No doubt, there is a reality that we project—a world subtly and continually shaped by our inner impressions, beliefs, and wounds. These patterns form over a lifetime and become so familiar that we mistake them for reality itself. We unknowingly push them onto the world around us, reaffirming the storylines we have clung to.
What do I mean by this?
Let’s say you’ve been hurt by someone of a particular gender—perhaps by a man. Quite unconsciously, you may begin to project those past hurts onto other men, overlaying them with the same fear, mistrust, or resentment. Is this fear? Well, yes… but also no. It’s protection. It’s survival. It’s the armour we forge around the heart so that it never bleeds like that again.
But the cost of this armour is that it hides us—from the world, yes—but more tragically, from ourselves. It separates us from our own centre. In doing so, it drapes our perception in a fearful vibration that distorts what we see.
So how do we know when we’re projecting?
If our inner commentary begins with “you”—as in you always, you never, you made me—we’re likely projecting. If our thoughts obsess over another’s perceived shortcomings, or if we’re caught in repetitive loops of mental drama that revolve around others, chances are we’ve laid our internal weather onto an external sky.
And yes, projection may help us survive. It may even protect us from walking headlong into pain. But Yoga isn’t about survival—it is about liberation. And liberation doesn’t come through projection. It arises through reflection.
The opposite of projection is introspection. It is the choice to pause, turn inward, and contemplate: What’s really happening here, within me?
Let’s take a simple example.
You’re working in a team, and someone casually accuses you of being power-hungry: “You just want the limelight.” Now, their words sting. They hit something. And perhaps, if you’re honest, you are trying to offer leadership. Maybe you are occupying a position of authority. Their reaction, while poorly delivered, touches something true—but also reveals their own discomfort.
So what to do?
You could fixate on their accusation, fight back, or try to manage their perception of you. But far more powerful is the choice to reflect.
What in me is activated by this comment? What hook is being tugged on here? Is this mine?
When we feel irritated, judged, dismissed—or any strong emotional reaction—we are standing at the gateway of a veritable goldmine of wisdom. Not because the other person is right. But because our discomfort reveals a hidden vulnerability. And when we choose to meet that vulnerability, rather than mask it with projection, we begin to unwind the whole pattern of suffering.
Now, let me be clear: reflection isn’t the same as inaction. It’s not passivity or repression. It’s the courageous act of active witnessing—of choosing to be with what is arising within us without rushing to change the world outside of us.
This principle came home to me recently during an incident at our Ashram.
During a group activity, a participant was triggered by something in the facilitation and lashed out—at me, as it happened. Rather than sitting with what had arisen (as the majority of the group had done), this individual reacted. When I gently reminded them that they were in my Ashram, it wasn’t a power move. It was a reminder of context. They had come to a place of learning—to a mirror. And they were resisting what they saw in it.
Over the years, I’ve noticed a consistent pattern: when someone takes issue with the Ashram, it’s rarely the Ashram itself that’s the problem. More often, something we do happens to press on an old wound—perhaps a painful relationship with masculine authority, or an unhealed past experience. The Ashram doesn’t cause the pain. It simply reveals where it still lives.
And that’s the invitation: to reflect, not react. To heal, not harden.
So how do we begin?
The first step is meditation. Stillness. A willingness to sit and see the mind. Meditation sharpens the resolution of our awareness so we can witness our thoughts with clarity. We begin to catch ourselves in the act of blaming. And from there, we introduce a simple shift in perspective:
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m not seeing clearly.
This takes humility. It takes honesty. And it requires us to drop the story of being a victim. Because as long as we believe we are victims—of an abusive ex-partner, a cruel boss, or even a punishing God—we will remain bound to our suffering.
Yoga teaches the opposite. Yoga says we are not victims. We are sovereign. We are creators. From the depths of consciousness, we have shaped this life to know ourselves as Soul.
When we live from this truth, we can face the storms of life with dignity. And like all things in Yoga, this knowing requires practice. Daily remembrance. Ritual. Repetition.
That’s why we return to the mat. Why we sit each morning. Why we chant. Not for perfection. But for remembrance.
And when we live from remembrance, something beautiful happens.
We begin to smile—not just at the absurdity of our emotional reactions, but at the innocence behind them. We begin to see the provocations of others not as personal attacks, but as divine play. And we become the kind of person who can turn the other cheek—not in weakness, but in full strength. Calm. Grounded. Rooted in truth.
And when truth needs to be spoken, we speak it. But never from reactivity.
Only from Love.
If you are interested in learning Samarpan (Himalayan Meditation), Hatha Yoga and the Traditional Yogic outlook on life (beyond just stretching,) we have availability on our upcoming Soul Retreat.
