Inner wisdom, intuition, gut feelings—these are all different ways of describing the same underlying intelligence. It’s a form of knowing that transcends intellectual understanding, a kind of perception that connects us to the deeper mystery of life. This is the wisdom of novelty—not in the sense of the latest trend, but in the sense of “aha” moments, where we see the new in the familiar. Whether in a yoga pose, a relationship, or within ourselves, this deeper wisdom allows us to rediscover what has always been there.
Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj speaks to this openness in I Am That when he remarks “After all, liberation is the freedom to discover,” encouraging us to accept life as it comes without demanding it to conform to our desires or expectations. In yoga, this translates into attempting to be fully present with each element of our practice not as a means to an end but as an experience in itself. The posture might feel expansive or restricted, the chant maybe unfamiliar or our favorite, the meditation light and easy or constantly challenging our patience, yet all of these sensations are part of the practice. Our task is to appreciate what arises, to experience rather than to arrive at a destination.
Yet, when novelty wears off, attention often drifts, and learning halts. This is where yoga’s many tools can bring us back to the present moment by reigniting that sense of newness. Take chanting, for example. The sound of *Om*, something so simple and repetitive, never grows stale when we approach it with receptivity. Whether it’s the sound of your own voice or the collective hum of a group, chanting offers a fresh opportunity to experience something deeply familiar in a new way. Through this practice, we let go of the need to perform or to know and instead become vulnerable to the unfolding experience.
Bruce Grierson calls this process “re-wilding our attention,” a break from the algorithm of modern life that pushes us toward the latest gadgets, trends, and material gains. Yoga, too, can fall into an internal algorithm. We form grooves of habit, or saṃskāras, which cause us to repeat familiar patterns, both on and off the mat. But when we appreciate the novelty of each moment, we challenge these tendencies. We are nudged out of our well-worn paths and given the chance to choose differently.
As Sharon Gannon often said during śavāsana, “To be relaxed is to be rendered receptive.” The reverse is also true: to be receptive is to be rendered relaxed. When we open ourselves to novelty, there is a release of mental tension. We let go of the need to control outcomes or force progress, and in doing so, we find a deeper relaxation. This release applies not just to muscles, but to the stories we tell ourselves, the cultural norms we cling to, and the ways we hold on to what is familiar. Ma Bhaskarananda from Ānanda Ashram would say, “If you can see it, you can drop it.” Perhaps the greatest novelty is recognizing what we’ve been holding onto all along—our internal grooves that prefer the known over the unknown.
In your next class, experiment with this mindset. Appreciate the wonder of your body as it moves through space, notice the aches and pains that weren’t there yesterday, or the subtle progress and setbacks. Chant or sing and remain wide open. What do you hear and feel, is it possible to do so without judging the sounds? Find the novelty in the moment, and allow yourself to be fully receptive to what is unfolding. Sri Nisargadatta ends his conversation with saying “It is all very simple and comparatively easy; be earnest and patient, that is all.”
