The Siddhi of a Sober Mind

Clouds can hang dark and low in the Kathmandu Valley.  It can feel somber there and a bit chilly even in August after a string of thoroughly wet days, and especially nights of heavy rain.  On the particular morning in question it looked like the weather and the general mood would turn out pretty much along the same lines as yesterday and day before yesterday: darkness, downpours & all quiet in Boudha – except of course for the honking on Mahankal Road and the kids in Sunshine School next door, who during break time with unchanging regularity erupted into what sounded like a thousand boys and girls running, screaming, laughing, playing.  Not only did they not mind they rain, they loved it. 

And yes, there would be a dakini tsok at Rinpoche’s, and I would need to attend, as I had just finished three months of intense practicing in four daily sessions, as they say in Indian English: ‘under him’.  According to Indian understanding and probably Tibetan thinking, too, one is always ‘under’ a teacher, not ‘with’ a teacher.  I have no problem with the hierarchy of values involved in this particular use of preposition but even today it sounds funny to my ears and mind.  

In this case, however, not only was attending a must, I also had already cooked the tsok meat for the feast because Kunzang Dorje found my marinated buff (as in buffalo) sausage preparation irresistible.  And as long as I was going to be there, which would be about two more weeks, naturally I would offer it to him whenever he would ask for it.  In addition to the meat I had purchased a liter bottle of Jamison Irish whiskey, which I likewise intended to offer.  Although Kunzang Dorje in his long life by then had already completed over 35 years in strict retreat (of course not in one go) he had always also been a true householder Ngakpa of the white robed lineage, meaning: fond of alcohol.

So there I was at his doorstep shortly before eight in the morning, as the puja would inevitably start exactly on the hour.  I put the tsok meat and other offerings on the shrine, including the Jamison.  Anila, his wife, did not look too happy when she saw this.  She never was fond of Rinpoche drinking, as she had to sometimes suffer the consequences of his irascible temper when fueled by booze.  And in order to make sure she would not snatch and hide it somewhere, I had tied a white scarf around the bottle’s neck, which transformed it into a formal gift to the Lama and thereby was declared off limits for anyone but him. 

Yet, when I saw her face, the sense was that the scarf might not be sufficient to deter her from taking corrective action.  I needed to dedicate the gift to the Lama in front of everyone.  So after prostrating I said something like, “I know that whiskey is not good for your health, and I agree with Anila on this point but I also know that you enjoy drinking.  Furthermore, I have never seen you drunk, although I have seen you playacting the drunk. I am offering you this bottle so that we can celebrate this feast, as we should, and it is my wish that only good will come of it.”  This was translated for Rinpoche.  He didn’t speak a word of English, although I knew that when he wanted, he could read everyone’s mind, like you and I read the newspaper

As I took my seat, I was surprised to hear him answer, also through the translator. He said that “what I had observed was true, it was not the alcohol that made us drunk.  It is always and only the mind that makes us drunk.”  This being stated rather cryptically, Rinpoche signaled the umdze to start with the ceremony.  From eleven to two, we had a long lunch break and then after lunch started with the tsok part of the puja.  When we reached the point when the amrita or dutsi (in the form of blessed and transformed alcohol) is offered first to the vajramaster and then to everyone present, Rinpoche interrupted the proceedings and ventured to explain, speaking to me again,  “It is indeed not alcohol that makes us drunk, but our minds, and now I will prove this to you.  You and I will share this bottle.  We will empty it together, half I half you. “  No inner comment arose in my mind, like “come on, half a liter of Jamison and I’ll be under the table.”  To my surprise, without this thought even forming, I just kept an open mind and took him by his word.

It happened as he said it would.  He was one of the greatest storytellers that I have ever known, and while we all were sharing the tsok feast, he told some of his outrageous tales (I think it was about some confused yogi from Rinpoche’s home area in Tibet who was so eminently clever as to chase after some elusive fox that he totally forgot that he had actually wanted to go into retreat and practice).  All the while Rinpoche had his and my glasses filled in between, and kept on speaking, laughing, gesticulating – in short: he acted exactly like Kunzang Dorje sometimes did during such gathering when he was on a roll. 

The tsok concluded at around five.  The bottle was empty.  He and I both had had half a liter of whiskey – and he and I were stone sober.  And he made his point again. “Now, I have proven to you and you have experienced if for yourself that it is not the alcohol that makes us drunk.  It is only and only the mind.  If the mind is sober you’ll always be sober.” 

What he had said and what had happened did not sink in right away.  I was too busy to make arrangements to go out for dinner with friends who had also attended the tsok and witnessed everything.  We went to the Radisson, where I had two margueritas on top of the Jamison and a few beers over some pasta dish or whatever I ate.  I only remember that the conversation was lively, the food typical non-descript, i.e. tasteless hotel fare – and it became so chilly on the roads and in the room that they turned on the heating in the dining area. 

Only when I went to bed at Rinpoche’s house at around eleven the same night did I ask myself, “What the fuck happened today?  How come you had so much alcohol and absolutely feel no effect, not in the body (that typical sense of unease in my skin that I usually get when I had too much to drink), and not in the mind? No bloody sign of drunkenness whatsoever, not outside not inside.  What did he do?  And how did he do it?  Isn’t it amazing that Rinpoche, when he chooses, can not only have control over his own body and mind, but also over the body and mind of another (in this case what I usually would define as ‘my’ body and ‘my’ mind, obviously separate from his)?”

Anyway, this truly happened as it was told.  I leave it to the reader to draw their own conclusions.

What Do We Do When We Do NadiPrana?

The essential magic of how NadiPrana Buddhist yoga rearranges the patterning of the bodymind from ego’s claustrophobia, releasing all of the underlying insecurity into its own inherent space – exactly how this happens and when it happens, this cannot be pinpointed or defined.  However, we can describe the practical steps that need to be taken.  Following them will lead us into the open space, which is none other but our own mind’s inborn luminous space.

In other words, the question here is, what exactly do we do when we do NadiPrana? 

From the outside it may look like we are doing some postures, some slow (extremely slow) movements; we also appear to chant mantras occasionally and we sit in meditation – often briefly, and sometimes for longer periods of time.  This is in the most superficial of terms.  In order to describe the inwardly directed process, which is what precipitates the change, we need to be more precise.  In NadiPrana when focusing inward:

• We make contact with our own body, whether we move, chant or sit.  The body itself (not our thoughts about it or about anything else) becomes the main focus.  We stay with the body.  To begin with, awareness is purely and simply body awareness.
• As we are focusing on the body we actually are focusing on feeling what’s going on.  What do these physical sensations feel like that keep popping up?  We feel them, but we don’t necessarily label them, although we will also do that, as our minds are used to labeling.  In fact this is the only thing the mind usually does: labeling, and then judging.  Now we make the switch – from labeling and judging to feeling.
• When we focus on feeling, we may start to notice spots and areas of tension, physical discomfort, or even pain.  Instead or trying to make these go away, we focus on feeling the tension, the discomfort, the pain.  First, by habit, we may look at or feel, or describe the tension, the discomfort, the pain from the outside, as something that would exist outside the domain of our own conscious awareness.
• But then we allow awareness to make another switch.  We let awareness enter the tension, the discomfort, the pain.  We let awareness feel them from inside.  We are no longer outside the tension we are in it, inhabiting it.  And as we inhabit the tension, it can no longer be just a distraction, something that bothers us from the outside.
• In other words: the tension, the discomfort, the pain, can no longer exist outside the domain of our own conscious awareness.  Rather they are within the field of our conscious awareness.  And as a phenomenon inside our field of awareness, awareness can change them.  Tension no longer rules us.  Instead awareness gains the upper hand.
• As awareness gains the upper hand we may feel tension, discomfort and even pain start to melt.
• In other words, by directly noticing and feeling whatever is going on in the body, we begin to notice and feel how it never stays the same, how unsubstantial and fleeting, even fluid it is.  Feelings that are fluid, even malleable cannot be stuck in one rut.  Which infers that we don’t have to be stuck in one rut either.  We can be free.  We ARE free.

In short, in NadiPrana as in all Buddhist forms of yoga we feel fully embodied.  We move and meditate with the body, with the breath.

Through this inner process the body presents itself as the perfect gate into a much more open & liberating space, where concepts with their never ending and always-proliferating boundaries can never lead.