A Modern Take on Brachmacharya by Bill Wofford
[Parental advisory: this post acknowledges the existence of s-e-x, and not necessarily in a bad way]
I had the good fortune recently of spending a little time with the current group of yogis training at Yoga Garden to become teachers. I showed up early for the Kriya session I was co-leading with Lexie and walked right into a room buzzing with bright conversation and raucous laughter.
The topic? Brahmacharya.
Yes—the yama (yogic principle of right action) that supposedly stands firmly against frivolity and frittering. The one you wouldn’t expect to be the catalyst for so much fun. I decided not to wade into that particular whirlpool, but it definitely got me thinking, and I thought I’d share some reflections with you.
The word brahmacharya comes from two Sanskrit terms: brahma, meaning the totality of consciousness—the boundless field of intelligence that some call God—and acharya, meaning one who is devoted. As I’ve been taught at Sattva, a brahmachari is someone wholly devoted to experiencing totality, the full value of every moment. Brahmacharya, then, is the quality that infuses the thoughts, words, and actions of someone trying to live in that state of devotion.
Beautiful. Inspiring. Also… intense. How exactly does one “experience totality” while paying the bills, unclogging drains, navigating relationships, and trying to keep the dog from eating the Amazon driver? Something’s gotta give, no?
Historically, some teachers decided the thing that should “give” was earthly pleasure—especially sexual pleasure. Like the Shakers, some Yogis made vows of celibacy and encouraged their communities to do the same, all in the name of conserving life-force energy for the divine. My uncle loves to remind me that our family descends from Puritans, so you could say that if I ever chose the celibate-ascetic path, at least I’d be honoring both lineage and yogic principle.
But… not so fast.
While I recognize that obsession with sex can be an obstacle to healthy development (my college GPA can attest to this), I simply can’t accept the idea that we’ve been gifted these miraculous bodies—complex nervous systems, subtle perception of pheromones, waves of serotonin and dopamine and oxytocin flooding the system—and then expected to throw all that in the trash. Pleasure isn’t the problem. Leakage is.
And that, to me, is the heart of brahmacharya:
Don’t let your life force dribble away into things you didn’t consciously choose.
Don’t scatter yourself. Don’t fritter your minutes, your attention, your precious, once-in-a-lifetime energy.Engage fully.When you’re eating, do nothing else.
Savor the aroma. Feel the texture. Notice the sweetness, the salt, the sour.
When someone speaks to you, put the phone down and look them in the eye.
Give your attention—your devotion—to the moment right in front of you.
Do one thing… at… a… time.
Like all the yamas, brahmacharya isn’t a divine commandment promising punishment if you mess up. It’s an invitation. A way of being in the world that might—just might—help you grow into a clearer, steadier, kinder version of yourself.
And honestly? That sounds pretty divine to me.
