When I lived in an ashram many years ago, I often heard senior teachers say something I loved. It seemed to take power away from all the disturbing mental noise so beautifully.

When someone grumbled about feeling a certain way or experiencing life in a particular way, a reply I cherished was:
“It is just the play of the gunas.”

This simple phrase took the charge out of anything I was personally experiencing. It eased resistance, quietened indignation, and dissolved that inner protest against whatever was arising in the moment that challenged a sense of entitlement to days of peace and  equanimity.

It is just the nature of things, I understood. It is just how things are. Our role is simply to observe, to witness, and not be carried away bt the constant changes of our inner and outer worlds. 

In sum, the message of this saying for me became: unplug, watch, and wait.

I must admit that although ashram life has its intensity and challenges, living in a place dedicated to spiritual practice certainly supports the kind of inner work and witnessing we have been exploring over the past weeks. 

Out in the wider world, where we are exposed to so many different vibrations that leave their stamp on our senses, minds, and hearts, there are days when the mind races ahead of us. We feel restless, overstretched, unable to settle. Thoughts spiral. Emotions rise quickly. We become impatient, reactive, overstimulated. Sleep feels lighter, the nervous system more strained. We feel compelled to keep doing, solving, fixing.

And then there are days when heaviness descends. Motivation disappears. We feel dull, foggy, disconnected, or withdrawn. We procrastinate, unable to see a clear way forward. Everything feels effortful. Even the things we love lose their appeal.

And then there are those rare moments when everything is simply okay. Indeed, our external circumstances may not have changed much from the day before, when all seemed bleak, and we barely had the energy to put shoes and socks on and venture outdoors. Yet suddenly, the mind is still and at ease, the nervous system calm, the body comfortable, and all seems well in our world.

We can see clearly, and in that seeing arises a deep acceptance, which feeds and is fed by a state of deep contentment.

In Yoga and Ayurveda, it is precisely these shifting inner experiences that are “the play of the gunas.” The gunas are three subtle qualities or tendencies that flow through the body, mind, emotions, and all of nature itself.

They are not personality types or fixed identities, though we may each tend to express one guna more than the others. Nevertheless, they are ever-changing states flowing through us and through all existence.

In Yoga, the word guna refers to the underlying qualities or energies that shape all of nature. They affect our body, mind, emotions, behaviours, and even our daily choices: the clothes we wear, the foods we eat, how we maintain our environment, the music we listen to, the books we read, or the films we watch. They influence the world around us as well—types of music, art, food, and environments are all infused with the gunas. They are dominant at different times—day and night, summer and winter.

These qualities are constantly moving and changing within and around us, shaping how we feel, think, respond, and experience life.

Rajas governs movement, activity, and stimulation. We see it at play in the daytime and in summer, when nature is at its peak of activity. Psychologically, excessive rajas manifests as agitation, restlessness, overthinking, ambition, and emotional turbulence.

Tamas embodies stillness and rest, and in excess brings stagnation, inertia, and obscuration. Psychologically, tamas can leave us depleted, resistant, stuck, foggy, or disconnected—lacking empathy and insight.

Sattva, the third guna, is encapsulated by a Sanskrit word for which there is no direct English equivalent. It encompasses clarity, harmony, balance, luminosity, and peace. It is the quality that allows us to feel centred, steady, and deeply at home within ourselves.

Sattva is not excitement but contentment; not numbness but calm assurance; not intensity but relaxed, razor-sharp alertness.

In sattva, everything within and around us settles into coherence. We find right relationship with all aspects of our life.

Recently, we have explored discernment (viveka) and self-abiding (svastha)—tools that steady us and guide us toward a deeper inner refuge, allowing us to remain grounded even when life becomes uncertain.

Sattva makes this refuge accessible. Viveka, discernment, leads us to sattva.

As one teacher said, when a Yogi has a choice, ask: “Which is the sattvic choice? What will feed sattva in my life and the world around me?”

This is not a question of morality or ethics but of intelligence. Practitioners establish themselves in right knowing, right seeing, right action. When discernment is strong, the fruits of our thinking, choosing, and acting bring all the qualities of sattva—contentment, balance, peace of mind, and completeness.

The analogy of the ocean often illustrates the shifting play of the gunas.

When rajas is strong, the waters are turbulent. Waves rise and crash, and the depths are obscured. Debris clouds the water. Mentally, we feel agitated, and the nervous system is activated.

Tamas also clouds the depths, not through movement but through stagnation. The water is murky, and we lose motivation, direction, enthusiasm, and perspective.

Sattva is different. The surface calms, the waters clear, and we can see into the wondrous depths. When sattva fills the mind, inner turbulence is quelled, fog lifts, and the precious depth of our being is revealed. There we see clearly, rest purely, and become receptive to our truest guidance.

Yoga and Ayurveda emphasise cultivating balance—sattva. As Mukunda Stiles wrote: “The Yogi practices Ayurveda to cultivate sattva.” This integrated approach gives us a body, mind, and spirit framework—on and off the mat—to cultivate sattva and access pure seeing.

We live in a rajasic society. Our senses are overstimulated by sounds, sights, tastes, and smells. Activity is prized, rest is often neglected. It is little wonder that popular Yoga classes emphasise movement over stillness. When rajas predominates, stillness feels uncomfortable, and some conclude: “Yoga is not for me.”

Yet we can transform rajas into sattva. Focused, steady, breath-aligned movement allows gradual slowing into stillness.

Only you can know the fruit of your practice. The true measure is not what you achieve physically but how much sattva fills your body, heart, and mind by the end of the class.

As sattva grows, all our choices change—from the yoga we practice, to the food we eat, to the company we keep. Once tasted and established, we recognise its sanctity and blessings, and guard it carefully.

Rajas may linger. Sattva may ebb. But “one glimpse is a blessing.” Once we have tasted sattva, we know its possibilities: ease, alignment, and balance. And we remember the suffering that accompanies rajas and tamas when they return.

With sattva, life is not free from challenges, but how we meet them changes. We suffer less over our suffering. Clarity, understanding, and steadiness allow us to remain anchored in ourselves. We have our centre.

In sattva, we rest in that inner place untouched by the changing weather of our minds and lives. Beneath the constant motion of life, we sense something steady, aware, and unchanging—what Yoga calls purusha, pure awareness, the witnessing presence.

You may already have come to rest here through enquiry, awareness, meditation, or breath practices. It is the place from which we can watch, protected from the impact of thoughts, breath, and the changing tides of being.

Sattva allows access to this inner sanctum. This is why cultivating sattva is so prized, and why practice—right practice—matters.

Right practice is not rigid or perfectionistic. It is the loving tending of our inner landscape—the tightrope walk of sustained balance, supported by awareness of the gunas and the effects of the changing doshas.

Meditation stills the mind. Breath practices regulate the nervous system. Time in nature restores perspective. Mantra softens mental noise. Seasonal, dosha-appropriate, sattvic food, rest, rhythms, and supportive relationships all cultivate sattva, shaping our inner and outer world.

Little by little, let us draw on the wisdom of Ayurveda and Yoga. Let the inner waters calm and settle. In doing so, we uncover our best life and can give our best to life at large.

We become less reactive, more responsive. Less driven by urgency, more guided by what is appropriate in the moment. Restlessness transforms into enthusiasm and inspiration; inertia into true, wholesome rest.

As we gently invite more sattva into our lives, peace and fulfilment need not be sought in the outer world.

It is already here, patiently waiting beneath the surface of our

It is already here, patiently waiting beneath the surface of our own being – clearly seen and experienced when the inner waters are stilled.us