Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Rapture and Asceticism
Recently, I watched a DVD documentary called "The Yogis of Tibet." Most of those who were presented were present day yogis, many of whom had followed the rigorous practices of their predecessors, going back to very early times. Some had lived for years in caves or mountain huts. There they had spent most of their time in "boxes", where they never really slept at all, since they could not lie down or stretch out. They lived on meager rations of food and water.
Others practiced severe physical and mental disciplines, including feats such as rising rapidly and springing into the air from a cross legged position. They literally beat their bodies in some of these activities, and you could hear their joints snap as they seemed to bend quite out of normal shape.
There was much talk of compassion in this presentation. But frankly I failed to grasp the relationship of such physical endurance trials and the active practice of compassion.
The program gave much to wonder about. One of the yogis said that as a child he had visited the cave where one of the renowned early masters had lived for many years, and that, while he was there, his feet literally began to burn into the rocks, leaving a clear imprint. Another gentle elder, far advanced in years, had apparently intended to die in his eighties, but agreed to stay on to one hundred at the request of the Dalai Lama, who asked him to dedicate himself to the service of other devotees.
This tradition is now dying out, since it is no longer supported by a sustaining culture, nor do the younger Tibetans wish to commit themselves to such drastic practices.
Nothing at all was mentioned about such subjects as bliss, rapture, ecstasy, and the like. Apparently the purpose of the training was to bring the body and spirit into the most refined alignment possible, to develop strength and skill, discipline rather than devotion.
But in the "Yoga Spandakirika" of Daniel Odier, there are several passages which present a very different view of the yogis in seclusion. Here is what Odier has to say:
At times, we think it is impossible to live without physical contact. This is because we do not realize to what extent the ascetics experience unlimited exchange of love. Their whole body is engaged in this impulse, this sacred tremoring. There is never any end, any obstacle, any stop, any frustration. Nor is there any accumulation of sexual energy because the energy is assimilated all day long in this loving contact with the world. (note: this is the natural world of sky and trees and flowers.) This continual vibration rids the ascetics of the problem of abstinence because they have completely integrated their sexuality, by depriving it of object, direction, and form. It pours forth in a continuous motion of pleasure in reality. It is present night and day. Every sound that reaches a tantrika's ears is a loving relationship, every shimmer of light, every scent, every vibration is permanently in tune with totality. All day long there is this continued sacred tremor, which makes it possible to live the most intense, ascetic and loving life there is, in solitude.
(Daniel Odier)
Personally, I do not believe in extreme asceticism, nor enforced abstinence. However, I think that there are times when we can experience to some extent the states described here. When our kundalini activates, we often know the sweet, sensuous connection with things outside ourselves, such as sound,light, color, music, or those we encounter in our daily lives, who can suddenly look wondrously beautiful. And abstinence comes easily in the later years, when one's focus turns naturally to other things. And, indeed, many "solitary practitioners" do experience the full flow of loving energies such as Odier describes, bliss streams which come without any sexual trigger, and which end in no specific outcome beyond the experience itself.
So it is we can taste such experiences from time to time, even when we do not maintain them at every moment. I wonder how the yogis would fare in a modern mall, or a crowded city street. Perhaps they could maintain their composure, but could they sustain the inner bliss? I think that for this, all of us need some familiar place of solitude, some periods of quiet, to access fully the inner reality. We must live "in the world and out of it," in many ways a much harder task than dwelling in a cave apart from society and its swirling chaos.
Others practiced severe physical and mental disciplines, including feats such as rising rapidly and springing into the air from a cross legged position. They literally beat their bodies in some of these activities, and you could hear their joints snap as they seemed to bend quite out of normal shape.
There was much talk of compassion in this presentation. But frankly I failed to grasp the relationship of such physical endurance trials and the active practice of compassion.
The program gave much to wonder about. One of the yogis said that as a child he had visited the cave where one of the renowned early masters had lived for many years, and that, while he was there, his feet literally began to burn into the rocks, leaving a clear imprint. Another gentle elder, far advanced in years, had apparently intended to die in his eighties, but agreed to stay on to one hundred at the request of the Dalai Lama, who asked him to dedicate himself to the service of other devotees.
This tradition is now dying out, since it is no longer supported by a sustaining culture, nor do the younger Tibetans wish to commit themselves to such drastic practices.
Nothing at all was mentioned about such subjects as bliss, rapture, ecstasy, and the like. Apparently the purpose of the training was to bring the body and spirit into the most refined alignment possible, to develop strength and skill, discipline rather than devotion.
But in the "Yoga Spandakirika" of Daniel Odier, there are several passages which present a very different view of the yogis in seclusion. Here is what Odier has to say:
At times, we think it is impossible to live without physical contact. This is because we do not realize to what extent the ascetics experience unlimited exchange of love. Their whole body is engaged in this impulse, this sacred tremoring. There is never any end, any obstacle, any stop, any frustration. Nor is there any accumulation of sexual energy because the energy is assimilated all day long in this loving contact with the world. (note: this is the natural world of sky and trees and flowers.) This continual vibration rids the ascetics of the problem of abstinence because they have completely integrated their sexuality, by depriving it of object, direction, and form. It pours forth in a continuous motion of pleasure in reality. It is present night and day. Every sound that reaches a tantrika's ears is a loving relationship, every shimmer of light, every scent, every vibration is permanently in tune with totality. All day long there is this continued sacred tremor, which makes it possible to live the most intense, ascetic and loving life there is, in solitude.
(Daniel Odier)
Personally, I do not believe in extreme asceticism, nor enforced abstinence. However, I think that there are times when we can experience to some extent the states described here. When our kundalini activates, we often know the sweet, sensuous connection with things outside ourselves, such as sound,light, color, music, or those we encounter in our daily lives, who can suddenly look wondrously beautiful. And abstinence comes easily in the later years, when one's focus turns naturally to other things. And, indeed, many "solitary practitioners" do experience the full flow of loving energies such as Odier describes, bliss streams which come without any sexual trigger, and which end in no specific outcome beyond the experience itself.
So it is we can taste such experiences from time to time, even when we do not maintain them at every moment. I wonder how the yogis would fare in a modern mall, or a crowded city street. Perhaps they could maintain their composure, but could they sustain the inner bliss? I think that for this, all of us need some familiar place of solitude, some periods of quiet, to access fully the inner reality. We must live "in the world and out of it," in many ways a much harder task than dwelling in a cave apart from society and its swirling chaos.
