ASSUMPTIONS BEHIND PRACTICE AND THE MEANS EMPLOYED

The Experience of the Subtle Body: The Bodily Postures

The overall Hindu view concerning the practice of authentic yoga may be summarized with these words: "Very few are qualified for yoga, and even fewer are those who succeed in it." That view, incidentally, should be kept in mind by those who are interested in the discipline at a higher level and are truly attracted to the spiritual horizons that yoga discloses. There seems to be a contrast, however, between the existential situation of single individuals and the metaphysical and general premises of nondualism. According to nondualism (monism), as well as to the theory advocated by the Upanishads, the dimension

of transcendence, and of atma, is located within the human being. During the Middle Ages, Albertus Magnus, in reference to the efficacy of the rites employed for the achievement of the opus magnus, claimed that "one has to be predestined to this." Several other authors in the initiatory field have expressed their views in more or less the same terms. In some popular Indian expositions the same idea has been expressed by saying that the person who can really succeed in yoga must be endowed with privileged qualities, which have been acquired, through strenuous efforts, in previous lives. Since I have already remarked that the doctrine of rein

carnation, from a metaphysical point of view, is totally groundless, we must conclude that these popular expositions merely convey the same idea and emphasize the need for a privileged, innate, and natural qualification. In this dimension what really matters are not intellectual fancies or mere wishes, but rather something organic and essential. Agrippa reminds us that "man's self-transcendence is the key to all magical practices and is the arcane, necessary, and secret thing required to engage in such practices."1 Agrippa's view, I believe, is universally valid. Usually a distinction is made between

"natural dignity" (in which, according to Agrippa, even some elements determined by "fate" may play a role) and a dignity acquired through one's efforts, through a specific life-style, and even through "some religious practices." The privileged qualification, which I mentioned before, is even postulated in India, and it corresponds to the former; the process of an individual's self-transcendence corresponds to the latter. Both are related to what may be called "the true meaning of kingship" (rajabhava). In Tantrism, rajabhava corresponds to the presence, or to the memory or to the awakening, of the Shiva

principle within oneself. In a commentary to the SamkyaSutra, Vijnana Bikshu employed the simile of an exiled prince who, after growing up in a foreign country, all the while unsuspecting of his noble origins, suddenly becomes aware, and eventually certain, of being a king. The ritual of mandalas (graphic representations of various parts of the universe and of the forces at work in them) ends with the enthronement of their authors, who are given, in the center of these mandalas, a royal insignia.2 We may recall that the vajra, or dorje, which is employed in Tantric Buddhist and Tibetan ceremonies, signifies a scepter - again, a royal symbol.

Three qualities are considered by classic yoga as well as by the Tantras: shraddha, virya, and vairagya. The latter, in this context, is the attitude of detachment, indifference, or contempt toward anything related to a narrow-minded, conditioned, impulsive, and disorganized life-style. By adopting such an attitude, one establishes a certain distance between himself and the world, thus focusing on one's inner majesty. The highest form of vairagya consists in

the discrimination between the "real" and the "unreal" (the "ephemeral") and in the radical shift from one's identification with the "unreal" to identification with the "real." That distinction is inspired by Sankhya: reality, immutability, and impassibility are synonyms, as well as the characteristics of the purushic nature, which is sovereign and "spectator." Shraddha is faith, in the positive sense of the term; it is understood as unshakable certainty, which leaves

no room for doubts, wavering, or discouragements. Its counterpart is virya, namely, strength in an eminent sense, which is capable of establishing a continuity in one's behavior and actions. The texts say that two factors seriously undermine virya: fear and desire (including hope). The term virya may have the specific and technical meaning (especially in Buddhism) of a force that does not belong to the samsaric plane and that empowers a person to go "countercurrent." As strange as it may seem, virya has been associated with the phallus. This explains why Shaivist ascetics used to wear, as a symbol of their god, a pendant shaped like a phallus, or linga. The pendant signified virya, or virile strength, in the higher sense of the word. One of the

recurrent misunderstandings in the modern history of religions consists in interpreting phallic cults in a priapic sense, that is, with an exclusive reference to physical procreation. These misunderstandings were incurred even in the case of Egyptian and Greco-Roman cemeteries (in which the phallus was often inscribed to represent the power of a hoped-for resurrection of the dead) and temples, in which the phallus was believed to neutralize or to avert "dark" and demonic influences. Natural and acquired dignity involve a certain degree of inner calm or of natural and regal impassibility. When strength

(virya) is combined with impassibility, it may become what somebody described as a "cold, magical quality." At a certain level, that quality may even be strengthened by "renunciation." The deeper meaning of various precepts, which are usually understood in a mere moralistic fashion, here becomes apparent. Logically, renunciation is a factor of virya, of power, and of magical qualities, since it removes and destroys the human condition characterized by desire. The fundamental theory is that every desire or craving found in ordinary people is caused by a state of deprivation. The reason why people crave

and become motivated by passion, greed, or desire to obtain something on which they eventually become dependent is that they feel deprived and in need of something. Obviously one cannot dominate or really possess a thing if, just in virtue of desiring, he becomes dependent on it and passive, in the face of the appeal it exercises on him. When one "renounces," or does not crave, or does not seek, the relationship between subject and object is turned around; what ensues is a state of self-sufficiency, wholeness, and independence from things. At that time, it is said, rather than the subject going to the object, it is the object that is attracted to the subject. The object is drawn to the subject as if the latter were its "male" principle, or better, a stable, impassive, and sovereign

principle, possessing a magically attractive power.3 Thus each renunciation - as long as it is issued from an inner disposition - puts a great power at one's disposal. The occult force that derives from it is called ojas. Renunciation is also needed in order to acquire the power to possess an object or to benefit from something without being bound by it. This is, as we may recall, the Tantric notion of enjoyment (bhoga), which does not impair one's inner being, and which discloses richer perspectives than those advocated by the arid Stoic ethics and by any religious asceticism. Some texts mention certain

Shaktis, often personified as goddesses (yoginis or dakinis), that are irresistibly drawn to the merit generated by the renunciation, and that eventually join those who have practiced it. In principle, a Shakti does not offer herself to those who yearn for her, but rather comes, of her own will, to those who embody her spouse Shiva's calm and stable nature. I do not wish to dwell further on this topic, since I will discuss later the specific disciplines

affecting the will. For now, I simply want to clarify the main aspects of what constitutes a "natural" and an "acquired" dignity. This distinction does not lie outside the dimension called "initiation," which corresponds to the "religious art" that Agrippa believed could bestow the dignity required to perform magical operations. The monist premises of Hindu metaphysics have underlined the decadence that has affected every domain of life, especially during the dark age, the Kali Yuga. As we all know, in the Christian West it has been claimed that "grace" and enlightenment bestowed by God are the conditions

required for "salvation" and for an authentically spiritual life, since all creatures have been infected and "paralyzed" by original sin. Initiatory teachings and Oriental metaphysics do not share the view of this dualistic mythology. Generally speaking, however, they acknowledge the relative transcendence, in regard to the faculties of ordinary men, of the power that is really operative at a supernatural level. Hence the notion of initiation,

which is considered as the implant of a new principle and of a superindividual influence, which are manifested in the awakening and in a particular and efficient animation of one's being. In this we may recognize a special application of the Tantric principle according to which "without a Shakti, Shiva is inactive and unable to operate." Shiva here may symbolize the human being, and Shakti, his female complement, may represent the abovementioned influence. I have dealt at length with particular cases and with exceptions

to the rule. Therefore we should not exclude that, in specific circumstances, one may be able, through his own efforts, to obtain the same results and to activate an operating principle that does not belong to the samsaric current. On the contrary, early Buddhism has acknowledged the possibility of an autonomous realization, exemplified first and foremost by its founder, the historical Buddha, who was the prince Siddartha. Considering the progressive materialization of humankind in the course of history, and the consequent development of physical individuality, later forms of Buddhism, especially in the Mahayana tradition, have reaffirmed the concept of initiation (diksha) as the usual way to achieve one's integration. Initiation, therefore, is defined as a real transmission of a shakti, and as a power and a guiding light. While Catholicism professes that the apostolic succession and the continuity of grace ensure the sacraments' efficacy, in Hinduism there have been dynasties of spiritual teachers (gurus), who have uninterruptedly transmitted not only the tradition of their own schools but also the nonhuman power (shakti) that is required in order to expound and to activate that tradition. The image that this transmission evokes is that of a flame lighting another; spiritual organizations, called kulas within Tantrism, also follow the same principle. The power is often transmitted from the teacher to the novice through words of power (mantras), in which a shakti becomes intimately connected to a word, thus acquiring a vivifying and fertilizing quality; it propitiates a "second birth."4 The nondualistic premise is reaffirmed, since this is a birth taking place

within one's innermost being. Thus it has been suggested that "those who embrace a person who is initiated into the supreme brahman are embracing themselves." And during the ritual, the great saying from the Upanishads is whispered: "Thou art that" (tat tvam asi), and also: "Think within thyself that I am He and He is I. Free from all attachments [nir-mana, literally, devoid of the sense of mineness] and sense of self, go as thou pleasest as moved

thereto by thy nature."5 When the texts insist on the necessity of seeking the aid of a guru following this "beginning," however, they may contain exaggerations; some contingent circumstances may even play a role. Considering, for instance, that there were no books containing certain teachings, and that some books were difficult to find, the guru was practically the only source available, even for the most exoteric elements of the learning process.6 Whatever may be found in various teachings that cannot be transmitted through ordinary language or written expositions should not be overlooked. The

same goes for the coded and multivalent character of some texts, which involve a hierarchy of interpretative levels. This set of circumstances, too, dictates the need for a spiritual teacher. Finally, we must consider the continuous relations between a teacher and the person being initiated, besides the transmission of a power, which is not just the guru's own Shakti but rather a superindividual shakti, connected to the initiatory circle to which the guru

himself belongs. A positive factor in these relations is the assistance provided in the face of dangers and obstacles, which can be foreseen and rightly evaluated only by one who has already had a firsthand experience and who is thus endowed with a high degree of competence. In any event, apart from the beginning, which may be considered to be like the induction of the embryo of a supernatural power and light, spiritual development is the individual's

responsibility. After this power has been completely assimilated and actualized, the development must reach a point where the novice becomes utterly independent from the teacher. Figuratively speaking, it is said that at the peak of fulfillment (siddhi) the disciple "has his own teacher under the feet," and that "the kaula is guru unto himself and nobody is superior to him." No matter in what way it has been achieved, initiation has the general meaning of

a consecration. Some texts suggest not only that initiation influences the efficacy of sadhana and of the "acquired dignity," but also that, if initiation did not occur, sadhana and asceticism might assume an asura character, the term asura designating a demonic, nondivine being (the Indo-Aryan equivalent of the Titans). As far as the technical instruments employed during sadhana are concerned, we may here recall the two main ones: the faculty to visualize precisely ("to see through the inner light") and the faculty to focus one's mind through a training similar to that practiced in dassical yoga.

VISUALIZATION

The first faculty, visualization, is particularly required for what in Tantric sadhana is related to images and to symbols to be activated. This is the power of imagination, understood as the power to see with the mind's eye any given form, in all its details, neatly, and not less clearly than through physical sight. At its highest level, it is the faculty of merging completely with a form or an image, until

it alone lives in one's inner space. This faculty is to be nourished with an action similar to that exercised by a lens focusing the sun's rays on a spot, in which at the end, a flame is lit. At this level, we may speak of a "living imagination," or of a "magical imagination." The possibility of some yogic or

magical feats, which the modern world considers to be fictitious, presupposes a human type in whom this faculty of living imagination has been developed to a degree unknown to most Westerners.7 A high degree of imagination may still be found among primitive societies and in some uneducated people living in the countryside, as a residue from ancient times (primitive people should be considered the degenerate remnants of an even older humanity). In the case of the average "civilized" Westerner, on the contrary, such a faculty has become greatly atrophied, parallel to the predominance that abstract thought and intellectuality have gained among them. This phenonemenon is related to a structural modification of the peculiar relationship between the sympathetic system and the brain, or better, the deeper strata of the brain. The forms in which a vivid imagination is habitually found in many people do not concern sadhana because they are passive forms. This is what happens in dreams and in hypnotic phenomena. Any person who dreams automatically demonstrates a possession, at least potentially, of the faculty to imagine and to visualize, although the person cannot activate, use, and direct that faculty at will.

The same goes for hypnotic phenomena. In a hypnotic state almost everyone appears to possess, at least in potency, an imagination similar to the living and magical imagination, although it displays itself only when the conscious personality is suspended and when the imagination is activated by another person, namely, the hypnotist. We should make the same considerations concerning the activation of the imagination by special substances, such as marijuana and

hallucinogenic drugs, in the course of a limited time span. These substances merely induce chaotic visions. Only with the aid of particular substances, and with the categorical requirements of a special preparation and of a favorable "personal equation," may the results be different. We shall learn in due time that the secret ritual of the viras includes the use of intoxicating beverages. And again, only at special times and with the obvious motivation of exculpating themselves from the charge of indulging in orgies, the viras claim that the goals that they pursue in the course of various ceremonies are the enlivenment of the imagination and the im

provement of the visualization of images, especially those of devatas. In these cases, intoxicating beverages play only an auxiliary role. The essential purpose of their ritual use does not bear a relation to the specific problem being here considered, namely, that of the awakening of the imagination when that faculty is absent from the very beginning. This essential purpose consists in the induction of a state that in ancient Greece was known by a term carrying a positive connotation, mania. This state was characterized by a "divine enthusiasm" and by a feeling of rapture similar to that experienced in Dionysianism and in the Dionysian use of wine and of sacred orgies for initiatory purposes. When it is a matter of training and of developing a faculty

that is partially present, some methods are indicated, such as recollection. One should first focus on an object located before one's eyes, and then try, after closing the eyes, to see it only with the mind's eye. In a following exercise, after opening the eyes, one should see the object "out there" in space, as if it were a real thing.8 In all likelihood, many psychiatrists would consider this exercise as a way to induce hallucinations. In so doing,

however, they would miss the main point: what are being propitiated through this method are not compulsive and involuntary processes, as in the case of real hallucinations. Usually, the result being sought is exactly the opposite of becoming a victim of one own's imagination. We may also consider cases such as a sudden enlightenment, for instance, the one experienced, in the case of physical sight, by the surgical removal of cataracts. The cause of such an experience may be the adding up of imponderable factors until they reach a critical breaking point, or even a successful contact with certain

supernatural influences, which confer to the phenomenon an initiatory meaning. This is what apparently happened to Gustav Meyrink, the author of interesting novels with initiatory overtones. Meyrink had practiced yogic techniques for a long time without satisfactory results, because he used to think with words, like many other intellectuals, and was unable to see figures, forms, and colors through the mind's eye. Meyrink had given up those techniques when one day, finding himself in a peaceful state of mind before a winter landscape, he had a vision: he saw in the sky a figure in the characteristic crossed-legs posture that is attributed to Buddha. That was for him the sudden, miraculous opening of the mind's eye. He felt like a horse who had started to gallop after sleepily walking along for a long time. As far as visualizations are concerned, the Tibetan Tantras

distinguish two procedures. The first is the sudden "projection" of the whole image, which is compared to a fish darting out of water. The second is gradual; the image is composed a part at a time, since each part, or each attribute in the case of a personified ritual image, must act almost as if it were added fuel, which intensifies the mental fire.9 The importance of the imagination consists in being the necessary instrument, allowing one to move on the subtle plane. Some people, through the intensity of their imagination and their power of concentration on a single image, eventually become removed from physical perceptions and from the sense of their own bodies and come to "see" only through their inner light. To these people it is given to enter in contact with forces that belong to the order of things that includes the "mental body" and the "body of life," as well as things such as "names," "seals," and "elements," which I have mentioned when dealing with the Tantric worldview. The entire cult, in the evocative sense found at the highest levels of Tantrism, consists of animations caused by the power of the magical and living imagination. The same can be said about the bodily postures (asanas) and the

ritual gestures (mudras). We may apply here the Tantric principle according to which the human Shiva is almost paralyzed and unable to act, unless he is connected with this Shakti. A particular application of the power of visualization concerns what in China has been called "to act without acting." For clarity's sake let us refer to our own bodies. As we all know, there are two ways to move the body; one way is direct, through an order transmitted by the brain. The other is indirect, flowing out of a reflex, and is induced by an idea, through the imagination. An example of the latter may be the physiological and mimic rebound caused in a spectator by the sight of a trapeze artist's sudden fall. Another example is the physiological phenomenon of

sexual arousal, which may be induced by evoking in one's mind erotic scenes. These examples, as well as many others, testify to an "effortless" aspect of the imagination that controls movement, and that should be distinguished from the muscular-volitive action, which is capable of reaching domains precluded to the latter. A particular importance is given to the development of this faculty, since it may affect various domains; the faculty of moving or of determining things through an act of the mind, with "imagescommands," effortlessly and without recourse to what may be called one's jivalike physical will. A relation may be eventually

established with the notion of vajra, the "diamond thunderbolt" which Tibetan Buddhism employs in its operating procedures. Let us now deal with the second fundamental instrument, represented by the capability of unifying and focusing the mind.

UNIFICATION OF THE MIND

It is easier to achieve results through unifying the mind than through visualization. In yoga manuals, Patanjali's included, we find the outline of a corresponding gradual discipline.10 The starting point is usually represented by five states of mind: 1. Unstable, changing, wavering (ksipta-chitta) 2. Inattentive, confused (mudha) 3. Occasionally focused (vikshipta) 4. Gathered in only one spot (ekagriya or ekagrata) 5. Completely mastered (niruddha)

The first two states are found predominantly in the common person, in the pashu. Rather than thinking, such a person "is thought"; various impressions arise, develop, create patterns, proliferate, and eventually disappear within him in a kaleidoscopic vortex over which he has little or no control, and by which he is carried. A well-known Hindu simile is that of a monkey that is difficult to catch, since it ceaselessly jumps from branch to branch. The third state (vikshipta), even though it belongs to ordinary life, is a different case. There are situations in which the mind successfully concentrates and

remains alert for a short while, as in the case of watching a theater production, or reading something interesting, or being absorbed in a certain feeling or preoccupation, or trying to solve a problem or to recognize a sound, or remembering something, and so on. This state, too, is not a positive one. Here, in fact, what takes place is a "passive attentiveness," since it is the object itself, or a given interest, that originates the momentary concentration. Anyone will agree with me, simply by trying to concentrate on something that he considers absolutely irrelevant to his life; after a minute or two, he will catch his mind wandering somewhere else. Only in the fourth state, in which one actively concentrates on one spot (ekagriya), does the mind begin to be a useful instrument for yoga and for sadhana in general. This state, however, is not easy to achieve. When the Hindu texts describe ekagriya as something that is naturally presupposed in the disciple or in their readers,

they should not be misunderstood; one may achieve ekagriya only through perseverance and tireless application. The discipline that is employed consists in reducing to a minimum the role that the first two states play in ordinary life. This is done in order to bring about a stable and continuous selfawareness, as well as a methodical de-identification with the sensations (vrittis), and also with the fluctuating and mobile contents of inner and outer experiences. The goal is achieved when the passive and scattered states are removed, and they cease to be habitual states of consciousness; at this point, the obtuse

coalescence of the I with mental modifications has finally been overcome. The following are the recommended initial exercises that lead to de-identification. With a calm mind, leave thoughts to themselves. Witness the sight of various mental associations being formed spontaneously and capriciously, without losing your self-awareness; do not disturb them, but do not let them carry you away. Carefully avoid entertaining or developing any thought that solicits your imagination. It may be useful to reformulate mentally the thoughts that knock at your mind's doors, by saying: "So there! Now I

have this thought, and previously I have entertained that thought," and so on. Since, at the beginning, it often happens that the mind wanders off, when that happens, one should not go on. Instead of starting from the very last thought, one should rather attempt to reconstruct the path of the fleeing thoughts that have preceded the last thought, and then start again from the point in which one enjoyed selfawareness. Some texts refer to this technique as

the "shepherd's exercise." One's inner attitude resembles that of a shepherd who leads his flock to the pasture and lets it roam free, without ever losing sight of it. The positive result is achieved - this too is an image found in the texts - when one experiences a feeling similar to the one experienced by a calm person who sits on the bank of a river and watches the water flow by. The same result is achieved through another method, the socalled cutting-off method. One must remain alert and suppress every thought and mental image, as soon as it surfaces in the mind, just as a quick, clean slash with a sickle easily mows down a blade of grass. Whenever a new thought surfaces, it should be dealt with the same way. After a while, if one successfully persists, he will eventually witness a sort of flight of thoughts and images; this is the "view of the fleeing enemy," which is contingent on the I be

coming detached from the contents of its own consciousness. One will thus find himself in the same final condition arrived at in the previous exercise, experiencing the peaceful state of mind of one who sits by a river's bank, watching the water flow by.11 These exercises ought to be applied eventually to ordinary situations, which are particularly plagued by associative automatisms. I am referring to mental contents that take form and succeed one another while one is traveling from one place to another, or while eating, getting dressed, and so on. These contents are habitually consumed moment by moment, and the subject is rarely aware of them (the proof is that if one suddenly halts the mental flow, he will hardly remember what he was thinking about just moments ago). An analogous de-identification is postulated in regard not only to mental modifications but to emotional states as well. The task here is

much more difficult. It consists in objectifying and looking at one's own feelings and emotions, as if in a mirror. The path that leads the apprentice, little by little, to the goal does not consist in taking upon oneself the most recent feelings, emotions, or impulses, not even as they occur, but it consists in assuming those past ones, which arose in different circumstances. They are to be regarded with calm and detachment, as if they were somebody else's. This is done by imagining them to arise, develop, and become transformed into another person, for whom we care little. Thus, slowly, one becomes

inclined to adopt the same attitude even regarding analogous present states.12 At this level, one should experience as natural and normal the following realizations of sadhana: a calm presence unto oneself, the dissociation of the I from chittavrittis, and a remarkable reduction of the ksipta-chitta and of the mudha-chitta states. This yoga training is the necessary antecedent to the practice of classical yoga, according to the doctrine expounded in Patanjali's Yoga-Sutras and eventually clarified in several commentaries to riis work. This yoga is a system in itself; generally speaking, the techniques

expounded in it are believed to be sufficient to lead the apprentice to total liberation, at least according to one of its interpretations, which was heavily influenced by Sankhya. When considering the classical phases of mental concentration and of yogic contemplation, I will not put the emphasis on classical yoga's perspectives (the subject matter of this book, after all, is Tantrism) and on their actualization. I believe in fact, that they merely constitute a necessary instrument to sadhana in general; they also happen to

foster the living imagination, which I have already discussed. The power I am going to discuss has been called samyama, and it develops through some phases of sadhana that I want to describe briefly. I had mentioned previously that it approximately corresponds to the acquisition of a power that in some European philosophical circles is called "intellectual intuition." This intuition consists in the identification of knowing and being beyond the external, sensible, mental, and phenomenal forms that are encountered in ordinary experiences. The first phase of the process of realization, pratyahara, is the actualization of the mind's de-identification from various impressions and stimuli. The object is to gather the mind in itself, in its substance, through the power of excluding, at will, sensory impressions and mental modifications. The theory behind it is not that one sees through the eye or hears through the ear, but that it is the manas that sees through the eye, hears through the ear, and so on. Thus it is possible for the manas to withdraw from these

sensory organs. It withdraws, in the first place, in order to focus the mind on an inner object; second, in order to perceive sensations and feelings in their true nature; and last, in order to achieve a state analogously called "silent." As far as the second state is concerned, I have already mentioned this power when speaking of the stripping of passions and emotions, which is practiced in the Path of the Left Hand. The term employed in yoga to define

mental modifications is vritti. The assumption behind this term is that in the course of the habitual identification of the I with its experiences, the subject perceives only weak reflections, while the real source of the corresponding processes is to be found in one's heart. That the Chinese ideogram for "thought" is the same as that for "heart" may or may not be related to this, or may be a faint echo. Something of this sort is also documented in the ancient Egyptian language. When the mind, through pratyahara, withdraws inside itself, it is said that ideas and thoughts may be perceived in a flash of pure energies that are issued from a central part of the body and that strike the brain. After all, this is suggested by the term vritti, which does not literally mean "modification," "state," or "form," but rather "whirlwind" or "vortex." Thus, in relation to the abovementioned experience, the Tantric Tibetan texts describe thoughts as meteorites, or as flying arrows, and even as flashes.13 As far as the "silent" state pursued by manas is concerned, it is the state in which the spirit calmly rests within itself. We may

think of the relationship between the I and thought as being analogous to the relationship between the I and speech. As silence ordinarily consists in refraining from talking and in not activating speech, likewise, one should refrain here from activating thought and keep it still and gathered. The various thoughts that follow one another in ordinary life might be compared to talking instinctively and randomly. In pratyahara, through a calm action, talking chaotically is suspended: one remains silent, experiencing the mind's inner silence. Such a silence usually precedes and follows every session of sadhana. The second phase of the process of realization, dharana, may be considered a development of ekagriya. The stasis of the mind gathered in itself is shattered, and the spirit now focuses on only one object, excluding everything else, including sensory impressions, thoughts, and causal mental associations. In order to distinguish dharana from ekagriya, which consists in the mind focusing on only one place, it is necessary to relate dharana to the third and following phase of the process of realization, which is called dhyana; this third phase has a noetic character and a cognitive penetration of the chosen object. In itself, dharana is sometimes thought of as a process facilitating hypnosis, since it is believed to neutralize thought and to free purely spiritual energy, which is thus enabled to act without being bound to the senses. Thus, Vyana suggests that the places that may be the basis of dharana are the top of the head, the navel, the tip of the nose, the roof of the palate, or even an external object or sound.14 Obviously, the process of isolating oneself from external impressions, like hypnosis, is just a means to an end. Yoga has absolutely nothing to do with any hypnotic or trancelike state. Yoga, on the contrary, pursues a greater consciousness and a higher than normal clearheadedness. Another possibility, always within the context of

dharana, consists in assuming the same object, image, symbol, or phenomenon chosen for the following phase, or dhyana, as the basis or the support for the neutralization of thoughts. What will ensue is some kind of continuity, and the passage from a merely technical phase to a phase of spiritual realization. One should not attempt, at first, to neutralize those thoughts that are connected to the brain and to one's detachment from external factors. One should rather consider that the total absorption of the I into the object to be disclosed leads automatically to the spirit's release from all bonds. The third phase of the process of realization, dhyana, is the third articulation (anga) of classical yoga. It consists in the assimi

lation and in the actual interiorization of the object that is contemplated. Here, the absolute unity and continuity of the mental current is especially stressed. According to a simile that I have already employed, this current resembles a solar ray, which a lens focuses on the same spot, without interruption, at the right distance, until the object situated in the mind catches fire. This therefore has nothing to do with hypnotic suggestion - which can only be, as I have said, an auxiliary and subordinated tool - but is rather an essentially intellectual and suprarational process. The object must be penetrated in all of its aspects and examined from every possible perspective, letting it say what it is in its essence. One will then be able to perceive it in its unity and in a synthesis that regards its existence as secondary. Another image that may be employed is that of a welding torch aimed at one spot

until the metal melts. The metal, in this case, symbolizes what in the object is external, sensible, or perceived by the imagination. The fourth and last phase is called samadhi. If we employ again the simile of the welding torch, samadhi would correspond to the moment in which the fusion takes place. In it, the idam element (= otherness) of the object is finally removed. Also, the cognitive act and the object of contemplation cease to be distinct, just as a

difference cannot be established between the image of a thing and its essence. We are here projected beyond the sensible world of phenomena, beyond the subjective world of thoughts and of simple imaginations. The element called "form" is eliminated, and what remains is the essence (artha) of a thing, or the power (shakti) of a thing, figure, or symbol. What remains is the power of what was placed in the "fire" of the process, which is now revealed to the

apprentice, in a direct and eminently objective experience. The term samadhi is used prevalently in the context of jnana yoga. Tantrism, on the other hand, employs more frequently the term bhava, which has a technical meaning (otherwise bhava may signify "nature," "disposition," or "state"). Bhava is said to be the essential organ in Shakti's dimension, since the shakti of everything that appears as "other" is revealed only through it. Without bhava, according to the Kauvali-Tantra, it is impossible to acquire a high degree of competence in the kaulas' doctrine. One text declares that whoever is capable of realizing a perfect bhava does not need anything else, since he already possesses the organ for the real knowledge of Shakti. It is only natural that such a state may be difficult to understand for those who have never experienced it, one way or another. It is said: "How can the true nature of bhava be expressed

in words? Bhava cannot be described. Words can only indicate the direction in which it is to be found." There are various degrees in the process of spiritual realization, depending on the object that has been chosen. If the basis consists in an object of sensory experience, in order to arrive at bhava it is necessary to go through a double process of abstraction. At first the object, as it is perceived by the senses, is excluded; once every other representation of this object is excluded through pratayahara, what remains is only an image. Once this image is contemplated and animated in one's inner light, this very support, or facsimile, is abolished, in the same way that physical perception was suppressed. The consequence is the arising of some kind

of secondary reflection, which is formless and immaterial, and from which bhava eventually develops. Bhava corresponds to the "formless" or "causal" plane (arupa, karana), while the previous reflection, which may be attributed to the phase of dhyana, corresponds to the subtle plane. When the starting point is not a physical object but an inner object, namely, an image, a feeling, and so forth, such a starting point consists in the neutralization of the outer

sensibility; what is left are the two remaining phases. Commentators on Patanjali's Yoga-Sutras distinguish various degrees of samadhi. The reference point consists in the state in which the object, the concept, or the representation appears radically distinct from its name. The lower form of samadhi (or bhava's samadhi) is one in which the concept and its name still subsist, and both of them are conditioned by a specific existence, culture, language, and time period. Thus the real nature of the object is still hidden behind a veil. This nature is grasped in the higher form of samadhi, called nirvitarka. In

this form the object is stripped of any association with names and with concepts, through an intensification of the intellectual fire, and is also stripped of the same relationship with a specific being's I. Therefore, it is penetrated into the essential nakedness of its own nature (svarupa). We may say that, in this context, the magic of maya, in the Vedantic understanding of the word, is shattered. Therefore, the human sight participates in the nature of Shiva's sight; Shiva, with his symbolic frontal ("cyclopic") eye, destroys everything that in the manifestation clothes and covers nescience. A parallel to this notion may be found in the ancient Greek notion of the "Olympian stare," or nous, to which the higher reality of the so-called kosmos noetos is revealed over and beyond the world of phenomena. The yogic technical term samyama

is employed to describe the whole process, which includes dharana, dhyana, and samadhi. If samyama is applied to sensible objects, the bhava state, in its perfection, may put the apprentice in direct and experimental contact with the transcendental elements and with the principles of the senses and of the sensible objects (tanmatras and mahabhutas).15 These contacts correspond either to as many forms of knowledge-enlightenment (prajna) or to perceiving faculties, which are not conditioned by the body's organs.16 Mention is made of the possibility of seeing without eyes, touching without hands, hearing without ears, arriving without departing, and so on.17 In the third book of the Yoga-Sutras these various possibilities of samyama are described in detail. It must be acknowledged that the term samyama may be used to refer to an extraordinary and enlightening knowledge both of the powers and of the essences

that are manifested in the external world, and also of those powers and essences whose manifestation habitually takes place within the realm of feelings and emotions. Samyama may also be focused on powers and entities that are found on planes and on existential levels having no immediate correspondence to ordinary human experiences. In this case the basis for the process of disclosure consists in symbols, figures, sounds, and signs, which are described by various esoteric traditions. The magical procedures of Tantric rituals and of hatha yoga are essentially based on this material, which is described in esoteric traditions and which is outlined in a direct teaching. I hope that my exposition of the articulations of classical yoga has helped the reader to believe in the existence of processes that are properly ordained to the supreme goal and that consist in the liberation of the I and in the deconditioning of one's being (Tantrism follows a different path from that of hatha yoga). Several forms of samadhi must be distinguished. The faculty necessary to make this distinction is attributed to the highest of these forms. This form is not applied to particular objects or goals; it no longer has any "support"; and it is ordained only to the knowledge-realization of atma. As far as my research is concerned, I shall focus only on those elements concerning the formation

of a working tool; such, in fact, is the power of samyama in an elementary and approximate form, since it feeds the mental fire in order to promote the development of an extrasensory perception. In regard to hatha yoga, one of the first applications of this instrument concerns one's own body. The goal is to gradually

acquire a subtle perception of it and of the forces acting in it. One of the misunderstandings that the yoga practiced in the West has generated is to believe in the existence of physical methods leading to spiritual realizations. This is absolutely preposterous; when the Hindu texts speak about the

physique, they are actually referring to something very different from what our contemporaries, especially modern Europeans, mean by that term. One of its obvious premises, which does not even need to be enunciated, is that a yoga apprentice's body was, and still is to a greater extent, penetrated by the I, and that it was, or still is, more intimate and disclosed to the I in its subtle dimension. Thus even the physical procedures considered by yoga have implications that are not merely physical. In any event, exercises promoting an intense concentration are indicated. These exercises focus on functions,

organs, or particular areas of the body in order to systematically expand one's consciousness by moving into the organic unconscious. The result is the dematerialization and the shift onto a subtle plane of what is commonly called coenesthesia (the overall sensation of the organism). Breathing is particularly important in all this, considering the role it plays in almost every form of yoga, especially in kundalini yoga. The effectiveness of the control of breathing (pranayama) presupposes a contact with the subtle dimension; what truly matters in yogic practice, with the exception of exercises found in mere physical yoga, is the breath that is the life force (prana), and not breath in its coarse form (sthula). Training consists in lying down,

relaxing, and waiting for breath, once completely abandoned to itself, to assume a regular rhythm, "as in a sleeping child." At this time, one should begin to progressively concentrate on one's breathing. According to the texts, the sensation of prana is analogous to that of a diffused light; it may generate the feeling of warmth in the following phase, when this interiorization shifts from the breathing function to the related function of blood circulation.18 At this phase, one's level of consciousness has already shifted. We shall learn how in yoga, one's breath is considered a vehicle to go from ordinary waking consciousness to deeper forms of consciousness, which are kept hidden from common people by the dreaming state and by various levels of sleep. This

consciousness is thought to be the way to enter within one's body, to experience that life which is usually beyond and outside one's reach. This descent takes place in a natural way every night when we fall asleep, or better, when we yield to sleep. But ordinary consciousness is not able to keep up with this change of

state and of level; it is barred from entering it, as if it was guarded by a stern angel standing by the Tree of Life.19 Only when the power of abstraction and of contraction has developed beyond a certain level may this situation be partially modified. Some forms of meditation are suggested as a starting point. I will just mention one of them. At night, before going to sleep, one should visualize a sun that gradually rises above the horizon until it reaches all of its splendor in the middle of a fully lit sky. The image should be vivid and filled with the feeling of one's being elevated, opening up, and

becoming illuminated. One should also think that such a mental image corresponds to what will really take place in the deep of the night, when that midnight sun, known also to ancient Western mysteries, shines with all its radiance. The zenith of this sun should be conceived as the point in which one's identification with the light and with a sense of liberation has become perfect. One should then try to fall asleep right away, before other images or other thoughts may crop up in the mind. Early in the morning, once completely awake, one should image the midnight sun and make it descend from its zenith to its setting (which in this inversion corresponds to the rising of the sun). One should also feel that the light that fades away when the physical daily

light begins to shine, lights up within one's self and keeps shining during one's waking state. In this fashion, one generates a sense of a light opposite to that which shines in the natural world and which allows the physical eyes to see. Such a practice is believed to enhance the subtle perception of one own's body and life as well as an initial integration of consciousness in a state that corresponds to sukshma-sharira. This is the beginning of a process that renders one's body subtle; what ensues is a particular feeling of freshness and lightness. The tamasic element begins to be substituted by the tejasic element (tejas = radiating energy). In a later phase of the same nocturnal and morning contemplation, the light should eventually be turned into warmth.

This warmth, as one approaches samyama, should dissipate and leave as the only residue, in a cold brilliance, a bare, solar, absolute "I am."20 In the practice with prana it is important to try to gradually feel this warmth within the whole body, during inspiration and retention (more or less prolonged) of breath. The texts say that one should feel prana, the inner breath, as a tingling sensation on the palms of the hands and on the soles of the feet.21 In the context of pranic sensation of one's body, the special objects of practice are the

five vayus, currents or breaths, which I discussed in Chapter IV. Obviously, for this kind of experience it is necessary to be in contact with a depository of the corresponding traditional teachings. The definitions of the five vayus in the texts are complicated and often divergent, and therefore it is difficult to adopt a corresponding sadhana. The teachings concerning the sushumna, ida, and pingala, which I shall introduce later, are more univocal. In

some Tibetan yoga texts dealing with the experience of the "bright light" (hodgsal), one may find an intensification of practice through the contemplation of the nocturnal sun. This experience corresponds to the experience of the subtle state, which is encountered "in the interval between the end of the experience of the waking state and the beginning of the sleeping state." When ready to go to sleep, one must assume the "lion posture," which was also recommended by early Buddhism. In it, one lies on the right side. With the mind, one must move to the middle seat, corresponding to the heart.22 In this

seat one should be open to every reflection from the outside world, every image, every residual thought, until one reaches a state of calm concentration. The procedure outlined in the Tantric Tibetan texts is very complex and consists of several visualizations. First is the visualization of Shakti, which one should identify with one own's body. Next is the visualization of a fourpetaled lotus flower in the heart, with the five mantras inscribed, the first in the middle, the others on the four petals (in order to position these sacred syllables correctly, the apprentice, facing north, will put AH on the northern petal, NU on the eastward petal, TA on the southward petal, and RA on the westward petal). The letters must be well written, bright, and shining. When sleep approaches, the calm and concentrated mind will go from one mantra to the next, and finally it will settle in the middle, on HUM, journeying along the Tibetan sign, moving from the bottom upward, and eventually landing in the little crescent and in the circle located at its upper corner; this circle, in this graphic symbol, represents shunya, "emptiness" or transcendence.23 All of the mantras are visualized in the form of Tibetan letters and not in their transcription in the Western alphabet. Whether they have any objective effectiveness or not is strictly contingent on the level of spiritual awareness found in a Tibetan person.

The unanimous consent is that the bright light is found in the middle seat. The text to which I just referred calls the ensuing change of state, when sleep supervenes, "ignition," and calls the point of deep sleep, which corresponds to a further change of state,

"completion." If consciousness could follow all these phases, it too would experience that absolute light which dazzles after death.24 The state of ignition mentioned in the text visibly corresponds to the warm phase, which we indicated as that into which runs, through intensification, the bright perception of the subtle state. A more simplified practice, which a Tantric Buddhist text indicates, consists in imagining one own's body as the body of Buddha Vajrasattva (whose substance is vajra, the "diamond thunderbolt") and in focusing the mind on the calm, empty state when one is about to fall asleep. It is interesting to notice the counterpart at the time of the awakening: in it, one should evoke "Shiva's two-sided drum," which echoes in the middle of the sky, proclaiming the words of power of the twenty-four heroes (divine figures of the Tibetan pantheon). When one emerges from the sleep state "in this state of the divine body," each surrounding thing should be considered as a sign or symbol (mandala) of itself, as Vajrasattva. A cosmic and powerful feeling arises as a consequence of practice when it is successful in establishing a communication of the waking consciousness with the

superindividual consciousness that is buried in the sleeping state. This is not without relation to the formulation found in another text, which talks about the "shining of a bright light over the path followed during the day." This shining represents the insertion of the luminous, subtle consciousness in the various forms of sadhana. At that point the flux of mental formations stops and generates enlightened moments. One text describes the "unobscured, primordial condition of the mind, which shineth in interval between the cessation of one thought-formation and the birth of the next."25 Having previously

considered teachings and practices concerning the body, I will now explain the meaning of the so-called asanas that are found in yoga. These are postures conferring to the body maximum stability and producing a feeling of well-being, so that one may retain them for a long time, remaining still, without effort and without getting tired. There are many asanas - the texts mention thirty of them. The most employed ones are padma-asana and siddha-asana. The latter differs from the former in that in padmaasana the feet, instead of simply lying one upon the other, are intertwined; the right foot rests on the left thigh, next to the groin, with the sole facing upward; the left foot rests on the right thigh, in an analogous way. Usually asanas are associated with mudras, signs or gestures that are given the meaning of "seals" (this is the literal meaning of the term mudra). Two mudras often associated 90

with the two aforesaid asanas are (1) the gesture of the hands resting on the knees with the tip of the thumb touching the tip of the index finger, thus forming a circle, while the other fingers are extended; and (2) the hands are overlapping, horizontally, the right hand over the left, at the height of the navel, palms facing upward. Sometimes the term mudra is used as if synonymous with asana. There are three kinds of asanas; a coarse (sthula) mudra, a subtle (sukshma) mudra, and a supreme (para) mudra. The first is executed with the aid of physical limbs; in the second, a "word of power" (mantra) matches

the gesture; the last is a seal that is realized even in its metaphysical substance. In the Bhavonopanishad (21-24) various mudras (= asanas) are associated with various chakras, or occult centers, more on which later.26 When I said that asanas are natural, pleasant, and effortless body postures, this must be understood in a relative sense. They may become so once the subject gets used to them, which may take a long time (especially for people who are not Indians, since people from India are accustomed to using similar postures even in ordinary life). The most important aspect in the employment of asanas and especially of mudras is a ritualistic and magical one. First of all, asana may be considered a further development of a preliminary discipline,

which consists in the suppression of unnecessary and random movements and in the full control of one's nerves and muscles. The yogin eliminates fluttering and disorderly thoughts (which are the first two stages of chitta), as well as any instinctive, untidy gesture, stemming from a natural desire to communicate.27 He is reserved and carries no trace on his face of either thoughts or feelings, by virtue of exercising a total control of the facial

muscles until he reaches the typically Aryan imperturbability of a statue. Asanas are designed to promote a similar imperturbability in the entire body. This is not all. When it is said that asanas may be grasped in their true nature only through a guru, a spiritual teacher, it is implied that what really matters in them is the meaning of the gesture and the symbolic-ritualistic meaning of the posture. This is because through it, as Mircea Eliade correctly remarked, man tends to incarnate a god, to become transformed into its image, if not almost into its statue, or to reproduce a given aspect of it. Thus asanas are not without relation to the Tantric yoga habit of identifying one's body with the body of a given deity (devata) at the beginning of every practice session. The starting point is a vivified and somewhat magical image, which the bodily gesture ritually

reproduces. On this basis, in the body's stillness there is something almost magical,28 while various relationships between the prank currents in the body and the forces found in nature are reproduced in the various postures. The "seal," in this context, represents the closing of a circuit, which determines a specific fluid state. Also, this theory of the asanas has a parallel in the hieratic stillness attested to in several ancient Western traditions. In the

doctrine concerning the ancient Egyptian kingship, for instance, stability and stillness (expressed by the hieroglyphic ded) were conceived as a real, supernatural fluid flowing within the king's veins. In the classical mysteries thronismos, the ritual of sitting perfectly still on a throne was so important as to present close ties with initiation and with identification with the god.29 In yoga, too, these ideas can be found, both as a gesture of the body, expressing an inner meaning, and as a higher meaning that animates and magically supports a gesture of the body. This applies also to some aspects of mudras, in which case the term gesture has a more specific meaning, since the term mudra may also designate an action, a particular operation, that is considered in its unity and always in terms of a "seal."