Our potential for mental absorption is described in a commentary of the Yoga Sutras by the Sage Vyaas as the five states that are common to the human mind. They are:
Dull, mudha
Infatuated, kshipta
Semi-distracted, vikshipta
One-pointed, ekagra
Completely stilled, niruddha
The first three are common and non-yogic mental states. The last two are the yogic states. Most people have experienced a time when they lose themselves fully in something ecstatic or uplifting, or deep concentration, and time and space fall away and that moment is all there is. That experience is a type of samādhi, deep mental absorption. Though it is not the highest of the yogic samādhis, it illustrates how we can become absorbed in an object or experience to the exclusion of all other sensory inputs, so much so that we can forget ourselves in that moment.
For the Yogis, this can become a cultivated, habitual state, a purposeful state that transcends the thinking mind. The mind can be guided, shaped, molded, and purposefully directed towards habitual states of concentration that lead to self-knowledge, towards knowing fully who we are. This is accomplished in Yoga by understanding the operating principle of the mind, the tendency to concentrate.
A state is a changing phenomenon, and a trait is an underlying, enduring characteristic. The non-yogic states are changing states, and the yogic traits are deliberately cultivated mental habits that give lasting, dependable, present-moment awareness, peace, and insight.
Often, in present day yoga circles, when the word practice is used, it references the timeframe that we are doing yoga, our “daily practice;” we can start to think that practice is something that is “ours,” such as, “I have to do my practice now,” or, “did you do your practice today?” In this sense, the idea of practice becomes very “me” focused, and it can lead to states of mind that are grasping or outward goal oriented. Practice becomes an activity, something we do or need to get done, performance oriented, rather than a way of being.
Patanjali uses the word practice, abhyāsa, in an entirely different sense, simply saying that abhyāsa is the effort of remaining present. If we do not substitute the word “practice” for the word “abhyāsa,” then we can say that abhyāsa is the effort of remaining present. Abhyāsa along with the principle of vairagya, which is the not identifying with any experience that has shaped a sense of self-identity leads directly to a quiet mind so that the Self or Seer remains in its own nature of seeing. This is the most dependable, enduring, state of being, and is the subject of Yoga Sutras.
Abhyāsa is our way of being, rather than the state of doing. You don’t have to do anything special to remain present, other than be present—which in the beginning requires some effort. Different things might help with that. Asanas can sometimes be helpful, so can pranayama, or meditation—but while doing them, we have to remember what their purpose is, and that is to be helpful for remaining present. Their purpose is not for us to become supremely physically adept, or to hold our breath for long periods of time. Those things may happen, but they are not the goal, they are outcomes of being present with a discipline, over time. An asana can become effortless, but while in an asana, we can be thinking about other things.
With abhyāsa, either we are present, or we are not, there are no auxiliary things to be done. The usefulness of the eight limbs, the ashtanga yoga, that come later in Yoga Sutras are to help us learn to be present, and to teach us, in different ways, what awareness and attention is, and how to direct it for positive outcomes.