Meritorious and demeritorious actions cease for one who is established in this [ego-transcending attitude]. They move on but do not taint him; neither do further actions. (128)
O Beloved, the sage who has abandoned all thoughts (samkalpa) and who delights in the knowledge of spontaneously arising bliss should also renounce [all] actions. (129)
O Beloved, the ignorant who, pretending to learning, abandon the action part [of the Vedic revelation] as useless are impostors who go to hell. (130)
Comments: The Vedic revelation is thought to consist of two parts (kdnda). The karma-kdnda is concerned with the ritual actions that maintain the social order, and the jnâna-kdnda is concerned with liberating wisdom.
Just as a tree indifferently sheds its blossoms when carrying fruit, similarly the yogin who has attained Reality (tattva) abandons his fondness for rituals. (131)
Those in whose heart the Absolute (brahman) is [firmly] stationed are not affected by the merit arising from [participation in the greatly meritorious] horse sacrifice or by the demerit caused by slaying a brahmin. (132)
On Earth, actions proceed by means of tongue, genitals, [and so forth]. He who has renounced tongue and genitals, what can he [possibly] have to do with actions? (133)
Comments: This stanza expresses the grand ideal of inaction-in-action (naishkarmya-karman), first propounded in the Bhagavad-Gttd. It is the key concept of Karma-Yoga, according to which we do not avoid becoming embroiled in the nexus of karma if we avoid charging our actions with selfish intent and instead stand aloof while simply carrying out what is necessary and appropriate.
Thus 1 have told you briefly some of the characteristics of Yoga and the foremost of yogins. O Mistress of Kula, what more do you desire to hear? (134)
“When the mind is held stable, then breath (vâyu) and semen (bindu) are also stable. Through stability of the semen, stability of the body is truly always generated.”
—Goraksha-Vâcana-Samgraha (132)
I. THE ENLIGHTENMENT OF THE BODY—THE ORIGINS OF HATHA-YOGA
The human body-mind is not what it appears to be: a limited, mobile digestive tube. We only need to relax or meditate to discover that this popular materialistic stereotype is untrue, for it is then that we begin to discover the energy dimension of the body and the “deep space” of consciousness. As the hard boundaries that we normally draw around ourselves dissolve, we feel more alive and enter a world of greater experiential intensity. Relaxation and meditation replace our ordinary body image with an experience of ourselves as a fluid process that is connected with the larger, vibrant whole. In this experience, the boundaries of the ego lose their rigidity. Quantum physics tells us that everything is interconnected and that the idea that “I” am a separate physical entity is an illusion. It tells us, moreover, that the so-called objective world is a “hallucination,” a projection of that imaginary point of subjectivity within us. We are slow in acknowledging the profound practical implications of the quantum-physical view, obviously because it requires us to make far-reaching and demanding changes in the way we think of ourselves and our universe. The quantum-physical perspective is not as new as we would like to believe. It underlies the entire Tantric tradition, notably the schools of Hatha-Yoga, which are an offshoot of Tantrism.
The image of the “dance of Shiva” best captures this orientation: Shiva, as Nata-Raja or “Lord of Dance,” is forever dancing out the rhythms of the universe—the cycles of creation (sarga) and destruction (pralaya). He is the master weaver of space and time. This classical Hindu image has fascinated a number of quantum physicists. The first to draw attention to it was Fritjof Capra in his widely read book The Tao of Physics:
The ideas of rhythm and dance naturally come to mind when one tries to imagine the flow of energy going through the patterns that make up the particle world. Modern physics has shown us that movement and rhythm are essential properties of matter; that all matter, whether here on earth or in outer space, is involved in a continual cosmic dance. The Eastern mystics have a dynamic view of the universe similar to that of modern physics, and consequently it is not surprising that they, too, have used the image of the dance to convey their intuition of nature.1
It was the adepts of Tantrism who pioneered this dynamic view of the universe, and it was also they who inaugurated a new attitude toward the human body and bodily existence in general. In pre-Tantric times, the body was often looked upon, in Gnostic fashion, as a source of defilement, as the enemy of the spirit. This attitude prompted the anonymous author of the Maitrâ- yaniya-Upanishad to compose the following litany:
Venerable, in this ill-smelling, unsubstantial body [which is nothing but] a conglomerate of bone, skin, sinew, muscle, marrow, flesh, semen, blood, mucus, tears, rheum, feces, urine, wind, bile, and phlegm—what good is the enjoyment of desires? In this body, which is afflicted with desire, anger, greed, delusion, fear, despondency, envy, separation from the desirable, union with the undesirable, hunger, thirst, senility, death, disease, sorrow, and the like—what good is the enjoyment of desires? (1.3)
We may find the pessimistic tone of this passage strange and exaggerated, and yet it expresses our own culture’s materialistic point of view very well. As long as we consider the body to be a walking alimentary canal, there is little solace in the pursuit of pleasure, since any pleasure the body can afford us is inevitably limited in intensity and duration and usually purchased at great cost. Besides, the pursuit of pleasure certainly cannot save us from death. The Tantric revolution led away from the model of the body as an “inflated bladder of skin.”2 “In tantrism,” observed historian of religion Mircea Eliade, “the human body acquires an importance it had never before attained in the spiritual history of India.”3 This new attitude is pithily expressed in the Kula-Arnava-Tantra, an important Hindu Tantric work, thus:
Without the body, how can the [highest] human goal be realized? Therefore, having acquired a bodily abode, one should perform meritorious (punya) actions. (1.18)
Among the 840,000 types of embodied beings, the knowledge of Reality cannot be acquired except through a human [body], (1.14)
What the Tantric masters aspired to was to create a transubstantiated body, which they called “adamantine” (vajrâ) or “divine” (daiva)—a body not made of flesh but of immortal substance, of Light. Instead of regarding the body as a meat tube doomed to fall prey to sickness and death, they viewed it as a dwelling place of the Divine, and as the cauldron for accomplishing spiritual perfection. For them, enlightenment was a whole-body event. As the Yoga-Shikhâ-Upanishad puts it:
He whose body (pinda) is unborn and deathless is liberated in life (jîvan-mukta). Cattle, cocks, worms, and the like verily meet with their death.
How can they attain liberation by shedding the body, O Padmaja? The life force [of the yogin] does not extend outward [but is focused in the axial channel]. How then can the shedding of the body [occur]?
The liberation that is attainable by the shedding of the body—is that liberation not worthless? Just as rock-salt [is dissolved] in water, so the Absolute (brahmatva) extends to the body [of the enlightened yogin].
When he reaches the [condition of] non- othemess (ananyata), he is said to be liberated. [But others continue to] distinguish different bodies and organs.
The Absolute has attained embodiment (dehatva), even as water becomes a bubble. (1.161—165a)
The embodiment of enlightened masters is not limited to the physical organism with which they appear to be specifically associated. Their body is really the Body of all, and therefore they can assume any form at will—a feat that is attributed to many ancient and contemporary adepts. This transubstantiated body is also styled ativahika-deha or “superconductive body.” This omnipresent, luminous vehicle is endowed with the great paranormal powers (siddhi) acknowledged in all the scriptures of Yoga and Tantra. In the Yoga-Bîja, we find the following stanzas:
The fire of Yoga gradually bakes the body composed of the seven constituents [such
as bone, marrow, blood, etc.].
Even the deities cannot acquire the exceedingly powerful yogic body. [The yogin] is freed from bodily bonds, endowed with various powers (shakti), and is supreme.
The yogin’s] body is like the ether, even purer than the ether. His body is more subtle than the subtlest [objects], coarser than any coarse [objects], more insensitive [to pain, etc.,] than the [most] insensitive (jada).
The [body of] the lord of yogins conforms to his will. It is self-sufficient, autonomous, and immortal. He entertains himself with play wherever in the three realms [i.e., on Earth, in the mid-region, and in the celestial worlds].
The yogin is possessed of unthinkable powers. He who has conquered the senses can, by his own will, assume various shapes and make them vanish again. (50b-54)
Thus, the adept is not merely an enlightened being but a magical theurgist, who is on a par with the Creator- God. There are few Yoga and Tantra scriptures that do not make reference to this occult aspect of the yogic way of life, and the texts of Hatha-Yoga are no exception.
The Siddha Movement
The ideal of the adamantine body was at the core of a ramifying cultural movement comparable perhaps to the body-awareness movement of the 1970s and 1980s. This was the so-called Siddha cult, which flourished between the eighth and the twelfth centuries and which was a vital factor in completing the great pan-Indian synthesis of the spiritual teachings of Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism, as well as alchemy and popular magic.
The designation siddha means “accomplished” or “perfected” and refers to the Tantric adept who has attained enlightenment as the ultimate perfection (sid- dhi) and also possesses all kinds of paranormal powers (siddhi). The South Indian adept Tirumûlar defined a siddha, or cittar in the Tamil language, as someone who has realized, through yogic ecstasy, the transcendental Light and Power (shakti).
The siddha is a spiritual alchemist who works on and transmutes impure matter, the human body-mind, into pure gold, the immortal spiritual essence. However, he is also said to be capable of the literal transmutation of matter, and the renowned Czech Indologist Kamil V. Zvelebil recalled a baffling demonstration of this power by one of his siddha teachers.4 The yogic process peculiar to this Tantric tradition, which straddled Hinduism and Buddhism, is known as kâya-sâdhanâ or “body cultivation.” It was the cradle of Hatha-Yoga.
The most important schools of the Siddha movement were those of the Nâthas and the Maheshvaras. The former had their home in the north of the subcontinent, especially Bengal. The latter had their provenance in the South. The Buddhist Tantras speak of a pantheon of eighty-four great adepts, or mahâ-siddhas, many of whom are even today revered as demi-gods. They were “mostly rustic folk without much liking for and no pretense to learning,”5 but among them we also find royal personages and great scholars. The Tibetan sources, relying on no longer available Sanskrit works, furnish us with biographical sketches of these adepts. While the bulk of the material is entirely legendary, there is good reason to assume that the individuals behind these wonderfully imaginative stories were historical. For some of them, we even have extant literary works and mystical songs.
According to the Tibetan tradition, the first and foremost adept of the eighty-four siddhas was Luipa, whom some scholars identify with Matsyendra Nâtha, the famous teacher of the still more famous Goraksha Nâtha. Innumerable legends and songs tell of the magical and spiritual accomplishments of these two great masters (see below). Another remarkable siddha was the Buddhist Nâgârjuna, the teacher of Tilopa, who initiated Nâropa, the guru of Marpa, who, in turn, instructed the illustrious yogin-poet Milarepa. The Tibetan list of mahâ-siddhas includes several names that are also recognized by the Hindus.
The Tamil tradition of South India remembers eighteen siddhas, some of whom were of Chinese and Singhalese origin, and one is said to have hailed from Egypt. The number eighteen is as symbolic as the number eighty-four is for the siddhas of the North, both suggesting completeness. Among the siddhas of the South, it is particularly Akkattiyar (Sanskrit: Agastya), Tirumûlar, Civavakkiyar, and Bhogar whose teachings and magical feats have captivated the imagination of the people.
Bhogar, a seventeenth-century adept, alchemist and poet who belonged to the potter caste, is said to have immigrated from China together with his teacher Kalangi Nâthar. Bhogar composed an important work on Kundalînî-Yoga in 7,000 verses. Layne Little, an American scholar of Tamil, has begun to translate this comprehensive and difficult text. In verse 20 of his mystical poem, Bhogar declares:
Time was when I despised the body;
but then I saw the God within.
The body, I realized, is the Lord’s temple;
And so I began preserving it with care infinite.
This sentiment expresses perfectly the Tantric view of embodiment. In the nineteenth century, it was Râmalingar who reiterated and also demonstrated the tradition of bodily transmutation. Because of his profound spiritual realization, Râmalingar was able to describe the path to freedom with overwhelming immediacy, and in his Tamil Literature, Kamil V. Zvelebil rightly calls him “the great Tamil poet of the 19th century.” He started composing mystical and devotional poems at the age of nine, and inspired words continued to pour from him until his mysterious disappearance in 1874. It is said that he had reached such a high level of spiritual accomplishment that he was able to dissolve his physical body into light without leaving a trace behind.
It appears that the southern branch of the diffuse Siddha movement tended to be more radical in its rejection of ritualism and other establishment values than its northern counterpart.6 One of Civavakkiyar’s poems reads:
Why, you fool, do you utter mantras, murmuring them, whispering, going around the fixed stone as if it were god, putting garlands of flowers around it? Will the fixed stone speak—as if the Lord were within? Will the cooking vessel, or the wooden ladle, know the taste of curry?7
But this rejection of popular forms of worship often amounting to idolatry can be met with also among the sid- dhas of the North, notably the followers of the Buddhist Sahajîyâ tradition of spontaneity, as well as the Bauls of Bengal who, to this day, roam the countryside, singing their initiatory songs. Of course, the siddhas did not dismiss devotional feelings as such. Rather, their criticism typically targeted automatic behavior, whether secular or religious. Even sentiments of devotion can be made into a soul-destroying “ism” that obscures rather than reveals the mind-transcending Reality.
The trenchant criticism of the siddhas notwithstanding, we can detect a certain trend toward “technol- ogism” among members of the Nâtha sect, who place magical rituals and Hatha-Yoga practices above ego- transcendence, leaving little room for the cultivation of authentic spiritual values and attitudes. Where the acquisition of power is given priority over self-transcendence, it is easy enough to succumb to ego-inflation and a stony heart. Or, to put it differently, when the kundalinî produces its characteristic kaleidoscope of fascinating inner phenomena, we are apt to forget that the kundalinî is, ultimately, the Goddess, and that the inner display is only her play. Like modern scientific technology, Indian psychotechnology is not without its perils. When the supreme value of selftranscendence is lost from sight, any technology is in danger of becoming the servant of merely egoic purposes.
It was none other than Jnânadeva, the great thirteenth-century adept of Maharashtra, who criticized those hatha-yogins that “day and night measure the wind with upstretched arms” but sadly lack the slightest degree of devotion. They should, he predicted, only expect sorrow and tribulations in their path. Jnânadeva was initiated into Hatha-Yoga by his elder brother Nivritti Nâtha, who is said to have been a disciple of Goraksha. Jnânadeva’s Jndneshvarî, composed in melodious Marathi, is one of the most illumined independent commentaries on the Bhagavad-Gîtd. It represents a successful attempt to combine the Hatha-Yoga teachings Jnânadeva received from his family with the way of the heart taught by Lord Krishna of yore. It is difficult t
o read this work without being deeply touched by its wisdom and lyrical beauty.
Matsyendra and Goraksha
Hindu tradition associates the creation of Hatha- Yoga with Goraksha Nâtha (Hindi: Gorakhnâth) and his teacher Matsyendra Nâtha, both of whom were born in Bengal. In his Tantra-loka, Abhinava Gupta salutes Matsyendra as his guru, which means that the latter must have lived before the middle of the tenth century C.E.8 Matsyendra was a chief representative, if not the originator, of what is known as Nâthism. But Shiva himself is considered as the source of the Nâtha lineage and is invoked as Adinâtha or “Primordial Lord.” The term nâtha simply means “lord” or “master” and refers to a yogic adept who enjoys both liberation (mukti) and paranormal powers. Such nâthas are thought of as immortal beings who roam the Himalayan region. Matsyendra himself is venerated as the guardian deity of Kathmandu, in the form of Shveta Matsyendra (“White Matsyendra”), whose transcendental essence is the bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara. The followers of these masters—specifically Goraksha—are also known as nâthas, and Nâthism is recognized as one of the strands of the tapestry of contemporary Tantrism.
Matsyendra (“Lord of Fish,” from matsya “fish” and indr a “lord”) is also known as Mina, which has the same connotation. The name also may contain a reference to his occupation: fisherman. According to the legendary account given in the Kaula-Jnâna-Nirnaya (“Ascertainment of Kaula Knowledge”), which belongs to the eleventh century and is the oldest available source of information about Kaulism, Matsyendra recovered the canon of the Kaulas (called kula-âgama, written kulâga- ma) from a large fish that had swallowed it. Some scholars understand Matsyendra’s name symbolically and argue that it suggests a level of spiritual attainment, which is possible and need not conflict with the conclusion that he earned his living from the sea. Some traditions state that a person who carries the title matsyendra has mastered the practice of suspending breath and mind by means of the space-walking seal (khecârî-mudrâ), one of the most important bodily seals of Hatha-Yoga.
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