I was coming out of Shivasana the other night, at my regular friday evening yoga class, and the instructor brought us up to a seated position within hands at our chest in prayer, and explained that when we say “Namaste” it means “The Light In Me Recognizes the Light in You.” I thought it was a pretty clear and cogent explanation for this Indian idea that defies translation and invites misinterpretation. We bowed our heads, muttered Namaste, and wrapped up the class.
Then the guy next to me asked, “What do you mean by ‘the light’?”
“Alright!” I thought, “Forget the downward dogs. Let’s talk about that for the next hour.” If I’d been my ordinary surly self and not freshly rebalanced by an hour and a half of yoga, I probably would have spoken up to point out that the “light” was a simplification of the Indian notion of Atman.
Atman, I would have liked to explain, refers to something like the true Self or the universal spirit, depending on which school of Indian philosophy you subscribe to.
I might have added, incedentally, that Atmen is also German for ‘breathe’, as in einatmen (to inhale) and ausatmen (to exhale).
In non-dualistic sects of Hinduism (such as Advaita), the Atman is considered identical with the Brahman, which is to say that there is no distinction between the individual essence and the universal essence. Dualistic schools (Dvaita), however, distinguish the supreme spirit (Brahman) from the individual, but still accept a wide area of overlap. Either way, they hold a general consensus on the idea that we are all imbued with some spiritual essence that stirs within us and flows between us.
The breath offers a very useful analogy, particularly considering its significance in yoga, but also remembering its linguistic correlation to the Atman. Each breath we take is unique, containing a certain combination of oxygen molecules that will never be duplicated. And yet each breath is drawn from a single pool of oxygen, from what we call our atmosphere, which is just a derivative from the greek atmos (vapor) and sphaira (sphere) — a ball of vapor that satisfies our most fundamental need, more important even than food or water.
So each breath we take is drawn from this single, common source, the one and only atmosphere, which cannot possibly be divided. You might even say, “The vital breath in me recognizes the vital breath in you, and no one can tell them part.” Similarly, every trace of matter that comprises our physical bodies comes from a single repository of atoms, what we call the universe, from the Latin uni (one) and verse (song). Finally, if you like, you can extrapolate that same line of thought to the spiritual level and conclude that we are all spiritual products sprung from a single divine source, like waves in a single sea, or sparks from a single fire .
Like a plate full of veggie patties made from the same batch of burger mix, we are all unique, but virtually indistinguishable. Essentially, we’re all comprised of the same ingredients, in minutely varying proportions, producing slightly different appearances. And the more we acknowledge and understand that fact, the more respect, tolerance and compassion we will have for one another and for ourselves.
But instead of offering that explanation, which may have led to a fascinating discussion of cosmology, metaphysics and nature vs. nurture, I let our instructor offer a handful of synonyms, which seemed to satisfy, while I sunk into a deep and silent meditation on the universal mind, and prayed for my classmate’s newly aroused consciousness to blossom by its own fruitful course.
