Encounter with Pancha Koshas: A Personal Journey of Healing
From Weird Encounters to Inner Clarity—A Journey Through the Koshas
From Weird Encounters to Inner Clarity—A Journey Through the Koshas
This blog began with a recognition—not of something new, but something lived. While attending a session by Anaadi Foundation on the Pancha Koshas, I realized I had already experienced them in my own way. These five layers of being weren’t concepts to me—they were part of a long, personal journey. From pain that deepened discipline to breath that calmed the mind, I had unknowingly gone through many such encounters with the Pancha Koshas. This post shares those lived moments—not as claims, but reflections. Not as answers, but reminders.
Background: What Are the Pancha Koshas?
In the Yogic and Upanishadic tradition, human existence is seen as layered—not just physical, but made of five concentric sheaths called Pancha Koshas:
- Annamaya Kosha – the physical body, made of food and sustained by it.
- Pranamaya Kosha – the energy body, composed of breath and life force (prana).
- Manomaya Kosha – the mental sheath, home to thoughts, emotions, and habits.
- Vijnanamaya Kosha – the wisdom or discernment layer, guiding insight and clarity.
- Anandamaya Kosha – the bliss sheath, our subtlest layer, rooted in joy and unity.
I was made aware of these terms more elaborately and formally during a workshop by the Anaadi Foundation, but what struck me most was not the novelty—but the familiarity. These weren’t just ideas to me. They were names for what I had already lived through years of inner exploration.
Encounter with Pain That Became My Guru
There was a time—around age 39 or 40—when emotional pain in my personal life became a turning point. It wasn’t physical suffering, but a deep inner disturbance that forced me to look within. I was reminded of a powerful scene in the classic 1952 film Baiju Bawra, where the protagonist Baiju, played by Bharat Bhushan, tells his beloved Gauri, portrayed by Meena Kumari, that unless one has felt real pain, one cannot produce outstanding music that touches the soul. When Gauri takes her own life by letting a snake bite her, the searing grief transforms Baiju into a master of music. In my case too, pain became a silent teacher.
It was one of the most unexpected and weird experiences a common man—a well-paid technocrat—might ever go through or willingly sustain. But the pain redoubled my energy and instilled the discipline—quite like the special capabilities Baiju Bawra gained. I began rising at 4 a.m., watching the TV then run by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, meditating in silence, and reading the Shrimad Bhagavatam—not casually, but fully and repeatedly, until it became part of my being.
As this inner shift deepened, so did my lifestyle. I halved my food intake. I gave up snacks and compulsive munching—not through effort, but because the cravings simply faded. The new experience, wrapped in initial pain, gave me a purpose I had never imagined before. Purpose gave me rhythm. And rhythm gave me a new kind of strength.
This shift brought natural changes. My appetite reduced. I stopped craving snacks and mindless eating—not because I forced myself, but because my body no longer needed what my mind had let go of. Pain gave me purpose. Purpose gave me rhythm. And rhythm brought peace.
This experience of emotional pain guiding me to discipline and purpose reflects the Manomaya Kosha, the mental sheath, where inner disturbances can spark profound self-awareness and transformation.
As emotional pain awakened my Manomaya Kosha, a book soon arrived to deepen this mental clarity, urging me to live with greater intention.
What began with emotional pain soon extended to physical experience—where even the ache in my arms became a site of insight
A Book That Changed My Life: Brutal Honesty on Every Page
Robin Sharma’s Who Will Cry When You Die didn’t just give me advice—it shook me out of inertia. The book didn’t preach; it mirrored my own hesitations and excuses with startling clarity. It prompted me to live deliberately, not passively. I began questioning not only how I spent my time, but why. The result? Quiet revolutions across priorities, habits, and spiritual practices.
👉 Robin Sharma: Reflections of Self-Learning
This shift marked a deep engagement with my Annamaya Kosha—the physical sheath. By trusting my body’s innate intelligence rather than rushing for external fixes, I allowed its natural resilience to guide my healing and lifestyle. That trust then rippled outward, shaping a simpler, more intentional relationship with the material world.
Pain Is a Message—You Don’t Have to Answer
In early 2001, while walking back from a bus stand in a mid-size town in Andhra Pradesh, I was lugging heavy bags in both hands. The arms started to ache badly—deep, sharp pain. I wanted to stop. But then something strange happened.
A thought arose: “Pain is only a message. The body sends it; the brain interprets it. But I don’t have to obey it.”
Instantly, the pain disappeared.
There was no miracle. Just a shift in perception—a realization that attention feeds sensation, and detachment can starve it.
That one moment rewired my understanding of discomfort. It taught me that some pain isn’t injury—it’s suggestion. And I can choose not to listen.
This shift in perceiving physical pain as a mere suggestion engages the Vijnanamaya Kosha, the wisdom sheath, revealing how discernment can reframe bodily sensations.
This wisdom from the Vijnanamaya Kosha guided me to trust my body’s resilience, even in the face of physical challenges like dental pain.
Encounter With a Dentist and Freedom for 25 Years
That same year, I visited a dentist in the same Andhra town. He wasn’t gentle. The procedure was careless—he tore my inner cheek. It bled, hurt, and scarred.
I made a decision then: I won’t return to a dentist.
Two and a half decades have passed. I’ve never gone to any dentist.
To be clear, I did feel pain in the teeth now and then. But I didn’t run to fix it. I watched it. Welcomed it. I refused to play victim. And without the drama, it faded.
Pain seeks reaction and attention. If it doesn’t get it, it leaves.
This wasn’t stubbornness. It became a quiet vow: to respect the body’s intelligence, not override it with panic. Not everyone may agree—but for me, it worked.
By trusting the body’s intelligence over external intervention, I honored the Annamaya Kosha, the physical sheath, allowing its natural resilience to guide my healing.
And then came the mind—nudged awake not by crisis, but by a book that held a mirror I could no longer avoid.
Encountering Minimalism: Not Sacrifice, but Sovereignty
Minimalism isn’t a trend for me—it’s a quiet revolution. I use the same razor for six months, not because I must, but because it works. I reuse shaving water for days, lather with a simple bar of soap, and don’t wash the brush daily—yet I’ve never had an infection whatsoever. Vanity has no hold on me.
Even my pain oil and hair oil are handmade using traditional Ayurvedic ingredients. For me, it’s not about saving money; it’s about choosing purity.
This lifestyle might appear odd and even, weird, to many, but it’s one of those life-shifting encounters that redefined how I relate to the material world. It’s not about sacrifice. It’s about regaining sovereignty over habits that modern life tries to automate and monetize.
This minimalist lifestyle, rooted in simplicity and self-reliance, reflects the Annamaya Kosha, aligning my physical existence with intentional, unburdened choices. It also offers a profound insight: the needs of the Annamaya Kosha are truly minimal. One can live with far less than modern life demands. In fact, certain Jain monks have demonstrated this truth for centuries—surviving without food for days, even weeks or months, through deep yogic discipline. Such examples reaffirm that the body doesn’t thrive on abundance but on awareness, rhythm, and restraint.
Minimalism soon spilled into health experiments—where I found that simple, natural remedies often worked better than store-bought ones.
Cure for 43-Year-Old Eczema
For over four decades, I lived with persistent eczema—an ailment of the skin, but perhaps also a message from my Annamaya Kosha, the physical sheath. One day, I decided to approach it not as a patient, but as a participant in its healing.
I created a homemade remedy using neem leaf extract, raw turmeric juice, aloe vera pulp, and honey. Applied regularly, it worked like magic. Encouraged, I made a soap with the same ingredients—gentler but still effective. I also formulated natural cleaners: a fruit-and-flower enzyme for bathrooms, and a Multani mitti dish scrub with neem. Each one worked surprisingly well.
What changed was not just the external routine, but the internal response to the body’s needs. These weren’t just DIY solutions—they were gestures of conscious care toward the layer of being that sustains us physically. This was healing through the koshas—starting with the most tangible one.
Healing eczema through natural remedies was a dialogue with my Annamaya Kosha, the physical sheath, embracing the body’s capacity for self-repair when nurtured consciously.
Next came household experiments:
– A fruit-and-flower enzyme cleaner for bathrooms and toilets
– A Multani mitti-based dish scrub, infused with neem powder and a whisper of natural soap
Each one worked surprisingly well—non-toxic, clean, and aligned with purity.
Eczema may seem like just a skin ailment, but the shift in my response marked a deeper engagement with the Annamaya Kosha—the physical sheath. Healing, I realized, begins by listening to this most visible layer of our being.
Shambhavi Kriya: A Quiet Return to Myself
At around age 62, I hit a strange low. My thoughts had grown dark, repetitive, and invasive—not due to one traumatic event, but a slow build-up of disillusionment or unresolved inner patterns. That’s when I encountered Shambhavi Kriya, a practice devised by Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev ji of Isha Foundation, which I had the fortune of learning directly from him.
Within a few weeks of sincere daily practice, the heaviness began to lift. There was no dramatic miracle—just a quiet but profound rebalancing of my inner energies. It was the first time I experienced how a spiritual discipline could transform not just the mind, but the entire quality of one’s being.
Though not publicly elaborated in full, the Kriya itself included familiar yogic components—Anulom Vilom, gentle butterfly asana, pranayama, and chanting of Om. Simple practices—yet their impact was deeply transformative when done with intent.
One more subtle realization emerged: a growing sense of mastery over the breath itself—the very essence of life. It felt like a glimpse into what the ancient yogis might have known firsthand. These words may sound weird, and perhaps they are. But as Sadhguru ji often says, one has to explore and dive deep to experience it. No explanation from the surface can ever replace what is lived from within.
Shambhavi Kriya’s transformative power worked through my Pranayama Kosha, the energy sheath, harmonizing my breath and inner vitality to restore mental and emotional balance.
As my breath steadied, so did my awareness. This clarity began spilling into areas of life often dismissed as instinctive or taboo.
A Surprising Lesson in Self-Mastery
Years ago, a close friend—once a disciple of Acharya Rajneesh—shared an unusual but deeply personal insight. Through focused awareness and breath control, he said, one could sustain intimacy far longer than imagined. I was curious and tried it—not as an ascetic exercise, but as a householder.
Let me be clear: this was neither extramarital nor unethical. It was entirely within the bounds of dharma, experienced in the sanctity of a committed relationship.
The result was astonishing. Without any external aid or stimulants, I could maintain control as long as I wished, or until physical exhaustion set in. It was a moment of realization: what many chase through pills or desire, can be accessed through conscious awareness and inner command.
It was not suppression. It was not renunciation. It was a calm witnessing—a subtle shift where the mind leads, not the impulse. Strange as it may sound, this taught me something powerful: your body follows the discipline of your inner clarity.
This practice of breath and awareness tapped into the Pranayama Kosha, the energy sheath, demonstrating how conscious control of energy can guide even instinctual impulses.
Years later, the same lesson returned—this time as a stubborn cough. But like before, the solution wasn’t outside—it lay in conscious action.
Years later, the same lesson returned—this time as a stubborn cough. But like before, the solution wasn’t outside—it lay in conscious action.
The Cough That Discipline Healed
In my 60s, I faced one of the most persistent and strange coughs I’ve ever experienced. It wasn’t viral or seasonal—it was self-inflicted. Every morning, after bathing, I would sit under a ceiling fan with wet hair that I never did earlier. Eventually, my body responded with a deep, lingering cough that refused to go away.
I hadn’t taken a pill in over two decades and didn’t want to start now. On the advice of an AYUSH Yoga instructor [Facebook Page], I began a set of simple breathing and stretching exercises—just ten minutes a day. In a week, the cough was 80% gone. Another 80% of the remaining cough vanished the following week. This was one of those weird experiences where self-discipline and breathwork proved more powerful than medicine.
By using breathwork to heal a persistent cough, I engaged the Pranayama Kosha, the energy sheath, channeling life force to restore physical harmony without external aids.
Even after discipline worked, something remained. That’s when I realized—sometimes, the body listens only when the mind stops interfering.
Even after discipline worked, something remained. That’s when I realized—sometimes, the body listens only when the mind stops interfering.
Healing Through Awareness, Not Suppression
Yet, a trace of the cough remained—a subtle tickle that would rise without any real cause. That’s when I decided to engage the mind instead of the body.
I realized something simple: most coughing doesn’t come from choking, but from an itch sensation in the throat. Since we can’t reach inside to scratch it with our hand, the body instinctively triggers a cough—a blast of air meant to “etch” the irritation away.
So I told myself, “This is just an itch, not an injury. If I don’t mentally scratch it, it will lose its hold.”
And that’s exactly what happened.
This wasn’t suppression—it was conscious, detached awareness. One of those weird experiences that showed me how even subtle bodily reactions can be shaped by inner command. Sometimes, healing begins not with action, but with understanding.
This conscious approach to managing a lingering cough reflects the Vijnanamaya Kosha, the wisdom sheath, where detached awareness reshapes the body’s instinctive reactions.
Looking back, these weren’t random improvements or isolated techniques. They were conversations between the layers of my being.
Looking back, these weren’t random improvements or isolated techniques. They were conversations between the layers of my being.
Quiet Acceptance: A Glimpse into Anandamaya Kosha
Though I’m far from mastering it, I’ve learned to practice simple acceptance—not as passive compromise, but as mindful surrender. In moments of restless impatience, I’ve paused and said to myself: “This is how it is—and that’s okay.”
Not accepting what is may be the biggest struggle of the human experience.
We often try to change others or the environment around us—yet true change is rarely possible without first working on ourselves.
This is not resignation. It’s a choice to stop resisting and observe presence. In those pauses, I’ve felt a gentle warmth—a subtle peace that arises not from doing, but from simply being. It’s a fleeting taste of Anandamaya Kosha—the sheath of bliss, where joy isn’t earned, but uncovered beneath resistance.
Accepting what is doesn’t weaken me—it frees me. It’s not giving in; it’s waking up to the ease already within the core of being.
Experiences of Pancha Koshas
The Pancha Koshas are not abstract layers reserved for saints or sages. They live in all of us—waiting to be noticed, nurtured, and engaged. My own journey has been full of strange detours: a cough that bowed to discipline, a mind that learned stillness through breath, and pain that became my unexpected teacher.
Were these weird? Yes. Unexpected? Certainly. But they weren’t random.
They were signals from within—each kosha whispering its truth through experience.
We often search for transformation in gurus, retreats, or exotic practices. But perhaps the real transformation begins with pausing, listening, and trusting our lived experiences—even the weird ones.
🔻 Call to Action (CTA):
🔸 Have you ever faced a moment where pain led to clarity, or silence brought unexpected strength?
🔸 Do you have your own “weird” experiences that don’t fit conventional boxes—but changed you?
💬 I invite you to reflect, share, and begin your own inquiry into the koshas.
🔗 Explore more about the Pancha Koshas and their relevance in everyday life at Hinduinfopedia.org
🧘♂️ Because sometimes, your body knows what your mind is yet to understand.
Let the journey inward begin.
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Glossary of Terms
- Pancha Koshas: The five sheaths or layers of human existence described in Yogic and Upanishadic traditions—ranging from the physical body to the innermost bliss.
- Annamaya Kosha: The outermost sheath, representing the physical body, which is made of and sustained by food.
- Pranamaya Kosha: The second sheath, composed of prana or life-force energy, responsible for vital functions and breath.
- Manomaya Kosha: The mental sheath, encompassing thoughts, emotions, and habitual patterns of the mind.
- Vijnanamaya Kosha: The sheath of discernment or wisdom, responsible for insight, discrimination, and deeper understanding.
- Anandamaya Kosha: The innermost sheath of bliss, rooted in a state of joy, unity, and spiritual fulfillment.
- Anaadi Foundation: A spiritual and educational institution based in Palani, Tamil Nadu, that offers workshops and teachings grounded in Yogic, Dharmic, and Indic wisdom traditions.
- Shambhavi Kriya: A yogic practice popularized by Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev, involving breath control, meditation, and awareness techniques to balance inner energies.
- Anulom Vilom: A pranayama or yogic breathing technique involving alternate nostril breathing, known for calming the nervous system and balancing energy channels.
- Pranayama: Yogic breath control practices that regulate life-force (prana) through structured inhalation, retention, and exhalation.
- Butterfly Asana: A simple seated yoga posture (Baddha Konasana) where soles of the feet are joined and knees gently moved like butterfly wings, aiding hip and pelvic flexibility.
- Upanishads: Ancient Hindu scriptures that form the philosophical basis of Vedanta, exploring the nature of the self and ultimate reality.
- Baiju Bawra: A 1952 Hindi film where the protagonist’s musical mastery is catalyzed by personal tragedy, referenced here as a metaphor for transformation through emotional pain.
- Multani Mitti: Also known as Fuller’s Earth, a natural clay used in traditional Indian skincare and cleaning remedies.
- AYUSH: An acronym for Ayurveda, Yoga & Naturopathy, Unani, Siddha, and Homeopathy—India’s officially recognized systems of traditional medicine.
- Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev: A contemporary Indian yogi, mystic, and founder of the Isha Foundation, known for reviving ancient yogic practices for modern audiences.
- Rajneesh (Osho): An Indian spiritual teacher known for his unconventional philosophy and meditative techniques, often combining Eastern spirituality with Western psychological insights.
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