Yoga - A Beautiful Lie?

Preface -

I’m not asking you to believe me. I’m not saying I’m right and you’re wrong. I’m simply sharing my perspective—something to offer the reader food for thought.

Education, after all, is about being exposed to ideas that challenge what we think we know. And the best kind of learning doesn’t provoke anger—it sparks curiosity. It doesn’t demand agreement. It invites reflection.

Education isn’t dogma.It’s the willingness to keep an open mind.

What if the end goal of yoga is a lie?

What if Samadhi, Nirvana, enlightenment—what if it’s all just a fantasy designed to control people into thinking there is more? What if the “Truth,” as Samadhi and enlightenment are so often referred to, is just a beautiful lie?

Over the centuries, yogis have given up their lives, their bodies, and their minds in pursuit of a truth—one that few dare to speak of. They say it’s mesmerising. That it leaves yogis transfixed. And they'll do anything to find it. To discover it.

The distant drum is seductive.

The irony? It pulls us away from the only truth you and I can truly agree on: life itself.

That is the only truth.

And yet, in the chase for this elusive yogic Truth, we’ve lost ourselves.

This “Ultimate Freedom” B.K.S. Iyengar spoke of—what if it’s just an illusion?

This yogic technology and universal consciousness Sadhguru describes—what if it's just a beautiful lie?

Man has spent his whole life searching, only to miss the one thing closest to him: his own life.

This gift from nature that so many ignore in their endless search for “something more.”

You give a man a fiver, and he wants more. A sandwich? He’ll ask for a drink.

How many are simply thankful for what they already have?

After my own long and often painful journey, I’ve come to this conclusion:

Yoga philosophy is one big, beautiful, elaborate lie.

There is no Samadhi.

There is no way to free yourself from the mind.

Have you ever met anyone who’s truly experienced it?

All these teachings have done is keep us searching, keep us doubting—pulling us further from the only truth that matters: Life. Here. Now.

So next time you step onto your yoga mat—don’t chase anything.

Don’t look for more than what’s already there.

Just feel. Just be. Just honour that day.

There’s no new pose to master.

Nothing new to gain.

Only the gift of life.

The gift the trees keep giving us every single day—without ever asking for anything in return.

And if you’re a student diving deep into yoga philosophy—trust me: all you’ll find is one glorious lie after another.

Because man will never stop trying to deceive his fellow man.

There is no Samadhi.

No enlightenment.

No heaven. No hell.

And if there is—then even the seeking of it is the greatest barrier of all.

Just live as you are.

Just embrace life.

Do good. Live good. Be good.

And if there is more to life—Whatever that may be—It will come to us… if we are deserving of it.

A long time ago, a Sufi saint was on his way to the promised land. But for days, he stood still—motionless. When asked by a passerby why he had chosen not to move, he said there was a spirit in the woods. The most evil spirit known to man. And it stood between him and the freedom he so desperately sought.

The passerby, curious, asked, "But how do you know this? Have you spoken to anyone who has actually walked through the woods? Faced this so-called spirit?"

The saint paused. He hadn’t. The fear wasn’t his—it was inherited, imagined, passed down like a warning etched in shadow. So he set out to find someone who had. Someone who had faced the woods.

Months passed.

Eventually, he found a Fakir. An old man. A legend. Known for having walked the woods and come out alive.

The saint asked him, “Is it true? Is there something in there?”

The old man looked at the saint and was silent. Lost for words. He could tell him the truth—that the spirit was real, that it was darker and more dreadful than anything the saint could imagine. Or he could lie.

Because the truth was, yes—he might pass through unscathed. He might find his freedom. He might even find God. But he also might be devoured like so many others who dared to walk that path.

The old man, caught between duty and mercy, chose mercy.

“There is no spirit,” he said. “Only wind and trees. If you want freedom, if you wish to stand in the presence of God, follow the distant drum and walk.”

So the saint walked.

And many men later came to the old man and chastised him. Called him a liar. Called it a sin.

But the old man, tired and wise, replied:“The truth cannot set every man free. Sometimes, to be free, a man must hear a lie. Because the truth—it’s too raw. Too terrifying. Too divine. Words fall short. The mind cannot contain it. The truth, for many, is bondage. A burden. It breaks more men than it frees.”

I think it was Nietzsche who said something like that—man, as he is, cannot live with the truth. He needs dreams. Illusions. Myths. Otherwise, he collapses.

And if you look at yoga… if you really look at what we call the “goal”—to find truth, to see beyond “you” and “I”—we cannot grasp it. It’s too grand. Too vast. It will tear the mind apart.

So we make it smaller.

We create stories. Beautiful, poetic, divine little lies. A Krishna. A Bhagavad Gita. A Patanjali. A Yoga Sutra.These were the lies / dreams of men. Words woven to soften the divine. To keep us walking. They weren’t designed to deceive.They were designed to protect us.

To save us from the overwhelming immensity of what truth really is.

But somewhere along the way, we forgot. We mistook the path for the destination. We took the lie as the truth.

And now we are lost. Because the lie that was meant to guide us has become the cage.

All of yoga philosophy—every text, every verse—it’s a constellation of lies. Some breathtaking. Some comforting. But lies nonetheless.

The only truth?

Is to trust what’s within.

Zahir Akram - Eternal Seeker

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Interested in deepening your practice or teaching skills?

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For more information on our online courses, mentoring or to book in-house training, email Zahir.

Zahir@AkramYoga.co.uk