I’ve been thinking about something recently.

I’m not sure I ever explained why exactly did I do certain things in a certain way in my early yogic practice – all people know was that I did something, then I changed it, and I never explained my actual thinking behind the decisions.

You see, the way I started yogic practice was pretty interesting. I won’t go into great detail, but I had no guidance other than books, and my pretty advanced knowledge of autogenic training, so it was a given that I had to experiment in order to establish what actually works, in the sense of achieving presence of God, and transforming my consciousness and energy system in order to be able to bear God’s presence and eventually be God’s presence. The problem is, the books I had contained mostly the very general instructions, and not of the kind that actually had anything to do with yoga itself – it was mostly how one should behave, what kind of emotions to avoid and what kind to stimulate, be vegetarian, celibate, non-violent, kind, don’t do drugs, alcohol, don’t smoke and so on. It all sounded pretty much like standard religious moralizing, and I initially put it all in a “nice to know, but it’s not a cause-side but effect-side of any spiritual equation”. However, the texts that talked about yoga always talked about dangers of practice, and it was mostly “if your system is not pure enough, the increased energy level will either burn you up, or it will cause energy detours from the main nadis into the smaller ones, which will cause overloads and serious damage”. Since I initially had no experience with energy overloads of any kind, I filed this as “exaggerated”. That is, until I had an experience during meditation, where I didn’t actually “hear” the “OM sound”, it was more like feeling it with both body and mind, and it was something that felt so strong I really got scared that if it got stronger it might break me like a twig. At another instance, I had the experience of ananda, divine bliss, which was so strong that it felt like orgasm multiplied by a nuclear blast, and I’m not even exaggerating much here – it felt like something that could evaporate me if it got any stronger. You can imagine how I started taking the warnings very seriously after those two experiences. I also changed my approach to the things I couldn’t personally verify to “obey everything first” from “try to confirm everything first”. You see, the problem with the “try to confirm before obeying” is obvious – you might die, or at least experience some mode of failure. There were obviously all kinds of factors there that I didn’t understand, and since I worked from books alone without any personal guidance from anyone, after several very powerful experiences I decided it would be a very good idea to reduce my chances of sudden death or terrible failure by respectfully obeying all instructions given by authoritative persons, especially if the instructions overlap.

You see, yogis try to make yoga popular by saying it’s a spiritual science, but that’s not exactly true. It’s more of a proto-science, the way people experimented with herbs to figure out what’s poisonous, and what has medicinal properties. You experiment with something, you observe the results, but there’s a limit to what kind of experiments you can make and it never reaches the requirements for a proper science where you can isolate active compounds and test them in vitro and in vivo to figure out what does what exactly, and in what circumstances. The “gold standard” for yogic proto-science is “I did x and reached a spiritual experience, so if you try to reproduce x, you will also likely reach a spiritual experience”. The problem is, “x” is usually a complex thing. What did he actually do? He was a hermit who lived in some cave, ate whatever fruits and herbs he could find around, didn’t have sex, did some physical exercises, did some pranayama, did some prayers, chanted some mantra, visualized something from the scriptures, and some combination of the above worked and he experienced something transcendental. Not knowing what exactly worked and why, he passed it on to his students and told them to just do what he did, and it will work.

That’s not really science, but that’s what I had to work with. As I learned more, I could tweak things and isolate the active component of the practice, but the real question is, what would I recommend to a beginner from my current perspective? I was talking about vegetarianism with my wife, and explained why I was a vegetarian initially, and told her that I’m not sure I would be willing to gamble with someone’s life even now, by recommending any detours from the process I personally followed in the beginning, because there’s a serious difference between introducing things later on, as you have a volume of personal experience and power, and doing it in the beginning, when any deviation can cause either absence of experience altogether, or an experience so extreme it can either damage you, or cause such trauma that you will subconsciously try to avoid experiencing anything similar in the future. So, yes, I eat meat now, but would I recommend a beginner yogi to eat meat, as I do now, but not as I did when I was a beginner myself? You see my point? Yoga is not something where you can do whatever because none of it works anyway. The “problem” is that it very much works, but the exact parameters and circumstances vary so much between individuals that it’s safest to try to equalize most of it first, in order to reduce the number of variables. Also, the humility required for one to obey the guru and the tradition is also a factor that contributes to a good outcome of the practice, because it means that your energetic system is properly aligned. Arrogance is a symptom of dangerous misalignment, and contributes to bad outcomes. By arrogance I mean the attitude that you are in a position to second-guess the guru, and cherry-pick the stuff you’re going to obey or ignore. In the beginning, only absolute humility, respect and blind faith works, because you’re too ignorant to be able to make any judgment about anything. Only after you’re experienced, powerful and holy enough to have full mastery of something, to the point where you understand how things work, is when you can gradually change things, see what’s irrelevant, what can be done better, and what is actually harming your progress. An advanced yogi has such “density” and purity of his soul that he can rip through “reality” the way a supermassive black hole bends space around it. Stuff that could completely perturb a beginner is of no consequence to a master. That is not to say that a master has no problems at his own order of magnitude, but that is a different matter entirely; it’s comparable to Jesus having a problem bearing the sins of the world, and an ordinary person having a problem controlling their attention and avoiding distractions. To a master, a certain level of disturbance and impurity absorbed by the physical body is something he can perceive, wait until it passes, possibly repair the damage and proceed with whatever he was doing before. To a beginner, the same level of disturbance and impurity can distract him to the point where he completely loses his inner spiritual bearings, “forget” the spiritual content of a mantra and be unable to find his way again. Where a nuclear submarine might not care about the waves, a small sailing boat must pay utmost attention to the conditions of the sea. “Quod licet Iovi, non licet bovi” sounds very unpleasant to the egalitarian minds of today’s men, who might think it encourages moral relativism, but it is in fact a great truth. A great master of yoga can absorb and neutralize immense kinds of energetic damage, where a normal person’s soul will disintegrate on a mere contact with a problem orders of magnitudes weaker. A normal person would strive for years to attain darshan of spiritual states and substances that a master wields. At some points in my advanced practice, I actually practiced exposing myself to outside noise and interference to harden the inner core of my meditative state against it, with the result that I could do spiritual initiations in a crowded bar. A beginner must absolutely avoid this kind of interference and noise in order to establish the spiritual connection first, then slowly strengthen it, and then gradually introduce all kinds of noise to check his resistance, and even when you’re able to resist almost anything, it doesn’t mean that you should bathe in filth all day. Resisting harmful interference requires an expenditure of energy and effort that might be better used for something more constructive. However, trying to copy a master’s behavior rather than obey his instructions diligently is a very foolish thing for a student, because I can tell you with absolute certainty that a student is simply unable to understand the complexities behind the instructions, and trying to think about it is a wasted effort. For instance, Romana once came home completely disturbed, I took a look at her and told her to take a shower and wash her hair immediately. She resisted because it made no sense to her, at which I raised my voice and told her to obey me immediately. She did, and she felt much better, which is when I explained that she was under an astral attack by a malevolent person, and since she had all kinds of contaminants on her pranic body, the astral connection held on quite firmly, and the easiest way to break it was with water, because water for some reason binds well with prana and can break the impure structures away, allowing your spirit to create a fresh and pure layer, which is why ritual baths for spiritual purposes are so fundamental in Hinduism. I didn’t have the time to explain all this while she was under a foreign influence and taking damage, because her mind wasn’t working properly and talking to her would have been a wasted effort. However, when she obeyed my order, her condition improved and she came to her senses, which is when I could provide an explanation. This is why obedience is obligatory, and understanding is optional for a student of yoga. For a master, however, understanding appears as a result of practice, and becomes a foundation of his philosophy and teaching, but instinct informed by the inner spiritual connection with God is always the foundational mechanism of his decision-making.

When I was writing my last article, re-reading my first book made me think about all the things that changed since then, because my thought processes then were obviously different.

The thinking behind the “Approach” is, essentially, that God is the ultimate reality and the ultimate goal; the humans are generally unaware of this and are trapped in all kinds of illusions, and they should revise their ideas about life and its goals and meaning, because the goal is to not only be in the presence of God, but be a presence of God. Also, there is the implicit assumption that there isn’t much time, that this is an important and urgent matter, and there will be consequences for failure.

So, what changed?

In 1999, I felt the urgency to impart this message on as many people as possible, in order to move them in the right direction while the window of opportunity is still there. I would argue with them, try to convince them, explain things, show things by example. But now, I feel none of that urge anymore. It’s not that those who are already on the right path should despair because the window of opportunity has closed, but for quite a while now if you asked me what is it that I want to tell people, I would shrug and leave, because there’s literally nothing I have to say. That’s the thing about time and the horizon of choice. The time runs out, and the only thing that remains when you fall below the horizon of choice is to experience the consequences of the choices you made.

There’s something that crossed my mind last night that I want to put into words.

It’s about fault-finding.

The immediate context was spirituality; people seem to pre-condition being able to learn from someone by absolute perfection and absence of all kinds of flaws and errors, supposedly because they want to guard themselves against failure or wrong paths or whatever, and the logic is that if you find one flaw or error, you proved that this person is not perfect and you don’t have to learn from them.

What that actually means is that a person that really doesn’t want to learn can make sure they stay exactly where they are by trying very hard to find fault with every person that could possibly help them, and this interpretation is actually a very good approximation of my experience with such people, especially since their thinking vastly differs from what I, myself, was doing when I wanted to learn.

You see, I approached things not with a loupe trying to see specks of dirt, but with a magnet. I went through lots of stuff and just picked up things that are useful from all kinds of sources, in order to clarify my own thinking and get better ideas. I even read many books by authors I vehemently disagree with, because by thinking about all the ways in which they are wrong I clarified my arguments as to why I actually think or feel what I do, and I would usually end up with a very concise argument that disproves the author’s position. Also, when I found an idea that clicked with me, I didn’t require the author to have literally everything about his other ideas or life in general perfect as a prerequisite for my acceptance of his idea. The idea sounded great, it clicked because it concisely expressed something I couldn’t properly verbalise before; now I replaced a vague concept with a clear one, thank you very much. I am also known for taking a vague and diluted concept from somewhere and condensing and purifying the line of thought into something much more coherent and concise, but you won’t see me going on about how the original author is an idiot. No, he’s good, maybe even great, and he came up with something great; I just focused it and enhanced the mantra.

This approach of using a magnet in order to collect needles from all sorts of haystacks is not really that different from the approach from the Upanishads, where one is advised to emulate a swan that can use his beak to separate milk from water, or the concept of a pure lotus flower that grows in a swamp. Basically, you are expected to do granular filtration and identify even a single good thought in a book that is otherwise rubbish, not throw out an otherwise great book because it contains one typo which proves that the author is not God.

Hello, fuckers: even the greatest of angels is “not God”, but you will not see God discarding him for that reason. No, you will see God loving and admiring him greatly because he is almost God. I see all kinds of idiots finding faults with obvious saints, ignoring the fact that God didn’t mind. Yes, Theresa of Avila was all kinds of flawed. Pray that you are that kind of flawed; that way, maybe God will show Himself in visions to you as well, so that you might see and achieve true perfection. Finding fault means one thing, really: it means that you are trying really hard to find an excuse for rejecting God and for keeping your sinful life intact. That’s what it really is. If you’re so perfect in your intellectual ivory tower that you can see all kinds of faults with saints and gurus, and God is absent from your vision, maybe your fault is much worse than those you are noticing with others. Maybe they have a problem here and there, but you are a problem, in the sense that your fundamental life choices are all sinful and wrong, and your intellect is merely a tool that rationalizes your sin.

It’s quite easy to make sarcastic quips about all the flaws and mistakes made by someone who was desperately trying to find their way around a difficult problem, and reach a solution they couldn’t properly grasp yet. Trying to solve a problem is hard. Being firmly entrenched in the problem and throwing rocks at others is much easier. It almost makes you forget how worthless you really are.

Unlike what you might imagine without diving deeply into the subject matter, the litRPG series I’ve been reading, “Salvos”, is in fact one of the most profound works I’ve read. Sure, some of it is just funny and silly, but there is really deep philosophy and emotion there, too. For instance, probably the best elaboration upon the concept of “love your enemies” is the chapter 81: “Lord of lies” of the book 9, where Salvos the protagonist talks about her personal philosophy and motives with a terrible bug-demon, a lord of illusions and curses, who is smart, calculating and cruel, responsible for the deaths of millions; essentially, someone that makes Hitler look like a little bitch. She talks to him while they fight, and it’s not the kind of talk you would expect, where someone tries to make the enemy doubt himself in order to weaken him, trying to instil fear and doubt. No; she talks to him with her heart open, explaining why she does everything for selfish reasons, but her selfishness encompasses other beings, those she loves and cares for, within her own identity, while in his selfishness there is place for none but himself.

She strikes him down with a mortal wound to his chest, and kneels by his side, gently talking to him about all the things she loves, that make her act to protect them, and in his final moments he has a change of heart, remembers one truly precious and unselfish moment from his childhood, and dies.

There is no obvious afterlife for the characters, yet the impression you get is that she saved him, in his last moments, and she just keeps kneeling beside his corpse later, and you try to guess her thoughts – probably something along the lines of “we could have been friends or even companions, had you only figured this out in time”.

She is portrayed as a character that is primarily driven by pride and selfishness, and yet she expands her sense of self to embrace so many different beings of different races, that her selfishness feels like divine protective love and inexplicable kindness, that heals even the soul of a mortal enemy, in death. Her enemy tried to argue that they are both the same: they act for selfish reasons, to which she answers, as a rebuttal: “And yet, I am Salvos, while you are Belzu.”, meaning that their selfishness is not the same because their sense of self is not the same.

This sentiment, where she is forced to kill her enemy in order to protect the world and the people she loves, but she doesn’t do it out of hatred or anger, and doesn’t even separate herself spiritually from her enemy even when she is forced to kill him, somehow does a better job at explaining the concept of loving your enemies than most Christian theologians. “Salvos” does an excellent job of portraying love as something with real dimension to it; something alive and powerful and fierce and fun; kindness and compassion that wields the power of a thermonuclear warhead.

I’ve been thinking more about the “sins” I mentioned in the previous article. Yes, they may be a mere symptom of a fallen state, and “virtues” might be a mere symptom of being in touch with God on some level, but the problem with this line of thinking is that it leaves very little room for personal agency; if you don’t feel God’s presence, you will wallow helplessly in your fallen state, exhibiting symptoms of depravity, and if you feel God’s presence, the ecstatic bliss will be manifested as all kinds of virtues, as you adhere to it diligently and allow it to change you and make you grow.

However, how do you get from one to the other? If you’re not in the presence of God, how do you change that, because just decomposing in your misery or trying to find some pathetic amusement for yourself in this empty cardboard world is the opposite of helpful. It’s as if there are two parallel paths – that of the worldly and demonic, and that of the saintly and angelic, and they are distinguished by absence or presence of God in one’s consciousness, and this can feel like an unsurmountable chasm. This is where we get to the point where the concept of sins and virtues starts making a different kind of sense, if we understand them not as mere symptoms of absence or presence of grace, but a destructive or constructive approach to life in general and our spiritual condition in particular.

Because, you see, whatever your condition may be, your attitude and actions can make it much worse; and if so, it is reasonable to assume that they can also make it much better. This is why my approach to sin is “when you find yourself in a hole, stop digging downwards”. Sure, absence of grace and the resulting emptiness of spirit can make you want to lash out or do all sorts of things in either a self-destructive rage, or a misguided wish to make yourself feel better, but here is where one needs self-control, in order to stop thrashing like a crazy person, cool down, and do the exact opposite – in essence, practice kindness and goodness in little things. Make someone’s day better with a small act of kindness. Pet a cat and talk to it. Say “hi” to a dog. Notice how nicely the sunlight plays on the tree leaves. Take a deep breath. Notice how your eye movements from left to right are connected with whirlpools of your thoughts and emotions. Pay conscious attention to it, try to make it faster. Try to make it slower. Feel what it wants you to do. Let it go and just observe – ride the wave first, and then fly above it and observe. Feel the pain and suffering beneath, the force that makes your mind and feelings move, and let it hurt, don’t try to escape. Let it expend itself instead of just rolling off into motivations. As you suffer, you will see that you are calmer, deeper, no longer a leaf carried by the waves on the surface, but a creature of deep waters of your mind. As you do this for minutes, maybe hours, maybe days, you will feel a change – suffering is no longer the only thing in your consciousness, because you start to feel a hint of something blissful, ecstatic, yet calm and peaceful. Let it in. As you take a breath, inhale this bliss and open your body and mind to it. Don’t think about it, just allow its presence to heal you. Happy thoughts and pictures will start going through your mind; let them. Things where you saw and admired something good and beautiful. Don’t rush it, let it unfold slowly, don’t spoil it by trying to get all the way to God immediately; feel that peace and beauty of a sunset, or sunlight catching the yellow leaves over a waterfall. Feel the calm and kindness as you watch a cat sleep. Feel it unfold, as you feel touched to tears by someone’s beautiful and virtuous actions – it can be a character in a book or a movie, doesn’t matter. Feel touched by goodness and virtue, breathe it in, keep it in, breathe it out. Slowly, imagine yourself acting it out in the world, seeing yourself as this person you admire, and do little things at first – just imagine yourself doing virtuous and good things, and just release all the obstacles and counter-arguments that pop up. Once you feel no opposition, rest in this state, and when you act, act from it, in such a way that your actions don’t contradict your inner state, so that they manifest it and act it out instead.

Do it consistently enough, and go deep enough, and you’ll be the grace of God that is manifesting itself in the world, and the question of God’s absence will become quite ridiculous. Be to others what you want to receive from God, and you will become one with the grace and presence of God. In that state, when you’re acting out goodness, you will understand that you are on the upward-gradient, and avoid things that put you on a downward-gradient, and in this perspective the concept of sins and virtues starts to make sense – not for the sake of judgment directed at oneself or others, but for the sake of practicality on the path of making your existence not hell.