THE KUNDALINI: MEMOIRSOF A YOGI (CHAPTER 35)

Despite his imposing stature, Bushie was surprisingly eager and attentive, his feline nature subdued by his deep yearning to learn the sacred mantras.

“Bushie,” I began, my voice steady yet reverent, “today, I will teach you three ancient mantras in Pali. They are simple in words, yet profound in meaning. These are gifts from the ancient sages, meant to guide us to peace, clarity, and wisdom.” Bushie nodded, his tail curling gracefully around his paws. “I’m ready, Muni,” he said. His deep voice, though feline, carried a quiet determination.

“This first mantra, – Sabbe Satta Sukhi Hontu is a blessing for all beings. Sabbe Satta Sukhi Hontu means, ‘May all beings be happy.’ It embodies the essence of metta—loving-kindness.”

I demonstrated again, my palms facing upward in a gesture of offering.“Sabbe Satta Sukhi Hontu…”

Bushie tilted his head, his whiskers twitching. “Even those who harm us?” he asked.

“Yes, even them,” I replied. “Hatred never ceases by hatred; it ceases by love. This mantra helps us dissolve the barriers of anger and judgment.

It reminds us that beneath the surface, we all seek happiness.”

Bushie’s eyes softened. He repeated the mantra, his voice now imbued with a gentle sincerity. “Sabbe Satta Sukhi Hontu…”

I smiled. “Feel the words, Bushie. Imagine the warmth of your heart expanding to embrace every living being.”

I continued, “the second mantra is a reflection on impermanence. Anicca Vata Sankhara means, all conditioned things are impermanent. It is a reminder to let go, to accept the transient nature of life.

” Bushie shifted, his tail flicking thoughtfully. “Why is it important to remember impermanence?”

“Because clinging to what is temporary
brings suffering,” I explained. “This
mantra helps us release our attachments
and embrace the flow of change.”

I chanted the words, my tone sombre yet serene,“Anicca Vata Sankhara…”

Bushie joined in, his deep voice resonating with an almost mournful beauty. Together, we recited the

mantra, letting its truth sink in. I encouraged him to place his paw over his heart as he chanted, feeling the impermanence of each breath.

mantra, letting its truth sink in. I encouraged him to place his paw over his heart as he chanted, feeling the impermanence of each breath.

After we had practiced each mantra several times, I instructed Bushie to integrate them into his daily life. “At midday, bless all beings with happiness. And in the evening, reflect on impermanence. These mantras are not just words—they are tools to transform your mind.”

Bushie bowed his head. “Thank you, Muni. I will honour these teachings.”

I placed a hand gently on his broad shoulder. “Remember, the power of the mantra lies not in its recitation but in living its essence. Let the wisdom guide you.”

As Bushie left the temple, the mantras echoing in his mind, I sat alone for a moment, my heart swelling with gratitude.

The ancient sages had given us these gifts—not just to chant, but to live. And as a student of yoga, it was my greatest joy to pass them on, one soul at a time.

The next day the morning sun painted the horizon in shades of amber and crimson as the air carried a crisp stillness, heralding the arrival of an extraordinary delegation.

From the far-flung heights of Bhutan and Tibet, a group of monks made their way to Yoga Bhavan, a revered sanctuary nestled within a secluded cave system at the base of the great Himavat mountains.

This journey was not ordinary, for it coincided with the Kora Festival, an annual event marking the sacred circumambulation of Mount Kailash, believed to dissolve one’s sins and grant spiritual enlightenment.

The monks travelled in solemn dignity, their saffron and maroon robes flowing like waves against the mountainous terrain.

The lead lama, a venerable figure named Rinchen Dorje, exuded serenity. Behind him walked his disciples, carrying sacred relics and texts, their chants harmonising with the sound of prayer wheels spinning in rhythm. A retinue of prayer flags fluttered in the wind; their mantras carried across unseen realms.

As they approached the Yoga Bhavan,

their arrival was heralded by the melodious hum of Tibetan longhorns and the rhythmic beat of ceremonial drums.

Bushie, emerged from the shadows, his eyes studying the newcomers. He was not merely an animal but a spiritual entity bound to the place, entrusted by its keeper, Yoga Ji.

Yoga Bhavan was no ordinary cave. Its walls bore carvings of sacred geometries and from various spiritual traditions, their forms glowing faintly in the dim light.

The cavern resonated with a subtle energy, as though it were a bridge between worlds. Students of Yoga Ji often described. it as a place where one could hear the pulse of the universe.

I stood at the entrance, my hands folded in respectful namaste. Despite my youth, I knew I possessed an old soul and an insatiable curiosity. My eyes darted between the monks and Rinchen Dorje, filled with a mix of awe and nervous anticipation.

Beside him, Bushie sat regally, his thick fur blending into the frosty rock, as though he were part of the mountain itself.

Yoga Ji’s presence was commanding yet gentle. His saffron robe seemed

to absorb and reflect the natural light filtering into the cave. He greeted Rinchen Dorje with a deep bow, his voice warm.“Welcome, Lama Rinchen. Yoga Bhavan is honoured by your presence.”

Rinchen Dorje returned the bow, his hands forming the gesture of offering. “We have come not only to share teachings but to listen. The journey to Mount Kailash begins in the heart, and I believe this place is an extension of it.”

The congregation gathered inside the main chamber of the Yoga Bhavan. The air was thick with incense, carrying the scent of sandalwood and juniper. Lama Rinchen began by

recounting the profound significance of Mount Kailash, revered in Buddhism, Hinduism, and Jainism.

“It is said,” he began, “that Kailash is the axis mundi, the navel of the universe. To circumambulate it is to realign oneself with the cosmic order. But the mountain is not merely a physical destination; it is a mirror reflecting our inner state. Many have seen visions there—of past lives, of karmic patterns, and of the universal spirit.”

We listened intently, nodding. “Indeed, the mountain’s beauty is unparalleled, but its true gift lies in its ability to strip away illusions. Those who approach it must be ready to confront the deepest truths within themselves.”

Rinchen Dorje handed over a scroll to Yoga Ji, its edges gilded with gold leaf. “This is the ‘Sutra of the Endless Path,’ a text gifted by a vision during my own pilgrimage to Kailash. It contains insights that I believe will resonate with your teachings.”

I sat in the corner, and could not help but wonder what it would be like to visit Mount Kailash myself.

That night, as the cave fell silent, I drifted into a deep meditation. Unbeknownst to me at the time but which Yogi Ji mentioned the following day. The sutra’s energy was beginning to work on my subconscious.

Bushie, sensing a shift in the ether, curled protectively around me, his eyes glowing faintly. In my dream, I found himself standing at the base of Mount Kailash. The mountain gleamed like a giant diamond under a canopy of stars. The air was electric, and every breath felt like an infusion of pure energy.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows—a radiant spirit clad in flowing robes, her face both serene and commanding. She introduced herself as Tara, the embodiment of compassion and wisdom.

“Muni,” she said, her voice resonating like a bell, “the path to Kailash is not merely an outward journey but an inward quest. You have been chosen to walk this path, to carry its teachings back to your world.”

I felt a mix of awe and trepidation. “But why me? I am only a student.”

Tara smiled. “It is precisely because you see yourself as small that you are ready to grow. Remember, the mountain does not choose the mighty; it chooses the humble.”

Before I could respond, the dream shifted. I found himself climbing the mountain, each step a revelation.

I saw visions of my past and future selves, before me like threads. At the summit, I encountered a brilliant light, an essence that seemed to merge with my own being.

I awoke with a startle, my body trembling but my heart filled with clarity. Bushie was already awake, watching me with a knowing gaze. The snow leopard let out a soft growl, as if to say, you are ready.

I rushed to Yoga Ji, recounting the vision. The master listened without interruption, his eyes sparkling with understanding.

Dreams such as these are not mere fantasies,” Yoga Ji said. “They are messages from the higher realms. If Tara has called you to Kailash, then you must go. But remember, the journey is not only for you. It is for all who will learn from your experience.”

Rinchen Dorje, who had been meditating nearby, added, “I will guide you as far as the base. From there, the mountain itself will guide you.”

I nodded, my fear gave way to resolve. “I will go. For the teachings, for the mountain, and for the truth.”

The next morning, preparations began. The monks chanted blessings over me, while Bushie padded around, ensuring everything was in place.

Rinchen Dorje handed me a prayer wheel and a mala, symbols of protection and focus.