Tapas — The Third Niyama: Fire, Discipline, and the Will to Live

The Bruja's Reading

Before Daniela and I got married, she went to see a bruja. [pause] I know. I know. But listen, we're Venezuelan. This is normal. This is what you do. You go see a bruja and you ask the important questions. And the important question, apparently, was me. [pause] So Daniela sits down with this woman, tells her she's about to get married, and the bruja looks at whatever brujas look at and says: \"You are marrying a very young soul. A soul that is very excited to be here, in this incarnation, and wants to sip every drop of life he can.\" [pause] Now. I honestly don't know where I stand on fortune tellers. That's the truth. But this one got something right. Because that's exactly what I am. I love being alive. Not every day with the same intensity, not without difficulty, not without the days that feel heavy and slow. But underneath all of that, there is a hum. A constant hum that says: this is good. Being here is good. I want more of this. [pause] That hum has a name in yoga philosophy. It's called Tapas.

Welcome to The Imagine Podcast. I'm Pedro, and today we're talking about the third Niyama. And yes, before we go any further, I am obligated by fifteen years of habit to acknowledge: Tapas is not about tortilla. It had to be said. It was said. We move on.

Where Tapas Sits in the Path

We've been walking through the Eight Limbs of Yoga together in this series, and I want to take a moment before we go deeper into Tapas to notice something. This path doesn't begin with postures. It doesn't begin with breathing techniques or meditation. It begins with a fundamental revision of how we see ourselves and how we engage with the world around us. [pause] Patanjali gave us the Yamas first, personal commitments rooted in the belief that how we treat the world is inseparable from how we treat ourselves. Then the Niyamas, internal attitudes cultivated not through force, but through sustained, honest attention. [pause] We've covered Saucha, the clarity that comes from honoring what we allow into our bodies, our minds, our spaces. Then Santosha, contentment — not passive resignation, but the presence that lets you actually inhabit where you are. And now we arrive at Tapas.

Fire, Not Punishment

Tapas is commonly translated as discipline. And it is that, partially. But if we leave it there, we miss the most alive part of what the teachers were pointing at. The word comes from a Sanskrit root that means heat. Fire. Intensity. Not aggression, not self-punishment. Fire. [pause] What I've come to understand is this: Tapas is the willingness we have to live the day that has just arrived. The excitement about what is to come. The curiosity. It is, in many ways, the lighthouse — perhaps the epicenter from which our entire lives emanate. [pause] How can we practice Ahimsa when we are dragging ourselves through our own lives? How can we work on Santosha when nothing seems to content us? Tapas is at the center. Without it, everything else becomes effort without a pulse.

The Real Warning Sign

That image the bruja gave — a young soul wanting to sip every drop — is precisely what Tapas is asking us to look at. Not the part of us that manages, plans, optimizes, performs, gets through the week. The part that is still, underneath all of that, alive. Rebellious. Spontaneous. Always, quietly, wanting more. [pause] Not more of what is irrelevant. More of what is real. And its absence is perhaps the greatest red flag we have. Not anxiety. Not burnout. Not even sadness — those things at least have energy in them. The real warning sign is when nothing excites us. When we look at the day ahead and feel nothing. When we're alive, technically, but the hum has gone quiet. [pause] So before any recommendation, I want to ask you something directly. Are you excited to be alive? Not happy about what's happening right now. Not proud, not grateful in the way people perform gratitude. Are you engaged with the journey? Are you curious about how deep the rabbit hole goes? [pause] Doesn't that excite you? It should. And if it doesn't, that's not a character flaw. That's information. That's your Tapas telling you it needs attention.

Three Ways to Tend the Fire

Not rules. Not a program. Three honest directions. [pause] The first is your sadhana, your daily practice. In Kundalini Yoga, sadhana is not about achievement. It's about the act of choosing, every morning, to show up for yourself before the world gets to you. If you don't have a practice yet, this is the invitation. Even ten minutes. Not to become more flexible or more spiritual. To remember, every single day, that you are alive and that this is worth something. [pause] The second: do one thing this week purely because it makes you feel alive. Not because it's productive or useful or impressive. A walk with no destination. A conversation that goes somewhere real. Tapas doesn't need a grand gesture. It needs a small, honest one. [pause] The third, and perhaps the most confronting: ask yourself what you keep postponing. Not tasks. Not errands. The experiences, the conversations, the ways of living that you keep moving to someday. Tapas asks: what are you waiting for? The day available to you is this one.

Closing

I love being alive. I said it at the beginning and I'll say it again, because it deserves to be said twice. It's not a performance and it's not always easy. But it is the hum underneath everything I do. Every class I teach, every episode I record, every morning I step onto my mat. [pause] That hum, I believe, is what Patanjali was asking us to protect. That is the homework the teachers left us with Tapas. Not to be more disciplined in the punishing sense of the word. But to stay curious about your own life. To refuse, consistently, to let the days pass without really being in them. [pause] If something in this episode landed for you, share it with someone you think might need it. And if you're not subscribed yet, please do. With love, from here. Sat Nam.