The Wisdom of Sa-Ta-Na-Ma in Spring's Paradox
As we navigate spring’s inherent tension; effort alongside surrender, the tenderness of new growth, I’ve been drawn to a practice that seems to embody these paradoxes in a visceral way (at least for me): the Kundalini mantra Sa-Ta-Na-Ma.
Origins and Meaning
This Kirtan Kriya finds its roots in the Sikh tradition and was later incorporated into Kundalini Yoga as taught by Yogi Bhajan. The mantra is an extension of Sat Nam, meaning “Truth is my identity” or “True Name.” When expanded into the sequence Sa-Ta-Na-Ma, each syllable maps a phase of the cycle of creation:
Sa: Beginning, infinity, cosmos, birth
Ta: Life, existence, crystallization
Na: Death, transformation, release
Ma: Rebirth, regeneration, resurrection
Just as spring is not only about blossoms and birdsong but also about thaw, mess, and the breaking open of what was, this mantra honors the whole cycle of becoming. It doesn’t skip the uncomfortable parts. It reminds us that transformation involves both the forming and the unforming of self.
My personal variation of the practice
Recently, I’ve been working with a personal variation of the mantra (while respecting its origins) that invites a physical embodiment of this paradox. While it’s not the traditional Kundalini technique, it has become a powerful somatic practice in my daily routine in this season:
Sit comfortably with a tall spine, eyes gently closed or softly focused.
Inhale: Engage your jaw lightly while mentally sounding “Sa”
Exhale: Release your jaw fully as you sound “Ta” internally
Inhale: Engage again with “Na”
Exhale: Soften deeply into “Ma”
The subtle rhythm of engagement and release offers a felt experience of spring’s paradoxes. The jaw’s activation mirrors the tension of the seed before it splits. The conscious softening echoes the surrender needed for growth to take root. If you want more information on the specific the traditional technique as taught by Yogi Bhajan, here is a link.
The Physiology of Transformation
What I find especially potent about this variation is the way it plays with my body’s stress and relaxation systems in a gentle, intentional rhythm. Light jaw engagement may activate the muscles around the temporomandibular joint (TMJ), which connects to rich nerve pathways. While this joint doesn’t directly house the vagus nerve, stimulating this area thought to create vagal tone through associated cranial nerves and facial fascia. The gentle tension seems to create a momentary spark of alertness, while the deliberate release supports a drop into ease. Over time, this back-and-forth may help train the nervous system to move fluidly between activation and rest which I find is a crucial skill during transitions, both seasonal and personal.
*Some potential benefits of this rhythmic engagement include:
Encouraging self-regulation by supporting vagal tone
Supporting integration of both hemispheres of the brain through rhythmic attention shifts
Softening tension in the jaw and face—areas often linked with unconscious holding
Stimulating the salivary glands and initiating digestion, metaphorically helping us “process” experience
Supporting cranial fluid dynamics and mental clarity (a hypothesis shared by many somatic professionals)
New research in neuroscience continues to explore how rhythmic, mindful practices may enhance neuroplasticity, our brain’s ability to adapt and rewire. It’s not a far leap to see this as a reflection of spring itself: constant renewal, woven from both letting go and reaching forward.
Connection to Spring’s Teachings
This practice, simple as it is, opens a quiet space for inquiry:
Destruction Within Creation: The mantra holds all parts of the cycle. Not just birth and bloom, but also death and decay.
Effort and Surrender: The muscular rhythm trains us to feel both drive and release, as the seed must do when pushing toward the surface.
Strength and Vulnerability: We don’t need to choose between them. They exist in relationship to eachother, just as every sprout is both delicate and determined.
As we continue to reimagine our yoga school as a cooperative, I’m reminded again and again that real transformation isn’t clean or linear. It’s messy. It asks for endings as much as beginnings. It requires us to act decisively and listen deeply, to let structures dissolve so something more aligned can emerge.
I have found that even five minutes with this practice can be wildly powerful. Let the mantra move through you. Let it teach you that transformation isn’t something you strive for. It’s something you allow.