I released a YouTube video that did well, but received a few critical comments. I thought I had thick skin, but for some reason they got under it. I suppose it’s my discomfort with being misunderstood – as though my intentions were in bad faith.
It's okay. Suffering points to attachment. I'm using their words as fuel to recognize where I have identified with ideas and opinions. My theory, my video, my reputation. Me, me, me! It's exhausting to be so selfish, and I'm willing to let it go. It's not that I want to avoid responsibility for what I share; I just don't want to suffer from the misguided belief that these thoughts and creations are who I am.
To recenter myself, I left Koh Phangan and am spending the week at Khao Sok National Park in Southern Thailand. It’s stunning. Fun fact: it’s the oldest rainforest in the whole world – older, even, than the Amazon Rainforest. It also contains a whopping 5% of the entire planet's species! 🤯
Not my picture - I'll have some to share next Sunday :)
I hope you enjoy this week's {Body} • {Mind} • {Soul} Newsletter and have a beautiful Sunday, - Ethan ॐ
In yoga, koshas are the five layers (or sheaths) of your being, progressing from the physical to the intangible and increasingly subtle.
The second layer is the prāṇamaya kosha, or “energy sheath.” If your annamaya kosha (physical body) is the hardware, then the prāṇamaya kosha is the electricity that powers it — the vital force that animates and sustains you.
Picture the atoms of your physical body like tree branches waving in the wind. Without the tree, the wind would remain invisible. Without the wind, the tree would be still and lifeless. Similarly, without your annamaya kosha, energy would remain invisible, and without energy, your body would just be an inert pile of dust.
In other words, it’s not just food and oxygen that keep your body alive — it’s the life force within them that does. Metabolism and digestion are a process of breaking apart molecules to extract the energy they carry, not the other way around.
The energy they extract then flows through pathways called nadis (energy channels), and converge at points known as chakras. If blood vessels are the tubes that carry oxygen to your cells, then nadis are the tubes that carry prāna to specific energy centers.
Clear pathways allow energy to move freely, promoting vitality and well-being, while blockages can result in fatigue, stress, and disease.
Of course, a functioning system requires more than just hardware and electricity, so stay tuned next week as we peel back the next layer to explore the manomaya kosha — the software directing energy where it’s needed.
Practice
The wind analogy goes even deeper when you consider that the prānamaya kosha is closely tied to your breath. Each inhale draws in fresh energy (prāna), while each exhale clears out stagnant or spent energy.
Remember: it’s not simply about delivering oxygen to your cells (annamaya kosha); it’s about infusing them with the vital life force that powers and sustains them (prānamaya kosha).
This is why breathing outdoors — especially near rivers, trees, or other natural elements — feels so revitalizing. Even if the number of oxygen molecules in the air is objectively the same, the prāna it contains is denser, providing a more powerful charge to your system.
During his life, the Buddha outlined various obstacles, stages, and revelations encountered on the Path to enlightenment.
In one of his well-known teachings, he describes “the Five Hindrances” — mental obstructions that block the development of one’s meditation practice (a critical vehicle for attaining enlightenment).
The second of these hindrances is known as Vyāpāda, or ill will, and it is just as common as last week’s Kāmacchanda.
Vyāpāda ****is when you sit down for meditation, close your eyes, and suddenly remember the snide comment someone made on your Facebook post. You replay it in your mind, dissecting it, feeling the sting of offense, your body reflexively tensing as you mentally rehearse clever comebacks you wish you’d delivered.
Or it’s when you find yourself irritated by something as small as a ticking clock, an itchy sweater, or the way your neighbor’s dog barks — disrupting your precious practice.
Vyāpāda is a psychic virus that feeds on the frustration, resentment, and anger it evokes from you. It replicates itself by pulling you into an emotional spiral, convincing you that you need to fix, punish, or eliminate whatever is disturbing your peace.
The Way Out begins by recognizing that ill will causes real harm, not only to those around you but to your own heart and mind.
After this is clearly acknowledged, whenever feelings of irritation or hostility arise in meditation, recognize them without judgment. Then, as an intentional practice, direct thoughts of kindness toward the person or situation that triggered your anger. This doesn’t mean excusing harmful behavior; it means softening the grip of resentment in your heart.
Start with something simple:
“May I be at ease. May I be free from anger.”
“May they be happy. May they find peace.”
Of course, you have to mean what you think in order for the Vyāpāda antidote to kick in. If it’s just lip-service — if you’re just repeating the words without sincerity — nothing profound will happen.
"It is not length of life, but depth of life." – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Us humans like to fixate on the length of our lives — counting the years we’ve had and worrying about how many remain — as if purely extending our time on Earth somehow makes it more meaningful.
We also equate a deep life with volume of experiences. Apparently, the more countries you visit, fears you conquer, and desires you manifest, the more fulfilled you become.
What utter nonsense — depth of life has nothing to do with any of that. Depth of life is about presence, the degree to which you are fully here.
Here! Now!
I promise you: someone who is truly present while washing dishes or crying at a funeral or reading a newsletter experiences far more depth and meaning from life than someone who is distracted — even if that someone just summited Mt. Everest or won the lottery.
Stop worrying about how much time you have left. And stop fetishizing over what adventures will make your story more interesting. Those are the blinding lights causing you to overlook the very thing you seek: the recognition that your life is rich in and of itself — nothing else needed.
