Darren Main Quotes

Do numbers hold spiritual significance? Perhaps they do. For me, the most powerful numbers are two and six because when you multiply those numbers, you get the exact amount of square feet required to roll out a yoga mat. Even after years of practice, I’m continually astounded that all I really need to heal my body, open my heart, and still my chaotic mind is twelve square feet.

Gratitude is both a vaccine and an antidote for grief. Grief may be an inevitable fact of life, but gratitude has the power to transform the experience of grief from agonizing suffering to profound joy.

Non-attachment doesn’t mean you forgo possessions, pleasure, or comfort. It simply means you are at peace when those things fail to show up in your life. It means that while you can enjoy moments of ease, you are equally at peace when pain, hardship, and struggle define a given moment.

Instead of asking, “How can I ease my suffering?” yoga would have us ask,“How can I better serve my brothers and sisters?” Because only in answering the latter can we hope to answer the former.

Standing at the end of a diving board looking at the water never made the water warmer, but it will make taking the plunge unnecessarily hard.

People slip spontaneously into moments of concentration all the time—while reading a book, exercising, playing chess, or creating art. A yogi seeks to experience that same level of concentration intentionally in a practice known as dharana—the act of purposefully narrowing the mind’s focus on the breath, the sensations of the body, a mantra, or a prayer bead. This consistent and purposeful focusing of the mind while on the yoga mat or meditation cushion gives the yogi the same level of focus in life, allowing for wild creativity and unfathomable productivity.

Attachment is the act of trying to control, manipulate, or sculpt the outside world in such a way that we lose sight of our true nature. Nonjudgmental observation allows a yogi to experience the external world as a mirror reflecting back one’s true nature.

As a child, my father was a god to me—at times I loved him, at times I feared him, but I always wanted to be like him. As an adolescent, I resented my father for the sin of being human—for not being the god of my childhood. Then, as a young man, I felt sorry for my father because, in my arrogance, I believed he knew nothing and I knew everything. It was not until I held my own son for the first time that I truly understood my father. Now I can appreciate the man he is and the man he helped me to become.