oṁ hrīṁ drāṁ
dattātreya hare kṛṣṇā unmattānanda-dāyakā
digambare-mune bāla-piśāca jñāna-sāgarā
drāṁ hrīṁ oṁ
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Daśa Mudrās in Śrī Vidyā Upāsana (Guruji’s Explanation)
Today we will be talking about Daśa Mudrās. What is the meaning of the word mudrā?
«Mudam rāti iti mudrā» — because it brings happiness it is called mudrā.
Mudam means happiness, pleasure.
In Śrī Vidyā upāsana we use 10 mudrās. In Lalitā Sahasranāma it says:
daśa-mudrā-samārādhyā.
These 10 mudrās have the following bījākṣaras:
-
sarva-saṃkṣobhiṇī (drāṁ)
-
sarva-vidrāviṇī (drīṁ)
-
sarvā-karṣiṇī (klīṁ)
-
sarva-vaśankarī (blūṁ)
-
sarvon-mādinī (saḥ)
-
sarva-mahānkuśe (kroṁ)
-
sarva-khecarī (hskhphreṁ)
-
sarva-bīje (hsauṁ)
-
sarva-yone (aiṁ)
-
sarva-trikhaṇḍe (hsraiṁ, hsrklīṁ, hsrsauḥ)
These 10 are called daśa-mudrās.
Broadly speaking drāṁ, drīṁ, klīṁ, blūṁ, saḥ are the five arrows of Manmatha, pañcha-tanmātra-sāyakā, which Lalitā Devī is holding in Her right hand. Drāṁ, drīṁ, klīṁ, blūṁ, saḥ are the śabda, sparśa, rūpa, rasa and gandha. They are the five arrows of sensory pleasures that come through the interaction with the world at large.
Kroṁ is ankuśa, anger. Whereas engagement with sensory perceptions brings pleasure or displeasure, they represent attractions. Kroṁ represents anger. If you anger somebody then you push him away, you don't want him/her to come near. Anger is something that pushes away and rāga is something that pulls in. The first five are the mind engaging in interactions with the world, which brings in attractions, and the other one, ankuśa, means repulsiveness.
Hskhphreṁ represents detachment from bondages and therefore the ability to let go of things. It’s like not being born with the gravity of Earth, but you are able to fly away into space. Kha means space, Ha, Sa — Śiva and Śakti, Phreṁ — through the fire they move away into space.
Hsauṁ — Ha is Śiva, Sa is Śakti, Oṁ (Auṁ) — seed coming from the union of Śiva and Śakti. The seed is the information about how to manufacture a new entity, a creative capsule containing the information.
Aiṁ represents time, cause-and-effect relationship, causality, the creation. Aiṁ — Saraswatī. It is Saraswatī who creates, Kālī who destroys. Between them this creation and destruction is going on. Creation is called aiṁ, and destruction is called sauḥ.
These mudrās have been called secret. You are not supposed to show these mudrās in public. When you go into the temple and you see someone doing mudrās and they see someone come in, they quickly hide them. Nobody should be able to figure out what they are doing. Because you are interacting with the Goddess and you are talking to Her in sign language. Mudrās are a sign language for communication with the Goddess.
What kind of communication are we asking?
Remember, Goddess is the world. You can interact with Her with śabda, with sparśa, with rūpa, rasa and gandha — all these five elements. And you can interact with Her when you are detached and moving in the sky. Or you can interact with Her through knowledge, the information exchange saying: “You talk to me, I talk to you. Will you give me permission for that?” Exchange of information. “You are the creatrix and I want to worship every aspect of your creation.” So these are the different meanings of mudrās.
Now let’s go a little more in depth.
Drāṁ — in one sense, it represents the way you fold the fingers. When you fold the fingers in certain ways you are creating lines that are going to change your destiny. Drāṁ means sound, śabda. It is called sarva-saṃkṣobhiṇī mudrā. Kṣobhana means agitation; saṃkṣobhana means great agitation coming from śabda. You hear nice music and become peaceful. You hear insults and you get agitated. Road noises, breaking glass — all these come from Drāṁ. We are requesting the Goddess: “Can I speak to You?” and She says “Yes, I’ll speak to you.”
Permission is not under your control, it is under Her control. She gives permission with the last and final mudrā, which is not shown by the devotee but by Her: hsraiṁ, hsrklīṁ, hsrsauḥ — permission to worship through icchā, jñāna and kriyā.
-
Hsraiṁ — Icchā — Saraswatī — White
-
Hsrklīṁ — Jñāna — Lakṣmī — Yellow
-
Hsrsauḥ — Kriyā — Kālī — Red
Then you say:
mahā padma vanāntasthe kāraṇānanda divya vigrahe
sarva-bhūtā hite mātaḥ ehyehi parameśvari
…and invite Her into the suvasinī, yantra, or icon.
Drīṁ is sparśa — touch. “Can I touch You?” and She says “Yes.”
In pūjā, interaction takes place through japa, arcana, homa, tarpaṇa.
Mantra is śabda.
Arcana is sparśa.
Homa is rūpa.
Tarpaṇa is rasa.
Annadāna gives strength and gravity.
This is puraścaraṇa — giving form, life, mouth, ears, and strength to the mantra.
Klīṁ is akarṣaṇa — attraction.
Blūṁ is rasa — wonder.
Saḥ is sarvon-mādinī — madness when all five arrows strike.
This madness is awakening from waking state, realizing the world is inside of you.
Kroṁ is anger directed toward the ariśaḍvarga — internal enemies — for protection and discipline.
Khecarī mudrā (hskhphreṁ) is movement in space, astral travel, expansion of awareness.
Sarva-bīja mudrā (hsauṁ) is exchange of information between Śiva and Śakti. All Āgamas are their dialogues.
Sarva-yonī mudrā (aiṁ) is worship of all chakras, all yonis.
Sarva-trikhaṇḍa mudrā (hsraiṁ, hsrklīṁ, hsrsauḥ) is Her final permission.
So the interaction between Śiva and Śakti is what is being talked about when we talk about mudrās.
Gaṇapati Tarpaṇā: From Form to Formlessness in Śrī Vidyā
“For now, let us discuss just the first step—the movement from solid to liquid, meaning from shape to shapelessness, which is described as Gaṇapati in the tradition of Śrī Vidyā.
In Gaṇapati Tarpaṇās, we start by forming a pyramid from a paste of impurities that is connected to idea of “my body.” As the mantras are repeated, spoon after spoon of perfumed water is poured over the pyramidal form, a symbol of spirit encased in a body. As your actions dissolve this pyramid, you experience the ecstasy of flowing out from your body. And as this physical body dissolves, so does your individual consciousness dissolve into the collective consciousness.
Let me explain. Suppose that four of us perform this ritual together, placing four turmeric pyramids into a single large plate. Initially each pyramid (meaning each of us as individuals) contains its own awareness. But as the pyramids dissolve under the constant dripping of water, these awarenesses gradually leak out and blend together—and in the end, they all become one.
What have we achieved by doing this? Well, four separate people have become one single person. And this larger “person” contains all of our collective ideas. So now each of us knows the thoughts of the other three as if they were our own. We don’t have to tell one another what we’re thinking. That’s why the first step in Śrī Vidyā is giving the mantra of Gaṇeśa. It enlarges your ideas about who you are—so that the people you know can support your ideas, and you can support theirs.”
Nyāsa Vidhi and Internal Mantra Japa
(Toronto 1985)
This way of reciting the mantra japa [i.e. ṣaṭcakrajapa] with the location of the bījākṣaras in the proper places in the body is called a nyāsa vidhi. Nyāsa means a placement of the bījākṣaras in their proper places. This method gives you quick results and therefore this method is recommended.
In case you are not able to recite it this way, with the nyāsa, you may recite it simply. The recitation must be purely mental. There must be no sound coming out of the lips. There must be no movement of the lips. There must be no movement of the tongue. The mantra should be recited internally in the mind. And the mind's ear, not the external ear, listens to that mantra. So this is the procedure for the mantra japa.
Of course, in order to get to know the rhythm of the bījākṣaras, and the way they are to be pronounced, you may, in the beginning, recite the mantra outside. But then, you must, as quickly as possible, once you've got them by heart, you must internalize them, and you must learn to sing these mantras, which are the names of the gods, inside your mind, and you must be able to listen to them mentally.
When you are able to do that, you can do the mantra japa at any place, at any time, without any consideration whatsoever for your state of purity. I am saying this because, in some cases, the woman may have the menstrual periods. During this time also, they can go ahead with the internal mantra japam. Or some people may have the doubts, like when you are going out, you are talking with people, or you are mixing with people in various ways. At that time also, the mantra japam can always be done internally.
If you are reciting the mantra externally, then, of course, there are certain demands on the state of purity of the individual. But for internal japam, there are no restrictions whatsoever.
Śiva–Śakti Aikya: The Zero Interval of Power
Shiva is the knower. Shakti is the known. They appear to be separated in space and/or in time. An interval measures the distance in space and time together. The scientific formulation (where c is the speed of light; that is, 186,000 miles per second) would be:
(Interval)² = (Distance)² − (Time difference × c)²
Aikya means union. They were not united, but now we are uniting them; that is, now we’re reducing the interval between them to zero. Aikya rūpiṇī means “having the form of union.” The form of what? Of the zero interval.
There are two ways for this interval to be zero.
The first is to make the distance and the time difference both equal to zero. That is, to place the seer and the seen at the same place at the same time, so they are one and the same. This is the state of just being. There is no energy in it, not even the desire or power to move.
The second way is for space and time differences to exist, but for both to be equal. When the spatial interval is equal to the time interval multiplied by c, the interval vanishes. This is an interesting case of dynamic power: Shiva is the power of being, Shakti is the power of awareness, desire, knowledge and manifestation. When the two merge, they become total power—they can be anywhere at any time, have any knowledge and manifest any desire.
And that is the secret of this great mantra. It teaches us how to become total power—the power to be, to know, to heal, even across great distances or time intervals.
For example, we can travel to any place we desire in zero time, via teleportation. Not physically, of course, but mentally. We don’t even have to know the path, because we’re not following any path—there is no path. And we don’t need to travel through telephone lines either; the sky will do.
We can perform distance healing, too. To do so, two conditions must be met.
First, our form must be made of light, so that we can move at the speed of light. Then time freezes for us and distance no longer matters. We can be anywhere in zero time.
Second, the desire to heal must exist. If it does, then the healing will be automatic, for what disease can stand against light? If you become light and you wish to manifest anything, anywhere, you will manifest it—a universe, if you like.
But as physical beings, we are not made of light. Only as mental beings are we made of light. This is how the power of visualization manifests that which is visualized.
And this is where the visual symbols called yantras come into the picture. They are our mental visualizations; thus, they are made of light. They have the intelligence of cosmic power streaming through them. All forms are yantras. They create space, time and matter.
This great mantra—śivaśaktyaikyarūpiṇī—teaches that all powers lie within us. It is for us to determine what it is that we want, and then to employ these spiritual techniques to obtain it.
So let us now consider some practical applications of the mantra and the yantra embedded within it.
What is the yantra suggested by, or embedded within, the mantra? It is that “she has the form of the union of Shiva and Shakti.” Thus, the physical form we can visualize in manifesting our desire is that of the liṅga and yoni in union. Geometrically, we can think of the central triangle as the yoni (Shakti), and the circle inscribed within it as the shaft, or liṅga (Shiva).
And where do we go from there?
Well, the place we want to travel to is probably different from the place where we are now. So it has an interval—think of that as the yoni. As Shiva, I have to place myself within it, thus achieving the unity of Shiva and Shakti.
And what is the visualization?
First, I imagine the triangle. Then I enter that triangle and visualize the place I want to go, not worrying about the path needed to get there. And presto—I am there with an astral presence. Those with calm minds can see me there; they can talk to me, do whatever they want with me—love me, kill me even. But I am here, too. So I may be dead there, but I’m still alive here.
But wait a minute.
Suppose I want to heal the relationship of a woman and a man. If I am a woman, I can map the other woman onto my own yoni and visualize the man as the liṅga entering it, thereby witnessing the union of Shiva and Shakti. Their relationship will be healed.
The difference from the previous example?
I have not gone anywhere. I am simply mapping their presence onto myself.
“Namaḥ” as Non-Contact: Identity, Ardhanārīśvara, and the Transfer of Grace
If you look at the Śiva Sūtram, na means “no”; ma is “touch”. “No touch.” But what could this mean, no touch? Are you not touching left and right hands together with namaḥ? A-ha! That is the meaning: the toucher and the touched are the same.
When can something be touched? Only when there is a difference—an interval—between it and the toucher. Can a finger touch itself? No. A finger can touch anything else but itself—yet it can be aware of itself. Similarly, when you are the object of your vision, the “touch” (that is, the interval between seer and seen) disappears, but awareness does not. When you say namaḥ there is no touch, no contact. It means that what I am meditating on has become myself. So I have become the Ocean of Nectar.
Again, when you say namaḥ, you join your left hand and right hand. If you know that your left hand belongs to the female part of you, and your right hand to the male part (again, Ardhanārīśvara), then you can understand that you’re joining the male and the female in namaḥ. Your left is vāma—what you see (vāma literally means what you vomited, what came out of you). The right is what you are. Thus, the joining of the left and right hands implies the joining of what you see with what you are. When you say namaḥ you are, in effect, affirming, “Though I see you as a separate being, I know that you and I are one.”
By the gesture of namaḥ, you also take on the qualities of the object upon which you are meditating. That’s what meditation is: you don’t stop seeing, you don’t stop knowing—but you are becoming what you see and what you know. This state of being, in which you are merged with (in yoga with) the object of perception, is called samādhi. This word is composed of two terms: sama = equal, and adhi = regarding.
Let me tell you about a nice custom we have here in India. When Hindu children are beginning to learn their letters, they practice by writing oṁ namaḥ śivāya siddham namaḥ. What does this mean? oṁ is the name of God. Namaḥ, as we have discussed, means “Nothing I see is not me.” This knowledge that “I am what I am seeing” is called śivāya; i.e., “for the good of everyone.” How do you attain this state? Siddham namaḥ—you go to a person who is a siddha, one who is enlightened, and gesture namaḥ: “You are me.” In this way you invoke the siddha into yourself, the siddha’s knowledge becomes your own, and thus you become enlightened. The transfer of power or grace occurs through identification, and identification happens through paying attention.
Four Faces of Lalitā: Dawn, Noon, Dusk, and the Womb of Midnight
(Written around the time of Devipuram’s 1994 consecration.)
The Lalitā Sahasranāma—the One Thousand Names of the Supreme Goddess, Parāśakti—begins with three stanzas and ends with one, which collectively represent four times of the day: early morning, noon, evening and, lastly, midnight. They also relate to the four seasons of life; that is, birth, growth and decay, plus the activity that brings about a fourth life, the passionate union of Shiva and Shakti. I find these stanzas beautiful beyond compare.
Aruṇāṃ karuṇātaraṅgitākṣīṃ…
(“She is red in color with eyes full of compassion…”)
She rises with the orange glow of early morning, her eyes radiating compassion for her child, the newborn day. She holds the manifold attractions and repulsions of life through the five senses as well as the mind, which seeks pleasure and abhors pain.
Each new day brings forth a new mood—whether of lightness or heaviness, smallness or expansiveness, weakness or power; loss or gain of control over one’s desires, enjoyment, fulfillment and the attainment of all possibilities.
I must enjoy life in the total awareness that I am Shiva. I must penetrate and permeate every nook and corner of this newly manifest world, and remain ever creative.
Dhyāyēt padmāsanasthāṃ vikasita…
(“She has petal-shaped eyes and is seated upon a lotus…”)
I meditate on this new day, in full bloom at noon, filling the entire world with the light that pours forth from her wide-open lotus eyes. This golden girl, nature, wears lush yellows and greens, holding in her hand the golden-yellow lotus, symbol of the shining life of the cosmos.
She is the earthly descent of divine grace and majesty, aesthetically beautiful in her every limb. She has adorned herself in all imaginable jewelry. Nature protects those who worship her; to them she gives her love and bounty.
I must live in tune with her will, expressing love to all without notions of “I” or “mine” polluting my mind. She is auspicious knowledge, the embodiment of peace, worshiped by all beings with divinity. She gives herself and her pleasures to all who love her.
Sa kuṅkuma vilēpanām alika cumbi…
(“Her forehead is kissed by a smear of holy vermilion…”)
I meditate upon the evening of life. Spreading her vermilion hues across the sky, she invites me to merge back into the embers of her womb, from which I came.
Her third eye, which is just beginning to open, is traced with dark lines of musk and kohl. There is the suggestion of a smile in her lovely sidelong glance.
She wields the attraction of release from both the struggles of life and the revulsive fear of impending death. She has governed my mind and nurtured its attachment to the impermanent objects of life. She has enchanted every life form with her fleeting, local beauties.
Her passion knows no bounds, painting red the entire cosmos with her intense desire. I contemplate her, the universal Mother Goddess who keeps telling me, “Live the way I do—passionately!”
And that is the only way to live this transient life. Whatever I may do, I must always remember my truth—that I am the all-pervading existence. I must remember that there is no death. I am all—so how can I ever die?
Sindūrāruṇa vigrahāṃ trinayanāṃ…
(“She is resplendent with a deep red body, three eyes and a crown of rubies set with the crescent moon…”)
Having left its old body behind, life strives to find a new form more suitable to its evolution. It remembers its search in the red womb of the Mother.
The source of all life is she, the Great Womb. Throbbing, pulsating blood makes my passionate Mother’s womb glow orange-red like the morning sky.
She gives birth, she nurtures and she dissolves, weaving an infinite tapestry of intricate patterns—those are her three eyes. In her womb, the starry skies glisten like drops of semen, and the cool sphere of the moon sparkles atop her diadem.
She smiles through her labor, happy to give me birth. Her breasts are ever full of life, giving milk that not only nourishes me but feeds the entire world.
In her hand she holds a red vessel of intoxicating elixir, passion for life, which issues from her clitoris, the seat of pleasure. She holds a red lotus, her vulva open to receive her lover.
She is benevolent. She rests her red-colored foot upon another red treasure vessel, which is the birthing canal.
Why do I share these impressions? Because these stanzas from the Lalitā Sahasranāma represent a set of ideas, a point of view, a perspective on the nature of life and how it should be lived.
We must learn to appreciate the unity of all life. We must learn to love this life, even if it is transient. Because to live it in any other way is to make it miserable and severely limit its infinite richness.
My family is the whole world. To limit it to those nearby is poverty.
If you do not understand Sanskrit (or even if you do), it may help you to read these thoughts when you recite the stanzas to help fix their messages in your mind.
May we all be united in the aesthetic and harmonious intent and purpose of the Goddess, Devi Sahasrākṣī Rājarājēśvarī.
“Namaḥ” as Non-Contact: Identity, Ardhanārīśvara, and the Transfer of Grace
If you look at the Śiva Sūtram, na means “no”; ma is “touch”. “No touch.” But what could this mean, no touch? Are you not touching left and right hands together with namaḥ? A-ha! That is the meaning: the toucher and the touched are the same.
When can something be touched? Only when there is a difference—an interval—between it and the toucher. Can a finger touch itself? No. A finger can touch anything else but itself—yet it can be aware of itself. Similarly, when you are the object of your vision, the “touch” (that is, the interval between seer and seen) disappears, but awareness does not. When you say namaḥ there is no touch, no contact. It means that what I am meditating on has become myself. So I have become the Ocean of Nectar.
Again, when you say namaḥ, you join your left hand and right hand. If you know that your left hand belongs to the female part of you, and your right hand to the male part (again, Ardhanārīśvara), then you can understand that you’re joining the male and the female in namaḥ. Your left is vāma—what you see (vāma literally means what you vomited, what came out of you). The right is what you are. Thus, the joining of the left and right hands implies the joining of what you see with what you are. When you say namaḥ you are, in effect, affirming, “Though I see you as a separate being, I know that you and I are one.”
By the gesture of namaḥ, you also take on the qualities of the object upon which you are meditating. That’s what meditation is: you don’t stop seeing, you don’t stop knowing—but you are becoming what you see and what you know. This state of being, in which you are merged with (in yoga with) the object of perception, is called samādhi. This word is composed of two terms: sama = equal, and adhi = regarding.
Let me tell you about a nice custom we have here in India. When Hindu children are beginning to learn their letters, they practice by writing oṁ namaḥ śivāya siddham namaḥ. What does this mean? oṁ is the name of God. Namaḥ, as we have discussed, means “Nothing I see is not me.” This knowledge that “I am what I am seeing” is called śivāya; i.e., “for the good of everyone.” How do you attain this state? Siddham namaḥ—you go to a person who is a siddha, one who is enlightened, and gesture namaḥ: “You are me.” In this way you invoke the siddha into yourself, the siddha’s knowledge becomes your own, and thus you become enlightened. The transfer of power or grace occurs through identification, and identification happens through paying attention.
Gurur Brahmā Gurur Viṣṇu Mantra by Guruji
This recording by Guruji was done in 1985. He recommended reciting this śloka in the morning before chanting the Guru Pāduka mantra.
oṁ gurur brahmā gurur viṣṇuḥ
gurur devo maheśvaraḥ
guru sākṣāt parabrahmā
tasmai śrī gurave namaḥ
Guru is Brahmā (the Creator)
Guru is Viṣṇu (the Sustainer)
Guru is Śiva (the Lord of Dissolution)
Truly, Guru is the Transcendent One
To that most venerable Guru, we pay homage.
Menstruation, Purity, and the Forgotten Status of Women in Dharma
(A discussion from 2015)
In Vedic and Upanishadic times, women had a lot of freedom. They moved around freely in public. They participated in intellectual and spiritual discussions. They studied the Vedas. Society gave woman the highest value, saying “matṛ dēvō bhāva”—first we worship the mother as God, and only then the father (pitṛ dēvō bhāva), the teacher (ācārya dēvō bhāva), and so on.
Women wore sacred threads, too, in the olden days; they were given upanayana. Upākarma was practiced by women. That’s why, if you look at the Lalitā Sahasranāma, it clearly states that she is savyāpasavya-mārgasthā sarvāpadvinivāriṇī—savya meaning left, and apasavya meaning right. This refers to a type of ancient ornament called the channavīra, which divides the body in two—thus, she wears the upanayana on both the left and right side.
Upanayana for males was just one branch, going right, but for females it was two branches. This means women had the right to perform Gāyatrī Mantra japa and Saṃdhyāvandana—she could do all these things back then. Thus, we have examples such as Maitreyī, Gārgī, and the other women sages who questioned Yājñavalkya about the authenticity of certain statements in the Vedas.
Over time, however, things changed. Nowadays, mainstream religious people say the Vedas are not supposed to be recited by women. Which is a shame, because all the Vedas came from the mouth of a woman—Saraswati herself. So while women used to participate in society and philosophy and religion at a much higher level, the unfortunate situation in modern times is that they have been brought down in status.
How did this transition come about? In the beginning, I think, it was in part a reaction to the early Mughal invasions. When women were moving around freely, it made them more vulnerable to rape and assault—so Hindu men wanted to protect them. I suspect that this gradually curtailed the freedom of women, and afterward there was no going back. It’s the typical fundamentalist narrative: “If women are allowed to learn and recite the Vedas, then they will gain their freedom and go out again!”
Again, it’s unfortunate, but that’s history. We can’t change it, but at least we can educate people about it. Women, especially, have a right to be informed about these things.
It was within this context that women were eventually prevented from entering temples during their menses. In ancient times, a menstruating woman was considered so pure that she was worshiped as a Goddess. What is pure we don’t touch, and what we don’t touch we call a taboo.
So the reason for the taboo of not allowing a woman to enter a temple is precisely the opposite of what we think: she is not impure. Quite the contrary, she is a living Goddess at that time. So when she enters the temple, the energy of the God or Goddess, which is there in the temple’s mūrti, will shift over to her and the idol will become lifeless—because a menstruating woman is life.
That is why one of the greatest sins against woman is telling her there is something impure about her menstrual cycle.
In Guwahati, Assam, we have the Kāmākhya Temple, where the Goddess menstruates. During her period, she is considered so holy that people are not allowed to go in and see her.
The thing is, Kali and Sundarī are the same Goddess. Kali is the dark one and Sundarī is the bright one. This same Sundarī becomes Kali when she menstruates; meaning dark, unknown fears are present at that time. Kali is worshiped as Rajaswalā when she is menstruating, and as Sundarī when she is not.
We also have a Kāmākhya Pīṭha at Devipuram. We have women priests reciting Devi’s hymns, doing pujas to Ganesh, Shyama, Vārāhī and Lalitā, and performing all of the hōmās. We do not prevent women from entering when they are menstruating. We have no taboos against that. They are not only allowed inside, they can receive worship there. Widows are also welcome.
Why? Because their purity or impurity does not depend upon these external conditions. The body is always impure; it consists of hair, skin, meat and bone. It is only because consciousness is there, because it is aware, that a body becomes pure.
This also explains why, when there is no life in the body, it becomes very inauspicious. We will not even drink water in the same room with a corpse. We take it away to the śmaśāna to burn or bury it, depending upon our individual customs.
That is why consciousness is called the Devi, or Lalitā. She is the one who makes this impure body pure.
Menstrual cycles are in rhythm with nature. Nature is full of such cyclical periods—inhaling and exhaling, morning and evening, light and darkness, as well as cycles in time.
Because we are in the northern hemisphere, dakṣiṇāyaṇa occurs when the sun is going south and the night grows shorter, and uttarāyaṇa occurs when the sun is going north and the day grows longer.
Of all these cycles, however, the one most important and visible for us is chandramāna—the lunar cycle. Every 28 days, 14 plus 14, a new cycle begins. In ancient times, before so-called civilization took hold, women used to menstruate in harmony with the lunar cycle. Women were associated with the moon.
The menstrual cycle takes place when the production of new life has failed to occur, and that which has not conceived has to be flushed out. It is this process of flushing out which produces the menstrual blood. So it is an act of purification, not “impurification.”
It is a preparation for conception, which is very sacred. In Hindu dharma there are four puruṣārthās: dharma, artha, kāma and moksha. Kāma is considered pure because it leads to conception. Life wants to sustain itself; it doesn’t want to give up. And how do you conceive? Through kāma.
The time of ovulation is most auspicious, and the process of flushing out is a preparation for that. Conception may or may not occur, but it is still associated with kāma.
This whole taboo against menstruating women indulging in sexual activity is also wrong. If you want to follow family planning, then there is good reason to indulge during this time.
Of course, if it makes the woman feel uncomfortable or if the man is turned off by the sight of the blood or fears he is hurting the woman, then it is counterproductive. But if they have no such inhibitions, then there is nothing wrong in it.
Monday, November 2, 2015
Kaula Ethics and the Use of Life Energies
What really moves the five Ms out of the mainstream is the concept that these common activities—particularly the drinking and the sex—can also have a spiritual dimension. The trouble begins, in other words, when we confuse their literal meanings with their hidden meanings. The attitude of most people then is: “Drinking liquor and enjoying sex is all right. But using them for worship? No way!” That’s the problem.
And the biggest objection, of course, concerns the use of bodily secretions in ritual. Now, almost every mainstream Hindu will have used milk and honey to bathe images of the deities—icons of power, desire, nourishment or manifestation—during puja. But the ritual use of menstrual blood and semen is objected to by most. Why? Let me explain.
Milk is blood modified by the addition of calcium, which happens automatically in lactating mothers. So milk and blood are basically the same thing, and both are obtained without injury to animals. Everything we eat comes only from organic living matter, including the seeds of rice, wheat, nuts and so on. Semen is just human seed.
Both menstrual flow and semen are living substances, which can be used to give life in this world or be offered into the ritual fire to help fulfill our desire to gain control of our environment.
Notice also that both menstrual blood and semen are obtained through pleasure instead of pain, so they promote good, peace-loving energies.
In fact, even a cow’s urine and excreta—along with her milk, butter and ghee—are used in Vedic rituals, since the Mother Goddess Lakshmi is said to reside near the genital and excretory organs of the holy cow.
You see, the Vedas and the Tantras are really very similar. They overlap considerably in their positive use of life energies and their abhorrence of needless violence.
The main goals of both approaches are the same: satyam = truth, ahimsa = non-violence, and astēyam = not coveting others’ properties.
So why should these aspects of the five Ms be so abhorred by critics?
The harmless Kaulas practice non-violence to the greatest extent possible. If you’re a vegetarian, then good; remain so. If you’re not vegetarian, then try to minimize harm by dedicating your life and others’ lives to the Goddess.
Each of us can choose to discover the needs of the others and fulfill them—or to be a taker and a burden. The needs of others are manifold: education, careers, control of emotions, improving human relations, and many more. Why not help if you can?
But do not, in any case, suppress desires. They are, after all, God’s desires. Desires are also spiritual.
I believe we should move from animal to human, and then from human to divine value systems. I believe in empowering everyone, because everyone is divine.
That is the path of the Kaulas.
The First Step of Sri Vidyā
(From a talk in May 2012.)
The theme song of Sri Vidya is the dissolution of matter into spirit.
It begins by exploring our concepts of solidity and shape, and the identity (that is, the ego) we are taught to assume. From there, the practice may be understood as proceeding through seven steps, from solid to liquid to fire to air, then space, then time—and then onward to the unknown.
For now, let us discuss just the first step—the movement from solid to liquid, meaning from shape to shapelessness, which is described as Gaṇapati in the tradition of Sri Vidya.
In Gaṇapati Tarpaṇās, we start by forming a pyramid from a paste of impurities that is connected to the idea of “my body.” As the mantras are repeated, spoon after spoon of perfumed water is poured over the pyramidal form, a symbol of spirit encased in a body.
As your actions dissolve this pyramid, you experience the ecstasy of flowing out from your body. And as this physical body dissolves, so does your individual consciousness dissolve into the collective consciousness.
Let me explain. Suppose that four of us perform this ritual together, placing four turmeric pyramids into a single large plate. Initially each pyramid (meaning each of us as individuals) contains its own awareness.
But as the pyramids dissolve under the constant dripping of water, these awarenesses gradually leak out and blend together—and in the end, they all become one.
What have we achieved by doing this? Well, four separate people have become one single person. And this larger “person” contains all of our collective ideas.
So now each of us knows the thoughts of the other three as if they were our own. We don’t have to tell one another what we’re thinking. That’s why the first step in Sri Vidya is giving the mantra of Ganesh.
It enlarges your ideas about who you are—so that the people you know can support your ideas, and you can support theirs.
If n people become one, the power each one possesses can be represented as n(n−1). That means if 10 people become one, then each of them gets 90 times more power than they have now—their power increases exponentially!
Their happiness increases similarly, as does the ease with which they can solve problems—problems which once loomed large now seem trivial. The key is tuning into the collective consciousness.
And then we can read the mind of Goddess Nature.
Because the ideas arising in the collective mind are not exactly the same as those found in fragmented minds, there is no risk of wanting the “wrong” thing.
And if we want to transform a world of five billion (or 5,000 million) people, we need only engage the square root of that number of people: the square root of 5,000 is 70; that of a million is a thousand.
Which means that a mere 70,000 people can decide to change the entire world—and own the power to do it.
Yes, individually perhaps we can have very little influence.
But together we can change the world.
Siddhi: Power, Regularity, and the Discipline of the Mind
(Guruji contributed this early essay, adapted from a lecture given in Mumbai, to the October 1981 issue of Yoga Magazine, published by the Bihar School of Yoga in India.)
The science of siddhīs, or psychic powers, has been known throughout the world for thousands of years, for as long as Tantra has existed. One can derive these powers from the practice of particular techniques or gain them through direct contact with a guru. When the guru blesses the disciple by placing his or her hands on the disciple’s head or back, then the transformation begins to take place.
When this transformation is occurring within you, your vision expands into a new dimension. For example, you may be able to see someone coming into the room who is not physically present. It isn’t a ghost or some spirit entity, nor are you hallucinating. Rather, a definitive change has taken place in the physiology of your physical body, and in your conscious body, which enables you to have this experience.
It’s the same as when you have the thought of a spouse or child who is away or abroad. Usually you can only imagine them—but what if your thoughts suddenly took gross, material form, and you could actually see this person sitting right beside you? How would you react? Would you be able to bear the experience?
Possibly not, because you wouldn’t understand it. You would have so much fear that you could easily make yourself crazy. Fear brings imbalance to the mind and emotions; when there is too much imbalance, it can also bring some sickness to the body. But still, these reactions are not substantial. They are just superficial experiences, like the thoughts that come and go in your mind as you are sitting and listening to me.
Many people come to me when they lose a beloved member of their family—a father, mother, wife, daughter or son. They say, “Guruji, please let me see them just one more time.”
I tell them, “They are dead and gone. You must try not to think about them.”
But they continue to plead, “Please, just once more!”
So I say, “If I let you see, will you be able to handle the experience?”
They respond, “Oh, yes!”
“Okay, then first do one thing,” I say. “Tomorrow at midnight, go into the cremation ground and bring back the branch of some plant, a piece of mud or a stone. If you will do just this much, I will show you this experience.”
The very thought of doing such a thing fills them with terrible fright. And that’s the end of the request.
You see, the mind and its promptings, urges and impulses, whether instinctive or human-made, are so strong that you must learn how to bear them. This is what’s called siddhi. Developing your mental power, your emotional power, or even making your body healthy—these are all siddhīs.
What you may have heard about siddhīs is perhaps not too exact. In fact, it’s probably not the right concept at all. You have most likely been given either too high a concept of siddhīs or too low. Neither one is right. Siddha means to fulfill, to perfect, as when it is said in everyday life, “You have to make your action siddha.” When you perfect and complete something, that is siddhi.
Suppose you have a disease, such as diabetes. For you to cure this disease would be to obtain a siddhi; the perfection of a completely healthy state. How do we obtain this state, this little siddhi? We practice asana, prāṇāyāma, mudra, bandha, concentration, mantra japa and the purification techniques of hatha yoga such as nētī, kunjal and śaṅkhaprakṣālana. These little siddhīs are not what you understand as miracles; they are the result of perfecting one’s practice.
The best method of attaining perfection is through regularity. Therefore, even if you practice śīrṣāsana for only one and a half minutes, or śaśankāsana for three minutes or just sing kīrtans every evening, you should do it with absolute regularity. You can fix the time to fit into your work and family obligations, but then that time should be kept every day.
You should not get up today at 4 a.m. during brahmamuhūrta and then tomorrow at 9 a.m. and another day at midnight. This type of irregularity will just not work.
The first niyama in yoga is to be niyamit, regular. It is the greatest saṃyama, achievement. Be regular in all your activities, not just your sadhana. Be regular in bathing, eating and sleeping. When you are irregular, your body will behave in the same manner.
Regularity works in the same way as crystallization. When you put a drop of water in a freezer, after 15 days it will have grown in size. Similarly, with regularity over time, you will notice many little changes in yourself—perhaps after one year. You will behave better with your spouse and children and be more effective with your boss and subordinates. You won’t try to hurt others physically or harbor bitter feelings mentally. These are all little siddhīs that will occur when you practice regularity.
There is one simple prāṇāyāma that is very important and useful, especially for businesspeople who have a lot of responsibility. This is bhrāmarī prāṇāyāma, in which you plug your ears, shut your lips, separate your teeth, and make the sound of ōm, opening the mouth. The sound becomes like the humming of a bee.
After doing bhrāmarī prāṇāyāma 10 or 11 times, you will find that you experience less pain in the body than you felt prior to the practice. Nor will you feel as angry or as insecure as you did before.
Why? Because this little technique—simply inhaling deeply, then producing the sound of ōm with the outgoing breath—creates vibrations within your body that change the mental patterns of the brain.
The brain has two hemispheres, and they are always generating energy that flows in particular directions. If you breathe deeply and produce the sound of ōm in a certain way, then the movement of this energy changes. And that affects everything else happening in your body, from your thoughts right up to the secretions of your glands.
If some secretions are deficient, they will be increased. If they are in excess, they are decreased. Everything becomes balanced.
What happens on the emotional level is that any agitation, fatigue, fear or insecurity is calmed, and your thoughts become clear. Old, long-forgotten memories become fresh again—and I don’t mean memories of death, violence or unpleasant things, but things that you will enjoy remembering.
This is another of those small but important siddhīs—not one of the great, miraculous phenomena that we always hear about.
Of course, many people insist upon practicing Tantra and yoga with the sole aim of achieving the great siddhīs. But even with such simple techniques as bhrāmarī prāṇāyāma, the big siddhīs will also come.
When we begin to engage in sadhana—mantra japa, concentration, dhyana or prāṇāyāma—we awaken the many categories of power that reside within us. For we are powerhouses—we are full of energies, which are awakened and begin to function when we practice sadhana.
These energies are conducted through the nāḍīs, the system of psychic nerve channels that run throughout our bodies. The rishis and munis tell us that the body contains 72,000 nāḍīs. There are ten main ones and among these, three are most important.
They correspond to the sympathetic, parasympathetic and central nervous systems of modern physiology, but in Tantra they are called the iḍā, piṅgalā and suṣumṇā.
These nerve channels do not flow in a perfectly straight path or have any direct connections to the brain. Their junctions are in various places along the spinal cord. In Tantra, these junctions are called chakras.
There are thousands of chakras in many locations throughout the body, but only seven are widely known—the Mūlādhāra, Svādhiṣṭhāna, Maṇipūra, Anāhata, Viśuddhi, Ājñā and Sahasrāra. Residing within them are the hidden faculties of the human body.
There is no power comparable to the power of the mind.
Our ancestors tell us that this power of powers can summon the entire universe. It can create thousands of universes. It can usher you into the state of śūnya, emptiness.
If you can hone your thoughts until they are keen and sharp, they will be more powerful than a thousand suns. But to increase your power of thought, you must do mantra japa.
During mantra japa you don’t focus on your thoughts—you just watch the mantra continuously. If you fix your attention on your thoughts, the mantra will get left behind.
In this way, you gradually become more conscious, and your thoughts more focused.
And once your thoughts become more positive, accurate and sensitive, that’s when you can order your mind to think in a certain manner and it will, indeed, think in that way.
You can tell your mind to move an object without touching it, and it will move it. By the way, you may have heard this referred to as telekinesis by Russian and American scientists, but it is in fact also a part of Indian culture that has existed for thousands of years. In Tantra, we call it indrajāl.
But when it comes from abroad, with a complicated scientific name, it somehow sounds more respectable. Indrajāl is on display everywhere in our Indian markets and bazaars, where circus-wālās and jādū-wālās (magicians) perform even greater feats than those of the Western adepts, even apparently cutting off someone’s head and then rejoining it as an amusement thrill.
But if you go to other countries and announce, “I can do indrajāl!” no one will pay you the slightest attention. Even in India, if you approach intellectual people and scientists and tell them you can perform indrajāl, they’ll just tell you to get lost. But if you say you know telekinesis—well, then everyone will gather ’round. Why? Because today’s mentality is like that.
Recently I heard that there are people in Europe and America who can bend spoons just by concentrating their thought-power. But really, that’s not such a big thing. Compare it to the power by which a person’s head can be severed and then rejoined—and the person is still alive!
And how do people swallow swords without injuring themselves? Their throat remains intact after the sword goes down. Does it really go down? How does it not harm their throat or intestines? Perhaps it isn’t a sword at all? And in that case, what is the power that can make everybody see a sword being swallowed?
Our perceptions can be altered. We can’t always be certain that what we’re seeing is true. Suppose I have a red flower. It may remain red, but I can make everybody see it as blue even though it has not changed color. In Tantric terminology, this ability is called najarband.
Acupuncture has also been performed in India throughout history. We can read about it in the scriptures. Acupuncture went from India to China, and now they are sending it back to teach us. But if you went into one of our villages and they offered to give you acupuncture, you’d be afraid and wouldn’t want it.
Just as here in India, only one or two decades ago, people were afraid to learn the arts of yoga and Tantra. Tantra is such a magnificent science, but most people have not properly understood it—they have only heard the criticisms and exaggerations. They haven’t bothered to imbibe the vast knowledge that Tantra comprises—of life, death, consciousness; of ātmā and Paramātman, the self and the Supreme Self.
But it’s high time that we began to appreciate and understand the greatness of our own culture, our own science, our own traditions.
Even if we don’t want to accept it, it is nevertheless our own country that has preserved all this great knowledge. We may not have preserved the knowledge of how to kill or hurt others (which is being revived so plentifully in the world today), but we have certainly preserved the knowledge of how to know ourselves—of how to experience tranquility and realize God.
For the people of India, this has been the very goal of life—to awaken the spirituality that lies within us all.
In no other country do people think like this.
If Evil Exists, God Is Responsible
How can God be good when the world is so full of woe and sin?
In a universe created by God, who is all-knowing and all-loving, there is no room for such a thing as evil. It simply doesn’t exist. There are many degrees of good, of light. Nothing is bad, really.
What we see as evil is only a shadow; a state of incompletion; a phase of growth, perhaps necessary for evolution; a negation of knowledge.
But in fact, there is no such thing as evil; there are only degrees of good and of light. And if evil did exist, then God would be responsible for it.
Giving, Mantra, and the End of Fear
The mind is like the sun, shining on all alike yet asking nothing in return. So give! Give! Give! You get the most by giving the most. Conversely, by receiving a lot you impoverish yourself. When you give, you gain immortality. When you give, you are merged with the Universal One.
==========
The power of any mantra comes from leading a life that embodies that mantra. Mantras are not meant for mechanical repetition. The idea is to feel and experience them in every moment that you live. True sadhana lies in living the truth of the mantra at all times.
==========
The only practical way to fulfill a desire is to be a devotee and pray with earnestness to Devi. Then leave it up to her wisdom and compassion to do what is best.
==========
What we see, when we see Devi in front of us, is nothing but our own projected inner self. If she or her desire frightens us, then we must look within ourselves to see why she is being so demanding. Could it be because we ourselves are being demanding?
==========
If we truly want a desire to be fulfilled, we must identify completely with Devi and then—in our capacity as Devi—command that our wish be granted. Why does this approach work best? Because when we identify with Devi, the problem of desires to be filled ceases to exist entirely. And where is the question of fear when you and Devi are identical?
==========
Everything is already perfect, exactly as it is happening.
==========
Magic is everywhere around you, even in the most usual, most ordinary situations. Your task is to understand this magic and help other people use it, too. You are a magician!
Religion as Anesthetic, Not Cure
Is religion the remedy? Try it. Pay for the puja—$100 for navagraha-śānti, $75 for this śānti, $50 for that one. They are anesthetics at best. They are no cure.
===========
Yes, God the Wrathful and God the Vengeful bring in revenues for the priests. But what about God the Merciful?
===========
Hell is where a guilty conscience takes up residence. But that is not what religion teaches us, is it? No, our religions tell us that hell is for the other fellow, for the one who does not believe what we believe. Out of the brooding shadows, priests and prophets hold out the candle of hope to help people avoid these hells. And the people fall at their feet, thanking them for the hope that they peddle.
===========
Asceticism is not a requirement for spiritual development. Austerities are as much a waste of time as an overfull belly.
===========
To put on distinctive religious garb and set oneself apart from the rest of mankind certainly flatters the vanity of one’s “tribe.” But is it spirituality?
===========
The pity about Christ is that no one bothers with his teachings. They focus only on the virgin birth, the suffering, the death on the cross. But Christ did not come to die on the cross. His death is not the meaning of his life. He shared so many teachings and miracles!
===========
Islam means Peace—the Law of God. But how peace is expressed matters, too.
===========
The purpose of religion is to convert the mental concept of God into something concrete that people can experience.
The Prisoner Who Is Already King
As a human being, you are a king prostrating before your servants. You are a prisoner walled in by your own ignorance. You are a master of the universe begging for a crumb of bread. Would you be free? None hold you back but yourself!
==========
The ills of the human race are a whirlwind of passionate sensations leading to bankruptcy. Every indulgence of the senses has its price. Every pleasure must be paid for. So pay! Pay! Pay! Go ahead, chase the mirage; become tired of the sham, counterfeit and hypocrisy. Turn homeward—and find more turbulence.
==========
The cause of sorrow is desire. But how can you prevent desire and hence sorrow? What is the “cure” for desire?
==========
The key to eliminating desire lies with the guru. He can pinpoint the desires that bind you and give you the means to overcome them.
Beyond Good and Evil: On the Nature of God
Who said God is kind? God is kind—and cruel, too. God is good—and bad, too. We can’t put God into a box of our own construction. God is both good and evil, and beyond any boxes or definitions that we may fabricate.
So then, what is the thing we call evil? Its appeal is certainly real enough. In the simplest terms, evil is that which we do not like: “A poisonous snake is evil because it wants to kill me. Therefore, if I kill a poisonous snake, I am eliminating an evil. So that is good, right?” The snake would certainly disagree. Is that not egoistic thinking? Egoistic thinking is what creates evil. So evil is not the problem. Egocentricity is the problem.
For the one who commits a crime, jail is an evil. But from the point of view of society, jail is good. Jails are created for the bad guys. (So are hells.)
Only by bitter experience can one be brought to the path of love and light. Suffering can be a blessing in disguise if one learns to make use of it. The ultimate objective of evil is to bring the sufferers to the path of love, of the gurus. Evil, by showing its contrast with peace, likewise shows us the value of peace and love.
In sum: whatever God does is best. (But then, sometimes, God is a little evil, too!)
Unborn and Ever-Victorious
A discussion of Nāma 663: Ajājaitrī, from the Lalitā Sahasranāma
The root jā refers to janma, or birth; a implies negation—so, a-jā means “unborn.” Ajā is also a name of Brahma, meaning “the one who is not born.” If something is born, then it can die; but if it was never born, it cannot die. So here the Goddess represents the unborn, incapable-of-dying kind of truth; eternal truth, if you will, where concepts of birth, growth and death do not apply. The word ajā implies that she represents the transcendental nature.
Now let’s look at the rest of her name—jaitrī. Jaitrī means “conqueror.” So the Goddess here represents the victory of the transcendental nature over the lower nature—that is, manifest nature, limited by space, time, energy and matter. She has conquered the lower nature.
But what does it mean to conquer the manifest world? Let me try to explain. If you are traversing the circumference of a circle, no matter how far you travel you remain on the circumference. And if you are moving on the surface of a sphere, no matter how far you go you remain on the surface of that sphere. You will never reach the center of the sphere that way, nor will you ever reach the center of the circle.
Similarly, this world that we’re experiencing is a curved surface in space-time. Which means that, as long as we’re moving in space and time, we will never reach its transcendental center—and therefore we cannot conquer space and time.
From the center of a circle, all points are equidistant. So if you want to find the starting point of a circle, it’s the center and not any particular point along the circumference. You put the point of a compass in the center and then draw the circle around that. Similarly, the starting point of this universe is its transcendental center, from which every point in space-time—x, y, z, t, and so forth—is equally distant. And that distance is zero.
In transcendental nature, every point in space-time is experienced simultaneously, without any interval, not even a second. How do you conquer, or get beyond, this space and time, in which your thoughts are constantly in flux? You have to give up and let go. You cannot hold onto your limitations and still conquer.
You must first conquer your individual nature, conquer your limitations—and you cannot do that and still hold onto your concept of the self as being limited to your particular body or mind, or your individual intellect.
You first have to get beyond and let go of these concepts. In the olden days, people used to perform a ritual called the viśvajīta yajña—the yajña that conquers the world. And what was the nature of this yajña? They gave away everything they had—everything, without keeping anything back for themselves. And that is how you conquer the world. When you’re seeking to get something from the world, you’re a beggar; when you are giving, you’re a king. By giving everything away, you gain everything—you conquer nature itself.
The problem is, you can’t let go without first getting rid of your attachments. There are thoughts constantly coming into your mind—you have to let them go. The world we perceive is created by our senses working in a distorted way. They all act as local magnifiers—creating attachment to the local and detachment from the non-local. You have to let that attachment to the local go away. Let it go.
You must allow your mind to function as it is. It’s a mirror. So just let it function as such, and not as something more than what it is. What do I mean by this? Well, a mirror does not say, “This particular image is good—so I will reflect this,” or “That image is bad—so I am not going to reflect that.” It doesn’t process the image in any way. It has no attraction for anything that’s there in the image—it doesn’t accept certain parts of the image and reject other parts. It just accepts the totality as it is. Its job is simply to reflect back whatever it sees.
But we try to process the information—to give it a name, a form. We try to cognize, recognize, identify and put labels on that information. Because if you’re not putting labels on the things you perceive, then you will be identical with the objects of your perception.
Consider this: a small boy is playing with a cobra, and all he’s experiencing is joy. He’s experiencing the movement of the cobra all over his body, feeling the tactile sensation, immersed in the bliss of the moment. The boy doesn’t call this experience “a sensation created by a snake crawling over my body”—he hasn’t even labeled it a snake. And he’s certainly not thinking, “It’s a poisonous snake. If it bites me, it is going to kill me and I will die!” As a result, he is also not experiencing the fears induced by this labeling or recognition process. He is one with the snake. The snake is simply a part of his body—for just as long as he hasn’t learned to label or recognize it as something different from himself.
You, on the other hand, have been placing labels on the world and on yourself—saying, “This is my body; I touch only through my skin. These are my eyes; I see only through my eyes. These are my ears; I hear only through my ears.” By saying, “They’re mine,” you’re placing labels. And that’s why we’re unable to enter into another and experience them as ourselves. From birth, we’ve been trained to develop an ego or concept of separation from the rest of the world—and the physical senses have helped us in this process.
So the name Jaitrī means conquering that conditioning; letting go of the attachments we develop when we perceive ourselves as individuals.
When you sit for meditation, so many thoughts come. Sometimes sleep comes. Try letting them go. A thing bothers you only so long as it’s near to you. If you let it go, if it goes far away—then it’s not going to bother you anymore. (Just as I’m not bothered by a storm in Florida when I’m in New York. I let it go.)
Every experience you have—if you don’t start processing it; if you don’t attach value to it; if you don’t engage in the circular process of going over it again and again; if you learn the art of letting go—then every experience you have gives you a new opportunity to become a conqueror. To become Jaitrī.
When you hold your fist tightly closed, you are concentrating; you are tensed up. When you let go, you relax. Likewise, when your mind winds itself around and around the objects in its purview, it becomes like a closed fist. But when the mind lets go of the thoughts as they come—without naming them or branding them; without attachment—then it becomes relaxed; and relaxation is a way to conquer the notion of the individual self.
You will conquer the notion of fear if you let go. You will conquer the notion of lust if you let go. You will conquer the notion of “the other”—which is, after all, the source of greed, lust, fear, anger, jealousy; all of these things are based on the notion of the other—if you let it go. And once you learn to overcome the notion of “the other,” you become the other.
And there’s no possessiveness in that; no jealousy, no possibility of greed, no lust, no anger—there’s no need for any of these things if only you can learn the simple art of not naming the things you see. “He is a Christian—my enemy; he is a Muslim—my enemy!” But remove the label “Muslim,” and he is just a human being. “He is a Russian! An American! A Communist! A capitalist!” These labels are the problems. Reality gets hidden behind them.
It’s as if you’re watching television, and there’s a picture coming through, but you are taking a spray gun full of various colors and spraying the screen with that thing. So what you see on the TV is a mixture of your own projections and what is actually there. This mixture is not representative of reality as it is—you have to get behind those names and forms in order to get at the reality. And the way that is done? By letting go.
The limited identification of yourself with the field of your knowledge is called ego. But if you are able to identify yourself with the totality, then there is no more ego. Detachment from the objects of the ego is attachment to totality; you’re no longer settling for being a mere part of totality.
Where does one city end and another begin? Where does one body end and another begin? You have to let go of those notions. That is the way.
And that is why she is known as Jaitrī, the conqueror.
Seeing Goddess — Part Nine: Affirmations
Here is an easy way to see the Goddess quickly. Try it; it works! Set aside a total of one hour each day (20 minutes per session, three times a day) for 40 days in a row. Repeat these affirmations three times, and then remain silent for the rest of the 20-minute period. Recite the portions in bold; the material in brackets is simply explanation. All ye who tried, speak of the result to me, positive or negative.
I ask for the blessings of my Guru and the Devi. They are with me here and now.
1. Oh Devi, I have removed all my masks—of family, race, and expectations of my conduct; of anger, doubt, fear, shame and aversion.
(Purpose: removing masks; being your true self.)
2. I have placed a fresh, soft lotus in my heart for you to come and occupy.
(Purpose: setting apart a lovely place for your divine presence.)
3. I entreat you, please come and enter this space in my heart, and fill it with your cool, refreshing, golden-white light.
(Purpose: entreating the divine to bring you the healing colors of lotus-lights.)
4. Flood my being with your glorious love, beauty, pleasure, wisdom, light, music, dance, poetry and compassion.
(Purpose: letting every nook and corner of your being fill with divine qualities.)
5. Let me enjoy these beautiful qualities, washing over me like waves, one after another in a never-ending series.
(Purpose: using invocation to build up energy, like a series of waves.)
6. Protect me from evil.
(Purpose: seeking protection against false entities who would try to lead you astray.)
7. I am open to your direction, both from within me and from without. Bless me with your crystal-clear voice. Let me see your divine form ever-shimmering in the lake of my clear mind. Let me see you with my physical eyes, as well.
(Purpose: surrendering and opening to divine presence and guidance.)
8. Never leave me, even for a moment.
(Purpose: resolving not to live without the divine presence.)
9. I will not live without you. When my time comes, take me into your heart.
(Purpose: preparing for ultimate merger, without limits.)
10. Let me be useful to all living beings, helping them realize your beauty and love.
(Purpose: helping others is your nature. Therefore, you help.)
This is my constant prayer and aspiration, and the goal of my life.
Seeing Goddess — Part Eight: Opening and Harmonizing the Chakras
There are seven wheels of energy spinning inside you. If you pay careful attention to the descriptions given below, and remember them, you can experience these spinning wheels.
a. Mūlādhāra Chakra
The Mūlādhāra Chakra is a square wheel with a rose-colored triangle inside, located between the anus and the vagina or the base of the penis. In the center of the triangle is a red phallus moving up and down, continuously emitting white sparks of semen.
Here you will find Kundalini Shakti, the serpent power, coiled around the phallus and drinking the semen that is being ejaculated. This is the starting point for the supreme energy of the cosmos, manifesting creation.
Imagine the bīja “lang” emanating from this square wheel and rising upward to the crown of the head. When you pronounce this sound, the upper part of your tongue touches high on the upper palate. You must feel that touch. Do likewise for the sounds emanating from all the other chakras.
b. Svādhiṣṭhāna Chakra
The Svādhiṣṭhāna Chakra is the sex center. A trisul, or trident shaped like a yoni, resides within this six-petaled lotus. It has an orange color, and a white moon adorns it. In this place, the vibrations of sex keep spinning around and around like a wheel. This is the original seat of the transcendental Goddess (the meaning of “Svādhiṣṭhāna” is that the Shakti resides there).
From here, the sound of the bīja “vang” rises to the crown. It is the seed-sound of nectar, being of a rose color, denoting the mixture of semen-white and blood-red.
The clitoris is the seat of Kundalini, identifiable with the snake god Kumāra.50
c. Maṇipūra Chakra
The Maṇipūra Chakra is the navel wheel, a 10-petaled lotus spinning at waist level and shining like fire with yellow and orange hues.
From here to the crown of your head the sound of “rang” continuously spreads upward. Repeat this sound seven times: this is the wheel of fire, which transforms lust into power.
When ejaculation in men, or orgasm in women, is controlled, the Kundalini power is no longer fed by the semen or the blood. So it uncoils and moves upward in search of nectar. It shoots up the suṣumṇā, into the Sahasrāra, and obtains its nectar from the moon there.
What this means is, physical orgasm is replaced by spiritual orgasm. The intercourse takes place in the mind, and a supreme relaxation occurs—in the form of a spiritual explosion bursting forth in every color.
Sometimes aspirants will actually see a hooded cobra dancing before their eyes. That merely denotes intense sexual energy and the fears associated with it, nothing more. There is absolutely no cause for fear if you encounter such experiences. Remember Kumāra—the serpent power—has as his vehicle the peacock, born enemy of the snake.
d. Anāhata Chakra
The Anāhata Chakra is the wheel of unconditional love. It is a 12-petaled wheel, circulating in the air around your chest. It is dominated by yellows and greens, the colors of vegetation.
From here to the crown of your head, the sound of “yang” resounds upward. Say it seven times: by sharing our powers with others, we enter this wheel of unconditional love. We give because it is our nature to share; we give without expecting any return whatsoever. This wheel brings you unlimited prosperity, which grows and grows the more as you give.
e. Viśuddhi Chakra
The Viśuddhi Chakra is the wheel of astral communication in space. It is a 16-petaled lotus, located near your neck. It is colored light blue and dark blue, like the sky.
It spins to the sound of the bīja “hang,” which spreads upward toward the crown. Utter this sound seven times: by placing your attention here, you can acquire powers such as hearing at great distances, seeing faraway things and places, and talking with spirits, apsarās, angels, goddesses and gods.
This is the wheel of communication in space across immense distances. The ability to enter another person and know their experiences as your own is obtained by the prolonged practice of paying attention to this wheel.
f. Ājñā Chakra
The Ājñā Chakra is the wheel of time. It is a two-petaled lotus located between the eyebrows. Focus here to travel across time.
g. Sahasrāra Chakra
The Sahasrāra is the wheel at the crown of your head, the brain wheel. It is a thousand-petaled lotus, containing all the colors of the rainbow to one degree or another, but predominantly blues and violets. From here the sound of the bīja “hrīm” continuously emits light beams that flash above your head.
h. Guru Pādukā
This is the wheel of the Supreme Being, which is none other than your own Self. It is located at the feet of the Supreme Guru, located nine inches above your head, in the center pod of the Sahasrāra. The letters hasaum and sahauḥ glow upon the guru’s feet. They are surrounded by an eight-petaled lotus. Each of these petals contains abundance beyond measure; they are sometimes called the Aṣṭa Lakṣmīs and sometimes Sudarśana.
These petals are filled with millions of round disks of every color, arranged in geometric patterns and taking the form of worlds. By focusing your attention on any disk, you can gain entry into that world and become its creator Brahma, its sustainer Vishnu, and its dancer Shiva. The half-female, half-male form of Shakti-Shiva (known as Ardhanārīśvara) stands atop your head, facing in the same direction as you. The feet above your head belong to Ardhanārīśvara.
In this form, Shiva the creator is eternally surrounded by his own yoni, emitting an unending, life-giving stream called Ganga. The divine form of this nectar is time. The earthly forms of this nectar are the juices of sex. Physical orgasm depletes life-energy and ends in a very short time. But spiritual orgasm has no end. It is called brahmānanda, the bliss of creation.
The sound of this creation is like that of an ocean: “ōm.” Imagine a million people at a gathering, each talking to their neighbors. An ocean of sound rises from that huge communion: the sound of ōm is like that.
Your aim is to raise yourself above your own head and merge into that form, to experience unending spiritual orgasm—what you may call the dance of the galaxies, the dance of rising waterfalls, the divine light and sound show. The joy you experience will shower your entire body with a thrill like you have never known before. The experience is indescribable. You will literally bathe in the nectar-like waters of life. There is total freedom from tension—which is very unlike a physical orgasm; it satisfies a million times more. Stay in this state for as long as you can; there can be no higher happiness than this.
Then what happens? You are no longer in control. There is no “you” to be in control. You only experience feelings and visions. It’s as if you have experienced an intense multiple orgasm: you are thoroughly satisfied, your body has lost its weight, it is floating away, walls and ceilings are no longer obstacles. You are being carried by rainbows. You rise above the city in which you dwell, above your country, above the oceans, above the Earth; soaring beyond the moon, beyond the sun, entering the star field, past the constellation of the Seven Sages and Dhruva,54 beyond the galaxies and the worlds, finally entering the abode of Mother Goddess, an Island of Jewels.
Witness there the playful, erotic fun. Frolic, singing and dancing, enjoying multiple partners without inhibition. You have entered the source of the cosmos, Sri Yantra, in the womb of the Divine Mother. You have become a part of her, to live eternally in Waves of Beauty, Saundarya Laharī.
If it seems I am getting carried away, well, it is true, I am carried away. I have no will of my own. At the will of the Mother Goddess—who loves erotic sentiment (rati priyā), because Eros loves life—I have put these few thoughts down on paper, for you to consider seriously and practice.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)