Chitta emerges in the Yoga Sūtras as the entire inner landscape of awareness—think of it as the mind’s backstage, where thoughts, feelings and memories all hustle about. Rather than being a single entity, Chitta unfolds in three intertwined layers:
• Manas (the sensing, doubting faculty)
• Buddhi (the discriminating intellect)
• Ahamkāra (the sense of “I” or ego)

Patañjali likens these functions to actors in a play, each vying for the spotlight. Their interplay generates five types of mental fluctuations (vṛttis):
1. Pramāṇa (correct knowledge)
2. Viparyaya (misconception)
3. Vikalpa (imagination)
4. Nidrā (dreamless sleep)
5. Smṛti (memory)

When vṛttis are left unchecked, Chitta becomes like a storm-tossed ocean; clarity gets buried under waves of distraction. Yoga, in its purest sense, is the art of calming these ripples so that the underlying stillness shines through (“Yoga chitta vritti nirodhaḥ,” 1.2).

Contemporary mindfulness movements—whether apps like Calm gating daily anxieties or meditation circles in Union Square—are simply modern spins on this ancient blueprint. The aim remains the same: to recognize how habitual thought patterns loop us into fear, envy or restlessness, and then gently steer attention back to a quieter, more spacious ground.

A freshly awakened awareness of Chitta doesn’t demand mystical powers; it just invites a willingness to observe mental chatter without getting swept away. Once those inner ripples settle, life’s everyday details—conversation with friends, the aroma of street-side coffee, even the roar of Times Square—gain a fresh vibrancy, as though seen through newly cleaned glass.