The Seeds of Ahimsa: How Yoga Nurtures Compassion
Ahimsa shows up when I step onto my mat—whether I’m feeling at my best or my worst.
It appears in my practice in moments when I notice it's difficult to breathe, and I take a step back. Typically, this happens in backbends—when I’ve extended much too far, much too quickly.
Lately, it shows up when I feel a pang of pain in my knee, and I choose to let go of a certain posture.
It’s there when I move more slowly, conscious of my movements—placing my limbs with discernment rather than force. And when I opt to simply take a 20-minute restorative pose, letting it be my entire practice for the day.
Ahimsa, a Sanskrit word meaning non-violence, is one of yoga’s foundational principles. It invites us to cultivate kindness—not just toward others, but also within ourselves (if you’re new to this concept, I wrote more about it in this post on learning to speak to myself with love).
I feel Ahimsa most when I begin my practice seated—noticing my breath, my body, my mind. Observing each as unique entities and as an interactive whole so that I can move through my practice in a way that serves me, responding to what this body, this soul, needs in the present. Without layers of judgment—only layers of love.
My yoga mat—really, my whole yoga space (which, in turn, is my whole world)—has become a place of self-compassion.
I start small.
Just the space within the four corners of my mat. That’s it.
When I land in that space, there’s not much room left for anger, frustration, or animosity.
Like a vacuum, these thoughts are replaced as they arise. Because inevitably, they will arise. Sometimes, the shift is instant—like a snap of the fingers where sweetness, love, and kindness appear. Sometimes, it’s slow—long, drawn-out breaths, and at the end of an exhale: patience, gentleness, and appreciation arise, simply for the effort.
At the end of the day, that’s all it takes—effort.
Abhyāsa-vairāgyābhyām tannirōdhah. - Yoga Sutra 1.12
Apply honest effort, without attachment to the results. Without a timeline. With faith—just keep practicing.
So I land on my mat. I allow whatever feelings arise to exist. I don’t pretend the "negative" emotions aren’t there. I don’t ignore them. I don’t hide my awareness from them, hoping they’ll leave before I open my eyes.
I feel what I feel. Though I don’t hold on. At the same time, as I’m feeling—whatever it is—I hold tenderness toward myself.
Eventually, roots start to grow.
When committed to this consistently over time, this practice of Ahimsa on the mat begins to extend beyond it. As I step outside of “the practice,” each step contains this vibration of compassion. It usually starts in the mundane—brushing my teeth, doing the dishes, making my bed, walking my dog. It becomes second nature to apply the same attitude of compassion toward my mind—and by extension, my whole self.
A sprout, breaking the surface.
In my interactions with others, I notice: When I hold empathy toward myself, I can hold it for others. My closest family, my closest friends. I come to deeply understand that how we feel and how we act or express those feelings is not who we are. So I meet people the same way I meet myself. I listen, observe, and respond with my heart—whether someone is expressing love or expressing hate.
One flower blossoms.
At some point—maybe only for a day, or even just a moment—every action, every word, every thought is rooted in Ahimsa. Not only toward yourself, not only toward those you love, but toward everyone. Toward strangers. Toward those you may never meet. Toward people whom you never thought you could understand.
A collective understanding arises: We are all here in this world, and in spirit, we are the same.
No matter how different.
Different opinions.
Different experiences.
Different backgrounds.
You find yourself wanting everyone to experience this compassion you’ve planted in your own heart.
I find myself with the hope that everyone can.
A field of flowers bloom.
"We are all walking each other home." - Ram Dass
Home, where?
To the love that we are—in our hearts, where we are connected by an eternal, universal, and everlasting thread.
The opposite of Ahimsa is Himsa: violence. The severing of the thread. The pushing away of others. The process of separating ourselves. Where violent thoughts become violent words, and violent words become violent actions. And it all unravels.
The flowers, left unwatered, dry out and fall to the ground. Decomposing, roots shriveling.
Until we are left alone, with ourselves.
And yet—the seed of Ahimsa is always there, just waiting to be watered again.
Leave a comment below or send me an email at sharingcalmyoga@gmail.com to continue the conversation.
Cultivate self-love and kindness with this gentle yoga flow, inspired by the principle of Ahimsa (non-violence).
This practice is designed to help you move with ease, listen to your body, and honor yourself with compassion. Through mindful movement and breath, you’ll create space for softness, patience, and self-care—on and off the mat.
Take a deep breath, and let’s begin.
