Lest this series read as blanket endorsement of pharmaceutical intervention: there’s a shadow side to name.
Aparigraha—non-grasping, non-possessiveness—offers a different caution. The same practitioners who might benefit from reducing shame around pharmaceutical support can also fall into compulsive optimization: stacking peptides, chasing the next biohack, treating the body as a project to be endlessly improved.
This isn’t the same as using tirzepatide for metabolic dysfunction or BPC-157 for an injury that won’t heal. This is grasping—the belief that with enough intervention, the body can be perfected. It’s the wellness-industrial complex wearing a different mask.
The question isn’t “pure vs. enhanced.” The question is: What is my relationship to these tools?
Am I using them skillfully, with discernment, to support sustainable practice? Or am I caught in a cycle of acquisition and optimization that has its own compulsive quality? The ethics aren’t categorical. They require ongoing reflection—exactly the kind of svadhyaya (self-study) that Kriya Yoga demands.
✨ Reconsidering Saucha
Saucha—often translated as cleanliness or purity—gets weaponized in these conversations. “A pure body doesn’t need pharmaceuticals.” “A clean practice means clean chemistry.”
But this isn’t what saucha meant in its original context. Saucha refers to clarity—the removal of obstacles to practice and perception. Physical cleanliness, yes. Clarity of environment. But also clarity of mind, clarity of intention. The purpose was always functional: clear away what obstructs so practice can proceed.
The idea that saucha means chemical purity of the body—that pharmaceutical molecules constitute contamination—is a modern projection, heavily influenced by wellness marketing that profits from positioning “natural” as morally superior.
If we actually applied ancient principles to contemporary circumstances, we’d ask: What supports the body’s capacity for sustained practice? Sometimes the answer is nauli. Sometimes it’s metformin.
“Yoga has always been about seeing clearly. When we identify so strongly with ‘yogi’ that we cannot acknowledge the support our bodies need, the identity becomes a cage.”
🌅 What Would Change Look Like?
Imagining a yoga culture with less shame and more honesty:
Teachers might model bounded disclosure. Not oversharing medical histories, but acknowledging that bodies are complex and practitioners use various supports. When asked “How did you do it?”, an honest answer might be: “A combination of practice, dietary changes, and medical support. Everyone’s path is different.”
Community conversations might include these topics. Holding space for the full complexity of practitioners’ lives means holding space for chronic illness, for pharmacological support, for the reality that bodies don’t always cooperate with ideology.
The work on body image and inclusion might extend to pharmaceutical stigma. The same impulse that’s creating more inclusive spaces for larger bodies, older bodies, and disabled bodies might also create space for medicated bodies.
Ethical discernment might replace categorical rules. Not “pharmaceuticals are fine” or “pharmaceuticals are failures,” but ongoing reflection about what supports practice, what crosses into compulsion, and how to remain honest with ourselves and our communities.
👁️ Seeing Clearly
The kleshas—the afflictions that cause suffering—begin with avidya (ignorance) and include asmita (false identification with ego).
When we identify so strongly with “yogi” as an identity that we cannot acknowledge the pharmacological support our bodies need, we’re caught in asmita. The identity becomes a cage. We’d rather suffer—and watch others suffer—than threaten the self-image.
When we believe that pharmaceutical purity equals spiritual purity, we’re caught in avidya. We’ve mistaken a marketing narrative for a philosophical principle. We’ve confused the map for the territory.
The teacher on tirzepatide. The practitioner on BPC-157. The long-time yogi on biologics. They’re not failures. They’re practitioners navigating modern bodies with ancient wisdom and contemporary tools.
The failure would be to let shame prevent honest conversation. The failure would be to perpetuate a culture where people suffer in silence because they’ve absorbed the message that asking for help—pharmaceutical help, medical help, any help—means they’re not doing yoga right.
Yoga has always been about seeing clearly.
As we close out this year—what are we not saying about our practice? What would it take to bring those conversations into the light?
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