Venus and Her Lover

by Becca Tzigany

  Both James and I circumambulated the base of the stupa, spinning the prayer wheels and pausing at the shrines of the four directions. As I paced my steps along the well-worn path, with deliberate concentration I spun each cylinder to the internal sound of the oldest and most basic of Tibetan Buddhist mantras:

  Om Mani Padme Hum

  Other pilgrims passed me so they could keep the inscribed brass cylinders softly creaking in their wobbly spin, but I focused on the meaning of each syllable as my right hand rested on the cold metal prayer wheels:

  Om... the seed sound, the vibration from which sprang all of Creation, the consciousness of the Absolute, the power of the All.

  Spin the wheel, take a step.

  Mani... the male jewel, diamond hardness, the skillful means to realize enlightenment and the compassion to extend it to all beings, the Father.

  Spin the wheel, take a step.

  Padme... the female lotus flower, the abode of transcendental wisdom and pure bliss (even while in this world), the Mother.

  Spin the wheel, take a step.

  Hum... the union of polar opposites in perfect communion and undifferentiated consciousness, fulfillment, balance, union.

  Spin the wheel, take a step.

  All the way around the stupa, under the intense Buddha eyes, I felt the human longing in the mantra that held a very simple Tantric realization: the power of the jewel in the lotus. It was the very path Venus and Her Lover had put us upon.

  Nearby the stupa was a sizeable golden dorje resting on a platform in the form of a brass mandala of the Tibetan zodiac. The dorje (or vajra), variously translated as “thunderbolt,” “diamond scepter,” or “lingam” (penis), is a two-headed scepter with open-ribbed round ends. Symbol of the Masculine. Next to the dorje was a drilbu, a large silver metal bell dressed in prayer flags. Symbol of the Feminine.

  James and I began our slow descent down the stairway from the “monkey temple,” not in reverent pilgrim mode at all, but jabbering about all the confirmations we had received there for Venus and Her Lover – the five elements, the duality of the Masculine and the Feminine which can achieve oneness, and the transformational power of Tantra. We even discovered that next to Shantipur Temple was a shrine to the element aether, the energy we were embarking into just now. Oh, and there were monkeys bouncing off the walls, in point of fact, as they pillaged the altars for food offerings, chased each other, swung from trees, and screeched at one another. So the very important aspect of humor put an added shine to our brilliant day at Swayambhunath Hill.

  Walking down, we could see Kathmandu sprawled across the valley basking in its smoggy haze, and with each step, the sounds of traffic got louder. Above the whole scene towered the Himalayas. The layer of smog above the foothills made it look like the sharp white peaks were levitating above the Earth, as if they truly were a realm of the gods.

  East Meets West

  I am a buddha –- you are a buddha. The world is playful theater, and all activity is enlightening exchange.

  ~ Glenn Mullin

  While two muscular land masses had come to blows and taken it to the mat here in Nepal, the encounter between Asia’s principal spiritual traditions – shamanism, Hinduism, and Buddhism – had swept each other up in a Tantric tango, sweaty bodies filling the continental dance hall with their perfume. It is not far-fetched to credit the largely peaceful mingling to Tantra. The Tantric streams of Hinduism and Buddhism are distinguished only in their nomenclature and emphasis; the principles and the goals are the same: through discipline and conscious participation with – not denial of – life’s pleasures, nirvana (Buddhism) or the “bliss of nothingness” (Hinduism) could be attained.

  Doubtlessly the welcoming spirit of the Nepali people allowed the mingling to occur. In the people we met, we found their attitude to go beyond tolerance to acceptance. It seemed we could easily reach a meeting of the minds and hearts in our connections with Nepalis, and when we were saying goodbye, I would get a lump in my throat and linger at the farewell, as if we were old friends. I noticed that they, too, would look back and wave after we had parted. Was it because the kingdom had been isolated from the rest of the world for so long, open to travelers only in the last 60 years, that people were so receptive? Was it the spiritual riches guarded throughout the ages by the Tibetans just north of here, or the eminence of Siddhartha Gautama (the Buddha) born just south of here on the border with India? Maybe it was simply a Himalayan imperative. Whatever it was, James summed it up by often declaring, “I feel so privileged to be here!”

  Tantra worship had been kept alive for ages in Nepal; even to this day Tantric masters quietly maintained the traditions of their lineages. As James and I walked the brick-paved streets of Bhaktapur, we gawked at the imposing rectangular pagoda-tiers of the temples that rose above us, and the fine sculpture we found on wide staircases and in the town squares. Wandering around – typically – without a guidebook or guide, we came upon one square building of red-brick elaborately trimmed with carved wooden windows, door screens, and ornaments; a double-decker temple of one square raised roof sitting atop a broader brown-tiled roof. As my eyes made their way through the ornate floral flourishes, animal heads, and snake-like carved lines of the wood trim, I deciphered the designs of one of the roof-supporting wooden struts way above me: two human figures in profile, the female arching up her tailbone to receive the hard lingam of the man, who seemed to be waving at me.

  “Becca, look at this!” cried James’ voice from around the corner. He had just realized what we were looking at, too. On other timbers, we saw carvings of a man reclining with a woman on top of him, while a dakini behind her spread the woman’s legs to show off where the lingam entered her yoni; a woman resting on her shoulders while her man raising her legs so he could enter her; a woman opening her legs in an impossible yogic posture from which emerged a mini-person with an angelic expression... No matter what their sexual position, the figures turned their faces toward the viewer; in fact, it looked like they were all smiling as if to say, “Hello there! We’re having some fun up here – why don’t you try this position?” Above the erotic scenes, stood elongated figures arching up the timbers – rams, dragons?, and Shiva characters still sporting traces of blue paint as well as carved necklaces of entwining serpents and garlands of skulls. Shiva, with his third eye clearly painted on his forehead, stood in dancing postures or held his hands in mudras. It was like the Kama Sutra in 3-D for those willing to raise their eyes.

  We had found the Yaksheswor Mahadev Temple, a replica of the more well-known Tantric Pashupatinath Temple of Kathmandu. Legend has it that King Yaksha Malla (15th century) had a dream in which Shiva appeared, instructing him to build him a temple. He followed orders and erected the beautiful two-story pagoda glorifying divinely human eroticism. James and I relished this artistic expression of Hindu Tantra.

  When our new Nepali friend Puri told us about a Tantric yogi he knew, we asked him to set up a meeting, and he did. The late afternoon sun was giving its last illumination to the wall of red bougainvillea above our hotel courtyard when the three men arrived. Puri, with his energetic greeting, seemed excited to get us together. Devendra Kutuwal had a salt-and-pepper mustache that outlined his smile that seemed to be continually anticipating the punch line of a joke. Dr. Chandra Mani Khanal was the yogi, obviously so. Not because he dressed in white robes – no, he was smartly attired in a wool tailored jacket and scarf; the red shirt under his brown sweater called attention to the red mark above and between his eyebrows. His cheeks were ruddier than his tan, clean-shaven jaws, and his dark eyebrows arched around two chestnut brown eyes that were so striking in their intensity, it was as if they were outlined with mascara. His thick black hair and lustrous skin were those of a young man, but his wise eyes belied years of experience gained. He was a walking advertisement for the health benefits of yoga.

  That was his passion. As he explained, mod
ernity had corrupted the world in so many ways that people needed the re-balancing effects of yoga, so they could gain physical health, mental clarity, and spiritual awareness. As a yoga practitioner myself, I could only nod my head and say “You’re right!” to what he was saying. Dr. Chandra approached Tantra as a yoga, requiring diksha (initiation into the spiritual life) by a guru and continued guidance in cultivating the discipline.

  James spoke up. “But sexual yoga actually levels the playing field, don’t you think? Anyone can practice.”

  “Each according to their capacity,” Dr. Chandra carefully explained. “which the guru understands... he can teach you the asanas [body postures] and pranayama [breathing techniques], but most impor-

  tantly, he gives you the bīja mantra. They are words of power.” He raised his finger to drive home the point. “You must chant your mantra 10,000 times, and slowly, slowly you cultivate yourself.”

  The chill of early evening was settling upon us in the courtyard, so we decided to go into the hotel restaurant – not that it was any warmer there – in fact, due to the daily rolling black-outs, we now sat in complete darkness. But the waiters brought candles and a round of hot chai, and we huddled together warming ourselves with conversation. In the shadows, several of the young men who worked in the hotel stood listening intently.

  James reiterated his earlier idea. “With Tantra – I guess I should call it Western Tantra – you can heal yourself through sex. You know, in the West, we have suffered from centuries of sexual repression. Tantra is a way the balance can be righted. You can open your chakras and move energy...”

  “Opening the chakras, yes, moving energy, yes,” Dr. Chandra agreed.

  “Tantra can teach you that,” James said.

  “But not without a guru! Realization is possible only through the guru! It is the guru who permits your development. And sexual Tantra requires a very high level – only the highest yogis...” Dr. Chandra insisted.

  At this point Dr. Chandra, who had been fairly fluent in English up until now, turned to his friend Mr. Devendra, speaking at length in Nepali. With a nod of his head, he indicated that Mr. Devendra should translate to us.

  Mr. Devendra explained, “When a man and woman... in sexual intercourse, the man loses energy, and only with the guidance of the yogi can you find your way. It is better, if you like sex, to devote yourself to business and marriage till about age 50. Have a wife, raise your children. Then devote yourself to spiritual practice until you are 75. Then, leave your possessions, leave your earthly connections...”

  “But what if I don’t want to wait to do my spiritual development?” James countered.

  Dr. Chandra spoke and Mr. Devendra translated. “For the spiritual path, you must damp down the sexual energies... through diet – no garlic, no onions – and through chanting, chanting the mantras. You can be celibate until you take a wife.”

  I spoke up. “I guess we have a Western perspective on this. We believe that a person can learn it. Approaching it as a spiritual path, you can practice Tantra and let it be your guru, let it lead you to your enlightenment.”

  Dr. Chandra looked kindly at me and said, “But my dear, people do not know how to deal with sexual energy.”

  “I understand, but still I am practicing, just like doing yoga asanas. I do not have them perfected, but they are still teaching me.” I understood his systematic approach to Tantra: through practice in working with the polarities (Masculine and Feminine), observation of human nature and the phenomenal world of Nature, and disciplined meditation and yoga, the Tantrika could attain liberation. Because of the potential dangers of kundalini rising, the guidance of a guru was invaluable.

  Reflections of candle flames danced in Dr. Chandra’s eyes – or were they sparkling on their own? – as he said quietly to me, putting his hand on my arm, “I do see that you are a goddess.” Our eyes met in that moment, and I felt he recognized me, in the same way that I was honoring him. In fact, as I gazed at him in the flickering light, I could not distinguish whether he was a man or a woman. While my mind knew he was masculine, he face radiated a feminine glow. His androgynous aura affirmed for me the enlightened fruits of his Tantric yoga practice, for even his physical appearance exhibited harmonious balance. We smiled knowingly at one another.

  James continued. “Dr. Chandra, when you first started chanting, you did not have experience. But you kept practicing, and you got better. It’s the same with sexual Tantra... but you don’t have to practice – you get to practice!” One of James’ favorite lines.

  “It is true what you say about practice, but Tantra is different... People should not use the sexual energies until they know how,” Dr. Chandra reaffirmed.

  “But we are sexual beings. Not using our sexual energy is like being born with two eyes and covering one up.” James said, covering his eye with his hand. The men standing around us, who were now a little crowd, snickered quietly or nodded their heads. From the expressions on their faces, it looked like they could not believe we were debating with the guru.

  Dr. Chandra sipped his milk tea thoughtfully and said, “Well, sexual Tantra is not my path, so how can I judge it?”

  “Everyone according to his capacity,” James quipped.

  “And his destiny, and the power of the guru that guides him.” Dr. Chandra said, without missing a beat.

  We all laughed outright, and agreed that Western Tantra and Eastern Tantra were simply two paths approaching the same goal. Dr. Chandra put it this way: “You can go to New York by plane, or by boat, or you can walk. But whatever way you go, you can arrive.”

  “We are living in a time when all the traditions are sprung open,” I said, and seeing questions on their faces, I continued, “Look at Tibet – because of the great tragedy of the Chinese invasion, many Tibetan lamas were cast out of their land, and they brought their teachings out into the world because of it. Otherwise, they would still be up in their Himalayan monasteries, no?

  “It’s the same with all the traditions... Yoga and Hinduism were brought to the West in the last century, as was Buddhism. Native American spiritual practices have reached the East. And why? Because Gaia – the Earth Mother – needs all of our help to get through this passage. Now is not the time for our tools to be hidden from us.

  “Don’t you agree, Dr. Chandra? Otherwise, all the great teachings might be lost forever.”

  Dr. Chandra’s lustrous face glowed in the candlelight as he answered solemnly. “If everything should be destroyed – and perhaps it will be – then, after some time, the rishis will appear again. They will bring in the tantras and the mantras and all the other knowledge – the eternal knowledge – and they will write it all down again. And so another cycle will begin.”

  The five of us had been sitting around the campfire, so to speak, for hours, sharing different perspectives with one another yet feeling like we were all on the same side. We embraced with a great warmth of spirit before separating, each one to make our way into the cold blackness of the Nepali night.

  Approaching Shiva

  We are joyous pennants in your just wind.

  Master, to where do you dance?

  Toward the land of liberation,

  Toward the plain of nonexistence.

  ~ Rumi

  In order to pay homage to the Himalayan Mountains, James and I journeyed to the eastern rim of Kathmandu Valley to spend a couple days in Nagarkot. There, at a higher altitude and some distance from the grey smog of the capital, we settled into a pleasant hotel with several sunny terraces and even a watchtower. We had gone from our Rocky Mountain High to a Himalayan High. From our 2150-meter-high (7000’) perch – the same altitude as Taos – we could survey verdant valleys creased by sparkling streams; stone houses, haystacks, and goatherds of farmers who had chiseled rice terraces into the mountainside; clumps of bamboo sprouting out of dark green pine forests; and ridges of mountains tha
t would command the view almost anywhere in the world, but here they merely provided a platform for the craggy massifs, buttresses, crevasses, ledges, glacial cirques, and snow-crowned summits of the Himalayas.

  Standing in the frigid pre-dawn morning, hugging one another through our winter coats, hats, and gloves, James and I stood to greet the sun, which, wearing a blazing yellow halo, nimbly clambered past Sagarmatha (Mt. Everest, at a height of 8,840 meters/29,002 feet, and rising...) to leap into the sky, coating a horizon-full of peaks with a pearlescent syrup of peachy pink that turned to champagne yellow that turned to vanilla ice cream. Thrilled by the majesty of the sunrise, we giggled and took deep breaths of cold air, as James said, “I feel so privileged to be here!” At sunset, we climbed the steps of the watchtower to watch the light show in reverse.

  One morning James peeked out of our room to discover we were in a thick bank of clouds, so “we should fuck the sun up,” he said, as his erect lingam nudged me awake. So we did. As we made love, we squealed our gratitude over to the mountain deities, and sighed our visions of Tantric harmony trickling down the valleys of Earth. When we emerged from our room, sure enough, the sun had risen. It bobbed on a sea of streaming clouds, giving the effect that the entire world below us had disappeared, leaving only what we had invoked: a clear blue sky, the Himalayan home of the gods and goddesses, and our Tantric visions swirling below in the mists.

  I hiked the hills and valleys around Nagarkot, seeking a spot to do ceremony, and our last morning there, I climbed a hillock topped by a small, one-room temple. It was a shrine to Shiva. Shiva, the supreme Tantric yogi, the ruler of the Universe.135 It’s perfect, I thought, that I pay homage to the male principle, to Lord Shiva. Inside the crude shrine was an up-pointing stone triangle, worn shiny with vermillion and marigold paste rubbed on it by devotees, at the base of which was a line of stone statues: a figure of Shiva and a metal trident, a rounded stone linga, and five standing stones that looked as if they had been found on the mountain and brought there... five Shiva lingas molded by Nature. All the stones were dabbed with red and yellow paste. I undid my mesa bundle to organize the elements of my ceremony, and lit a candle and my stick of sage. After smudging myself, the space, and the four directions with the sacred smoke of the Southwestern mesas, I began, with devotional concentration, to make my offerings. In the name of Venus and Her Lover, I sprinkled sand from the Puerto Rican Sacred Palm Grove, as well as sand from Viareggio Beach in Italy, then I placed a seashell from the dolphin bay in Hawai’i, and a purple-tinted crystalline stone from New Mexico, and having been well-trained there, gave cornmeal and tobacco in honor of Mother Earth. Then, kneeling there before Shiva, I prayed for the liberation of men, who (from my perspective), were suffering mightily in the violent Dominator System, especially now as it was falling apart. Sitting there in meditation, I felt myself on a ledge above India, in the moment before tumbling into the seething cauldron of humanity where Tantric ideals had cooked themselves into a complete philosophical system.