The mind as friend

One who performs the action that must be done without relying on its fruit—he is the true renouncer, the true yogi, not the man who lights no fire and performs no action.

Know that what they call renunciation is itself yoga, O Pāṇḍava, for no one becomes a yogi without renouncing willful intention (saṅkalpa).

For the sage who wishes to climb toward yoga, action is said to be the means; for that same person once he has climbed to yoga, stillness is said to be the means.

When a person is attached neither to sense-objects nor to actions, having renounced all willful intentions—then he is said to have climbed to yoga.

One should lift oneself up by the self, and not let the self sink down. For the self alone is the friend of the self, and the self alone is the enemy of the self.

For one who has conquered himself by the self, the self is a friend. But for one who has not conquered himself, the self stays hostile, like an enemy.

For one who has conquered himself and is deeply at peace, the supreme self is fully attained—in cold and heat, pleasure and pain, and equally in honor and disgrace.

The one whose self is satisfied by knowledge and direct realization, who stands unmoved, whose senses are conquered, and to whom a clod of earth, a stone, and gold are all the same—that person is called a yogi, one who is joined.

He excels who looks with an even mind on well-wishers, friends, enemies, the indifferent, mediators, those he hates, relatives, and the righteous and the wicked alike.

The yogi should constantly join the self in concentration, staying in solitude, alone, with mind and body restrained, free from craving and from possessions.

Having set up a firm seat in a clean place, neither too high nor too low, covered with cloth, a deerskin, and kusha grass in that order—

there, seated on that seat, making the mind one-pointed, restraining the workings of thought and the senses, let him practice yoga for the purification of the self.

Holding body, head, and neck even, motionless and steady, gazing fixed at the tip of his own nose, not looking around in any direction,

deeply at peace, free from fear, firm in the vow of the celibate student, restraining the mind, thinking constantly of me—let him sit joined in yoga, holding me as the highest goal.

Joining the self constantly like this, the yogi of disciplined mind attains the peace that rests in me—the peace whose culmination is nirvāṇa.

Yoga is not for one who eats too much, nor for one who eats too little, nor for one who sleeps too much, nor for one who stays awake too much, Arjuna.

For the one moderate in eating and recreation, moderate in effort in action, moderate in sleep and waking, yoga becomes the destroyer of suffering.

When the fully disciplined mind rests only in the self, free from longing for all desires, then one is called joined, established in yoga.

"As a lamp sheltered from wind does not flicker"—that is the traditional image for the yogi of disciplined mind, practicing union with the self.

When the mind, fully restrained by the practice of yoga, comes to rest, and when, seeing the self by the self, one finds contentment in the self; when he knows that unending happiness which is grasped by the discerning intellect and lies beyond the senses, and standing there, never strays from what is real; and having gained it, considers no other gain greater, and standing there, is not shaken even by heavy sorrow—know that to be the state called yoga, a state of severance from union with suffering. This yoga should be practiced with resolve, with a mind that does not give way to despair.