temporary. This is where the yogic principle of non-attachment comes in, which I have written about before.
Be like the lotus flower 🪷
There is a reason why the lotus flower is such an important symbol in yoga and why it is often seen in logos and names of yoga studios. The lotus grows from muddy, swampy conditions into a beautiful flower that rises above the water. And what is remarkable is that water and dirt do not stick to it: everything simply slides off. In yoga philosophy, the lotus symbolises the ability to live in the world without being “stained” by it. You are rooted in the mud, yet you rise above it. You do not need to reject the world. You do not need to stop your thoughts. But you also do not need to be carried away by them or merge with them. In this way, space arises. Everything you see and experience can slowly slide off you, like raindrops on a lotus leaf.
Closing reflection
Practices such as yoga, breathwork, or simply taking a moment to pause can gently shift this dynamic. Not by stopping the mind or controlling the senses, but by changing our relationship to them. Perhaps the practice is not about mastering anything at all. Perhaps it is something more subtle: noticing.
When did an experience in the past shape my thoughts or beliefs about myself
When am I being carried away by external things?
When do I forget who I am?
Yoga says: you do not need to become anything. You only need to remember who you are.
If this resonates with you, you’re always welcome to reach out or join a yoga class on Curaçao. You can also find me on Instagram. I’d love to connect, on or off the mat 🤍