Where does hate come from, and how do we overcome it? The short answer: hate isn’t our nature, it’s learned, it’s patterned, and it’s practiced until it feels automatic. The patterns are like grooves in our mind. 

In yoga, we call these grooves samskaras—deep impressions shaped by experience, trauma, and influence. When fear or judgment repeats, it leaves a track in the mind, and the needle drops there again and again. Hate is one of those tracks, but it isn’t who we are.

Also, the Toltec wisdom shared in The Four Agreements speaks of the illusion of the world, the collective dream that fills our heads with stories and rules that never belonged to us. We inherit them from family and culture until they sound like our own voice.

When we mistake that dream for truth, perception warps. Sometimes the distortion turns inward, and the voice of hate points at ourselves. That hurts—and it’s still only a story.

Yoga offers a different path. Practice works like a polishing cloth on a dusty mirror. Movement invites us back into the present, where the body can release what it has been gripping for years. Breathing steadies the nervous system and shifts us out of fear and into clarity. Meditation teaches us to witness thoughts without getting dragged into them. Compassion, the heart of ahimsa (non-violence), reminds us we can choose again.

Yoga doesn’t add anything new; it removes what doesn’t belong, revealing a self that is whole, radiant, and deeply connected.

This wisdom isn’t limited to one tradition. Scripture says it plainly in Matthew 22:39: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” When the fog of samskaras and illusion lifts, that commandment stops feeling like homework and starts feeling like home. We remember that our neighbor isn’t separate from us. Love becomes the natural response because love reflects our true nature, while hate is only the echo of an old groove.

In the yoga studio and at the end of class (in my classes anyway),  we place our hands together and say Namaste. But what does that really mean? In Sanskrit, namah means “bow” and te means “to you,” so the phrase reads, “I bow to you.” 

In practice, it speaks to something deeper. The light in me recognizes the light in you. I see you as you are, not as the world has shaped you. I honor the energy we share, and I acknowledge that to harm you would harm me, because we are connected. 

Picture many rivers finding their way back to one ocean. Each journey twists and turns, calm one day and choppy the next, yet every current returns to the same vast ocean. Saying Namaste seals our practice with gratitude, respect, and unity—between teacher and student, and among everyone in the room.

So where does hate come from? From fear, illusion, and conditioning. How do we overcome it? By clearing our vision and remembering who we are.

Show up, breathe, move, sit, and let yoga do its quiet work. The groove softens. The mirror shines. Love remains. And with steady practice, you don’t just learn how to love—you truly forget how to hate.

(Photo Credit Vanessa Polozola, photographer and Julie & Emma Zimmerman, models)