Memory, for me – and perhaps most of us – recalls visions of past relationships, of scarring experiences, of knowledge hard-won with grit teeth and dirty wings. Memory is the burnt cheek of embarrassment and the relieving embrace of an old friend. Memory (smrti) is, undoubtedly, one of humanity’s most elusive modifications of consciousness, of which Iyengar tells us there are five. The others are correct knowledge (pramana), wrong knowledge or misperception (viparyaya), imagination or fantasy (vikalpa), and sleep (nidra). Traditionally, we speak of consciousness in terms of “states.” I have come to believe that this term does not suffice, as it wraps our identities in transient situations of existence – unfortunate, because not only are they ephemeral, but also they are not our own. Fleeting emotions do not “belong” to us. We did not choose them. “Modifications,” then, is a strong and more accurate term for a sensation that most yogis and myself are looking to achieve. It suggests purposeful choice. States of being enslave us to a present that is happening to us; modifications assume a present that is always happening, and a sentience that is actively co-creating. Co-creation, while ultimately not all-powerful (and, thus, occasionally unsatisfying), is still infinitely more powerful than a reality that is happening to you, a reality you cannot change. Co-creation not only allows, but actually begs for your participation. Yesterday, I took a hike. Boyfriend and dog and I all went to the mountains. It was just time to leave the city; we needed an afternoon to offer ourselves a vision that was made of something other than concrete and iron. Brooklyn, and then Manhattan and The Bronx, descended into the rearview mirror. From the passenger seat, I observed that upstate New York is paved in leafy arteries. The trailhead itself was an exhale. Pine Meadow Lake Loop Trail in Harriman State Park is 5.9 miles long, and classified as a moderate hike. We took it. Once we were a ways down the trail, we unleashed the dog and I watched as his spirit – his innate and natural dogginess – expanded immediately. Puddles for jumping in! Clear, clean water to lap up! Bushes to sniff! Plants to piss upon! Such pristine joy! Boyfriend and I shook off our own soul coats and the three of us raced up some rock scramble. Panting after our contest, we steadied ourselves into a brisk pace and continued on our journey towards the lake. We contemplated the present goings-on of the world, which are much like the goings-on of all time, except with new weaponry and advanced magic. It was gray and misty out, and the ground was muddy. The point had come at which we wished to stop and take a break. We were deep in the midst of thick path, heavy tendrils of late spring curling about and around. One such tendril had woven its way along a branch that jutted into the path, and it gave me a gentle thwack as I passed in front of it. We chanced upon a grove of trees that had been used for shelter before, and so we sat to catch our breath and rest. We sat for a long while. We kissed and ate lunch and entertained one another, and the dog. The hour we spent was simple and lovely. When we got up, we exited the grove the way we came – or so we thought. Somewhere along our return towards the trailhead and thus the car and, ultimately, home, Boyfriend and I became concerned that we’d lost our way. We worried that we’d turned wrong-ways leaving the grove, that the sun’s change in direction during our meal had tricked us into returning to a past that hadn’t happened, a path we hadn’t taken. Testy tones of voice made a brief appearance, and were dismissed just as swiftly. And then: the soft slap of greenery across my cheek. It was the tendril, the same leafy limb that had grazed me earlier. I remember this, I thought, and said so aloud. We were on the right path. “Memory is not a platform from which to review the world. It is a ladder whose rungs we ascend step by step . . . Only when intelligence (buddhi) consults memory can it get at the information it needs to initiate the transformation it seeks. While mind reacts to memory, intelligence interrogates memory . . . The Bhagavad Gita says that without memory, intelligence cannot prosper and so we cannot reach our soul. It is the way we use memory that is crucial, and above all which element of consciousness conducts the interview. It must be intelligence, with its power to extract the truth, reflect, and act innovatively, overriding even the mulish, recalcitrant ego.” Iyengar writes the above in Light on Life, in his chapter called Clarity – The Mental Body (Manas).* What he’s saying is that our memories are either our liberation or our bondage. Memory is the “what was” that intelligence turns into the “how we do.” Memory can function as more than just a smiling snapshot from some long-ago holiday, warm-baked in our heart over time. It is our own past winking at us, asking us not only to look back but also see forward, to use this platform – the holy miracle of consciousness! – to become aware of how we might utilize earned knowledge for the purpose of progress. The practice of using memory correctly and, more generally, living with awareness of our five states of consciousness, has the potential to radically alter our lives for the better. When that tree branch cut across my face that day on the hike, I could have broken it in revenge or given up and cried from the pain or huffed at the indignity of being both lost and hurt. Instead, that temporary sting lit the match of my memory, and illuminated the path forward in more ways than one. This is the practice of not making the same mistake twice: because while the first time really is a mistake, the second time, it’s a choice. Remember, the lesson will repeat as necessary, in as many situations and throughout as many lifetimes as it takes for you to learn it. In yoga we call this karma. So let us begin to transcend this false notion that the past is only in the past. It lives on, in our hearts, our minds, our photos, our music, our history books, our internet, our shared consciousness that we contribute to, willingly or unwillingly, purposefully or haphazardly, day in and day out. By using your innate intelligence to interrogate your memory – to cross-examine the collective human memory we call “history” – you can avoid repeating the same mistakes both yourself and others have made, whether large or small, whether they play out on the world stage or in your living room or on your Facebook. This is one way to make your life meaningful, and you can start now. *The full quote can be found on page 143 in the 2005 edition published by Rodale.
