Among the stranger subjects in tantric literature, shapeshifting remains one of the least discussed in modern Buddhist writing. Contemporary presentations of Vajrayana often reduce siddhis (magical powers) to metaphors but the older tantric sources speak in a very different voice. They describe special abilities gained through ritual practice, sexual yoga, cremation-ground rites, mantra recitation, visionary contact with yoginis and dakinis, and mastery over subtle forces in the body. One of those powers was transformation into animals and birds, especially predatory birds associated with flight, hunting, and the crossing of worlds.
The Chakrasamvara Tantra belongs to the Yogini Tantras, a class of Buddhist tantras that emerged in medieval India between the eighth and twelfth centuries. These texts were tied to charnel-ground cults, wandering siddhas, and yogini circles that existed at the edge of settled religious life. David B. Gray notes that the Chakrasamvara system was deeply connected with yogini cults and with rites considered transgressive even within Indian Buddhism.[1] The tantric world described in these texts was not symbolic in the modern literary sense. Spirits, dakinis, flesh-offerings, flight, possession, and bodily transformation were treated as concrete possibilities.
The language surrounding yoginis and dakinis is especially important because these beings were repeatedly linked to shape-changing and aerial movement. Traditional tantric vocabulary uses terms such as khecari, meaning “sky-goer” or “sky-traveler.” The yogini was understood as a being capable of moving between human and nonhuman forms, crossing physical and subtle worlds. Medieval Shaiva and Buddhist tantras describe yoginis with animal heads, bird forms, or hybrid bodies. The scholar Shaman Hatley writes that yoginis were associated with “actual shapeshifting” and with the power of flight.[2] The same literature links them to cremation grounds, nocturnal rites, and transmission of forbidden knowledge.
These themes appear in Buddhist tantric systems connected to Chakrasamvara. The dakini was not simply a poetic figure. In Tibetan commentarial traditions, dakinis could appear as women, animals, spirits, or wrathful beings encountered during ritual practice and visionary states. Judith Simmer-Brown notes that advanced tantric systems described an “outer” dakini attained through completion-stage practices involving the subtle body and its energetic transformations.[3] For advanced siddhas (tantric masters), visionary identification with animal or deity forms could culminate in actual transformation.
The Chakrasamvara cycle itself preserves traces of older tribal and shamanic material absorbed into Buddhist tantra. (For reference see my previous article titled Tantra’s Hidden Origins: Magicians, Sorcerers, and the Non-Literate World of Ancient India). The central deity Heruka stands amid cremation grounds, wearing bone ornaments and trampling Hindu deities beneath his feet. The mandala contains circles of dakinis and yoginis who embody wild and dangerous forces. Several female tantric figures connected to the tradition take animal forms. Vajravarahi herself appears with the head of a sow projecting from her temple. Animal-headed yoginis appear throughout related tantric iconography, especially in the yogini cults that influenced the Yogini Tantras.[4]
What matters here is that medieval tantric practitioners understood bodily identity as fluid. Ritual identification with a deity was already considered a real alteration of consciousness and subtle embodiment. Certain siddhis pushed this much further. Tantric manuals across both Buddhist and Shaiva traditions contain rites for invisibility, flight, entering another body, controlling spirits, and assuming alternate forms. The line between spirit possession and shapeshifting was often thin.
The predatory bird carries special weight in this material. Birds of prey appear in tantric symbolism as beings that move between earth and sky, life and death. Dakinis themselves were frequently linked with vultures, hawks, crows, owls, and carrion birds associated with cremation grounds. Tibetan art and ritual literature preserve many examples of wrathful female spirits with wings, claws, and avian features. The Tibetan term for dakini, khandroma, literally means “sky-goer.” This idea of aerial movement was not seen as fantasy. The ability to leave the body, travel through the sky, or assume bird form were skills that belonged to the siddhas’ reperatoires across India and Tibet.
Accounts surrounding the eighty-four mahasiddhas strengthen this point. These wandering tantric adepts were credited with powers that included levitation, bodily transformation, magical travel, and command over animals. Hagiographies describe siddhas appearing in unexpected forms or vanishing from ordinary sight. Luipa, one of the central figures in the Chakrasamvara transmission lineage, practiced in charnel grounds and was linked with yogini initiations involving antinomian rites.[5] These stories were preserved by tantric communities as records of attainment rather than allegories.
Parallels with Indigenous traditions elsewhere are difficult to ignore. Among several Native American nations, especially in the Plains and Subarctic regions, ritual specialists described experiences of animal transformation tied to spirit travel, hunting magic, warfare, and visionary initiation. Eagle and hawk transformations carried particular importance because birds of prey were regarded as mediators between human beings and the upper worlds. Some ceremonial societies taught that a practitioner could spiritually become the animal whose power had entered him. Similar beliefs existed among Siberian shamans, Mongolian spirit-mediums, and Central Asian ecstatic traditions.
There are important differences between these cultures, and they should not be collapsed into a single universal system. Buddhist tantra emerged within the religious environment of India, drawing from Shaiva, tribal, yogic, and cremation-ground traditions. Native American ceremonial systems developed independently within their own spiritual landscapes. Yet the recurrence of animal transformation, flight, spirit embodiment, and predatory bird symbolism across cultures suggests that these experiences belong to a wider stratum of ritual consciousness.
Modern scholars usually interpret shapeshifting language symbolically because the academic world has little room for the supernatural claims made in tantric texts. Yet even cautious historians admit that medieval tantric practitioners themselves believed siddhis were real attainments. The Chakrasamvara Tantra emerged within circles that accepted spirit contact, magical rites, visionary encounters, and bodily transformation as part of advanced practice.[6]
Reports of shapeshifting and animal embodiment did not disappear with the medieval world. In Himalayan regions, parts of Nepal, India, Mongolia, and Tibet, stories about yogis taking animal form still circulate among practitioners and villagers. Similar accounts continue among Indigenous ceremonial traditions in the Americas. Outsiders may dismiss such claims as folklore, hallucination, or symbolic storytelling, but the communities preserving them rarely make such distinctions. For them, the spirit world remains actively dangerous, and immediate.
The modern tendency to sanitize tantra has hidden much of this material. Popular books often frame Vajrayana as a system of abstract psychology wrapped in exotic symbolism. The older texts present something more unsettling. The siddha was expected to cross thresholds ordinary society feared. Cremation grounds, possession states, sexual rites, communion with dakinis and demons, and shape-changing powers formed part of the same ritual landscape. The Chakrasamvara Tantra did not emerge from a polite monastery culture detached from magic. It emerged from circles that believed reality itself could be bent through disciplined contact with forces most people feared and avoided.
Footnotes
[1] David B. Gray, The Cakrasamvara Tantra: The Discourse of Sri Heruka (New York: American Institute of Buddhist Studies, 2007).
[2] Shaman Hatley, cited in “Yogini,” Wikipedia, discussing yogini traditions and shapeshifting associations. (en.wikipedia.org)
[3] Judith Simmer-Brown, discussed in “Dakini,” Wikipedia. (en.wikipedia.org)
[4] “Yogini Temples,” discussion of theriomorphic yoginis and tantric transformation motifs. (en.wikipedia.org)
[5] Alexander Berzin, “What Is Chakrasamvara Practice?” discussing Luipa and Chakrasamvara transmission traditions. (studybuddhism.com)
[6] “Cakrasamvara,” Encyclopedia.com, describing the Yogini Tantras and their transgressive ritual framework. (encyclopedia.com)
Modern scholarship on tantra has often treated it as a sophisticated religious system rooted in elite textual traditions and later integrated into high philosophical frameworks. In Buddhist contexts, especially in Tibetan scholastic traditions, tantric practice is frequently interpreted through the lens of Madhyamaka philosophy and incorporated into systematic doctrinal models. In these settings, tantra is positioned as the highest and most effective form of religious practice, supported and rationalized by philosophical analysis. There is truth in this account, but it reflects a later stage of development, the priorities of literate traditions that preserved texts, not necessarily the conditions under which tantra first emerged.
A growing number of scholars have challenged this retrospective model. Ronald M. Davidson’s study, Magicians, Sorcerers and Witches: Considering Pretantric, Non-sectarian Sources of Tantric Practices, offers a particularly forceful corrective: tantra cannot be adequately explained as the product of elite intellectual systems alone, nor as a simple inversion of orthodox traditions such as the Vedic corpus or the dharmasūtras.¹
Instead, Davidson argues that tantra must be understood within a much broader social and ritual field, one that includes non-literate practitioners whose activities long predate the emergence of tantric traditions as such. These figures, magicians, sorcerers, witches, and seers, were not marginal anomalies. They formed a durable and widespread presence in Indian religious life, operating across ancient, medieval, and even modern periods.² Their repertoire included healing, cursing, divination, spirit invocation, and various forms of ritual manipulation. These were not abstract techniques but effective practices. Some were performed in cremation grounds, involving work with corpses or restless or malevolent spirits: textual sources describe specialists who could animate a corpse or compel it to speak, a practice later associated with so-called vetāla rites. Others performed rituals to harm enemies, cure illness, or divine hidden information by invoking local deities or spirit beings. Such practices circulated widely and were recognized across Buddhist, Jain, and Brahmanical sources, even when criticized or prohibited. Many of these practices including corpse animation, harmful spells, and spirit work, would today be grouped under what is often called ‘witchcraft,’ though they were not understood as a single category in their original context.
Crucially, these practitioners were not “tantric.” They did not articulate soteriological goals of liberation, nor did they belong to the sectarian, lineage-based systems that later came to define tantric traditions.³ Their work was primarily practical rather than philosophically systematized, oriented toward immediate results rather than metaphysical coherence. Yet it is precisely this domain of practice–pragmatic, adaptive, and often non-literate–that Davidson identifies as a significant source for the later development of tantra.
This argument challenges a longstanding assumption in the study of Indian religions that authoritative origins must be found in texts. Much of the scholarship on tantra has privileged literate, intellectual traditions, in part because these are the sources that survive. But this creates a methodological distortion. If literacy rates in premodern India were extremely low, as Davidson notes, perhaps in the range of five percent, then any account of religious development that focuses exclusively on textual production necessarily excludes the overwhelming majority of practitioners.⁴ Tantra, emerging in such a context, cannot be reduced to what its later textualizers said about it.
The alternative Davidson proposes is not a single counter-origin, but a different model altogether. Rather than tracing tantra to one source, whether Vedic, Buddhist, or Śaiva, he describes a “multi-nodal” formation, meaning a network of multiple, overlapping sources in which diverse practices and traditions contribute to its development over time.⁵ Among these, the ritual activities of non-sectarian specialists play a crucial role. These practitioners developed techniques, terminologies, and ritual logics that were later appropriated by tantric communities. The process was neither systematic nor uniform. It was selective and intermittent, shaped by local needs and conditions.
In this light, tantra appears less as a coherent invention and more as a process of accumulation. Davidson characterizes this process in terms of bricolage: the assembling of new systems from pre-existing materials.⁶ Tantric traditions did not create their ritual repertoire out of nothing. They drew upon an already existing pool of practices—many of them associated with figures who operated outside the boundaries of orthodox religion—and recontextualized them within new ideological frameworks.
This perspective also clarifies why attempts to define tantra in purely oppositional terms have limited explanatory power. Some scholars have suggested that tantra emerges as a deliberate inversion of orthodox norms, particularly those codified in the dharmasūtras. Yet Davidson points out that such a model fails to account for the diversity of tantric practices. If inversion were the governing principle, one would expect a consistent pattern of reversal. Instead, the evidence reveals a heterogeneous collection of rituals, many of which do not correspond neatly to any orthodox counterpart.⁷
What this suggests is that tantra is not primarily a reaction against orthodoxy, but a reconfiguration of practices that existed alongside it. This is an important distinction. The categories of “orthodox” and “heterodox” begin to lose their explanatory clarity when we consider the extent to which ritual knowledge circulated outside formal institutions. The activities of magicians, sorcerers, and similar figures were not simply deviations from a normative system; they constituted an alternative domain of religious practice with its own internal logic.
The implications of this shift are quite significant. If tantra is, at least in part, a product of such practices, then its later intellectualization represents a secondary development. The philosophical frameworks that now define tantric traditions, whether in Buddhist or Hindu contexts, may be understood as attempts to systematize and legitimize practices that originated elsewhere.
It also complicates modern efforts to present tantra as a purely elevated or refined system. The desire to align tantra with high philosophy, particularly in contemporary interpretations, risks obscuring the conditions of its formation. Davidson’s analysis suggests that tantra’s roots lie not only in monasteries and scholastic debates, but in cremation grounds, village rituals, and the magical practices of specialists who worked with forces that formal religion often sought to regulate or marginalize.
To acknowledge this is not to reduce tantra to merely “magic,” nor to deny its later philosophical sophistication. It is to recognize that its development cannot be understood without taking seriously the contributions of those who operated outside the textual and institutional frameworks that scholars have traditionally privileged. Tantra, in this view, is not the product of a single tradition or a moment of divine revelation as is often taught. It is the outcome of a long process of interaction, appropriation, and reinterpretation across multiple domains of religious life, many of them outside the philosophical and textual traditions that later claimed to define it. In other words, tantra begins exactly where most scholars have not been looking—in the diverse and often non-literate ritual practices of magicians, sorcerers, and other specialists in ancient India.
Notes
Ronald M. Davidson, “Magicians, Sorcerers and Witches: Considering Pretantric, Non-sectarian Sources of Tantric Practices,” Religions 8, no. 9 (2017): 188.
In its most literal sense, possession refers to a person being overtaken by another force, such as a spirit, deity, or entity, that overrides their ordinary sense of control. This idea appears across many cultures in forms like trance, mediumship, and ritual invocation.
There is also a more subtle way to understand possession. It can describe a condition in which a person’s thoughts, emotions, loyalties, and identity become so deeply shaped by another that their independence begins to fade. The individual still appears outwardly intact, but internally their center of gravity has shifted.
After years of deep immersion in Tibetan Buddhist environments, I came to experience something that felt unmistakably like a form of possession. This is not a claim about official Tibetan Buddhist doctrine, which goes to great length to avoid that term, but a description of how the dynamics of devotion and authority unfolded in lived experience.
The Guru in Tibetan Buddhism
In Tibetan Buddhism, the role of the guru is central and highly elevated. Teachers such as Padmasambhava, Tsongkhapa, and Patrul Rinpoche all emphasize devotion to the spiritual teacher as a powerful means of transformation. The guru is described as the embodiment of awakened awareness and the source of blessings that lead the student toward realization.
In tantric practice, this relationship becomes especially intense. The student is encouraged to visualize the guru in an idealized form, merge their mind with the guru’s mind, and regard the guru as inseparable from themself. In theory, this is meant to dissolve the ego and reveal deeper awareness. In practice, it can become spiritual hijacking and inhabitation by a highly realized vajra master.
Charisma and the Aura of Power
Many Tibetan gurus possess a powerful form of charisma that is difficult to describe but easy to feel. It may appear as a kind of luminous presence that affects the emotional atmosphere around them. Students often report feelings of clarity, devotion, and euphoria in their presence.
Traditional accounts describe gurus as having extraordinary powers, sometimes referred to as siddhis. These may include heightened perception and an uncanny facility to read the minds of others as well as an ability to transmit meditative experiences into the minds of others. Stories circulate within communities about moments of insight or events that seem to confirm the guru’s special status. These magical capabilities have a strong effect. Over time, they reinforce the perception that the guru operates beyond human limits. That perception deepens one’s conviction that the guru isn’t ordinary but a godlike presence.
The Shift Toward Total Influence
At a certain point, devotion can cross into something absolute and intractable. The student’s sense of truth begins to align with the guru’s words. Emotional life becomes tied to the guru’s approval. Identity becomes shaped by the role of being a disciple. Doubt is no longer a neutral process but is seen as a failure of faith or commitment. Independence starts to disintegrate and students often become infantile, needing to discuss all their major life decisions with the guru, rather than act independently.
In my experience, this is where the language of possession begins to feel appropriate. It captures the sense that one’s inner center has been replaced by another’s influence.
Psychic and Energetic Dimensions on an Inner Level
Tantric Buddhism makes extensive use of visualization and subtle body practices. In guru yoga, students are instructed to imagine the guru sitting above their heads. The preliminary disciplines of Tibetan Buddhism (called ngondro) are designed to condition the mind and body for a major transformation. At the culmination of the practice, the guru dissolves into the practitioner, becoming inseparable from their awareness. Students are trained to dissolve their ordinary identity and merge with a more elevated form. This process is not superficial but reshapes perception at a deep level.
Over time, the boundary between self and guru can begin to dissolve. The guru’s presence may feel internal, continuous, and directive. Thoughts and emotions can be shaped in ways that are difficult to trace back to their origin. In a positive framing, this may be experienced as guidance or protection. The practitioner may hear the guru’s voice both internally and externally, offering direction, reassurance, or correction.
Within advanced tantric practice, particularly in forms associated with highest yoga tantra, this dynamic can deepen further. The guru and the yidam (meditational deity) may be experienced within the subtle body not as abstract symbols, but as vivid and intimate presences. At times, this can take on an erotic or deeply affective quality, often described in traditional language as the union of bliss and awareness.
The practitioner may experience powerful currents of energy moving through the inner network of channels and chakras. These movements can generate intense sensations of expansion, pleasure, and emotional fullness that feel complete and self-validating. From the inside, this can feel like direct spiritual guidance operating through the body itself.
At the same time, this is also a point of vulnerability. When identity and authority converge so completely, it becomes difficult to distinguish between one’s own agency and the influence of the internalized figure of the guru. In my experience, this dynamic can become a powerful mechanism for control.
Exclusivity and Control in the Outer Realm
This internal dynamic is often mirrored externally. In many communities, strong emphasis is placed on extreme loyalty to a single teacher. Seeking instruction from others may be discouraged or framed as a sign of fickleness or lack of devotion.
This creates a closed environment in which the guru becomes the primary source of meaning and authority. The student’s world gradually narrows, and alternative perspectives become harder to access, both intellectually and emotionally. Questioning the structure can feel destabilizing, not only in a social sense, but at the level of identity itself.
Hidden Dynamics
The more difficult aspects of these relationships are rarely visible in the beginning. New students often encounter warmth, insight, and a sense of belonging. Over time, as more complicated dynamics emerge, there may be increasing pressure to conform. Questioning or leaving can begin to feel impossible.
Because the relationship with the guru is embedded in sacred language, what might otherwise be recognized as manipulation or a violation of boundaries is instead interpreted as a higher teaching. This reframing makes it difficult to evaluate the situation clearly.
Deities, Power, and Obligation
Tibetan Buddhism includes many practices involving meditational and protector deities. Traditionally, these are understood as symbolic or as expressions of enlightened qualities. In lived experience, however, they can take on a more immediate spiritual and psychological presence.
Students may come to feel that the guru’s authority is supported by unseen forces. There may be a growing sense that resistance carries consequences that are not entirely understood or controlled. This adds another layer to the relationship. The influence of the guru extends beyond direct interaction and into belief, imagination, fear, and the manipulation of supernatural wrathful entities.
A Darker Interpretation
After years within this system, I began to interpret these dynamics in a more troubling way. The guru does not simply receive respect or devotion. The guru becomes the focal point of identity investment for many individuals at once. Each student focuses their attention and emotional energy on the same person. Students are encouraged to offer their body, speech, and mind to the guru, as well as time and support to the guru’s many projects. Physical offerings of money and goods are implicit. Over time, this concentration of devotion can inflate the guru’s sense of authority and power, and make criticism nearly impossible. The guru becomes someone who can do no wrong within the closed system that surrounds him. He becomes the absolute monarch of the community.
For the student, the result is often a complete erosion of autonomy. One’s sense of self becomes secondary to the structures that support the guru’s role and influence. On an esoteric level, it can feel as though one has been absorbed into another’s stream of being. Even though Tibetan Buddhist texts do not describe this as possession, this is essentially what is happening. The guru taps into powerful magic that binds the disciples and bends them to his will.
The success of the Tibetan Buddhist tantric system depends on many interconnected elements functioning correctly. If one aspect of the practice is misunderstood or misapplied, the entire process can shift and go awry. What is presented as liberation can instead become a dangerous entanglement, leading to destruction and annihilation.
In that state, the practitioner may no longer be guided, but completely overtaken and absorbed, unable to separate their mind, body, and will from the overpowering structure they have entered.
There was a moment in a recent interview with the Catholic exorcist Fr. Chad Ripperger that struck me. [1]
While speaking about Satan he said,
“Lucifer was his originally assigned name. “Lucifer” comes from a root meaning “to bear light.” He was supposed to enlighten our minds, that was his originally assigned task, and he refused to do so.”
That line intrigued me because if Lucifer’s original function was to enlighten, and he rejected that role in rebellion against God, then a natural question follows: What would a fallen angel do with that original mandate?
The Inversion Principle
Later in the same interview, Fr. Ripperger describes something even more striking:
“Beelzebub is the inversion of the Holy Spirit. Lucifer is the inversion of [Christ] the Second Person of the Trinity… And Satan is the ‘Father of Lies,’ so the inversion of God the Father. So you basically have this unholy trinity.”
If that’s true, then inversion isn’t incidental but structural and Lucifer’s rebellion becomes a mirroring, a distortion, and a counterfeit. What if Lucifer didn’t abandon his original assigned task of enlightening, but instead inverted it? What if instead of leading minds toward truth, he developed systems that simulate enlightenment while directing souls away from God?
A Familiar Word: Enlightenment
The word itself appears across a wide range of esoteric and mystical traditions such as Buddhist tantra, certain strands of Freemasonry, occult systems, and various Eastern philosophies.
But what does “enlightenment” mean in each context?
In Christianity, truth is revealed by God and received through grace, but in many esoteric systems, enlightenment is something achieved, often through hidden knowledge, ritual, and disciplined technique. In tantric traditions, enlightenment involves engagement with spiritual forces or entities other than the Biblical God.
If a being like Lucifer wanted to draw souls away from God, not by force, but by deception, what would be the most effective strategy? Probably not obvious evil, but something that resembles truth while subtly redirecting it in a parallel system that is a convincing alternative. Wouldn’t he create a spiritual landscape that feels ancient and profound, but is ultimately oriented away from the Creator?
From that perspective, several contrasts begin to stand out:
1. Creator vs. Non-Creator Frameworks
Biblical Christianity affirms a personal God who created all things. Many non-theistic or differently structured systems do not center reality on a personal Creator, and may instead describe it as arising through interdependent processes or consciousness.
2. One Life vs. Many Lives
Christianity teaches that we live once and then face judgment. Traditions such as Tibetan Buddhism describe cycles of rebirth (samsara) across many lifetimes.
3. Grace vs. Technique
In Christianity, salvation is not earned but given. In esoteric systems, advancement is often tied to occult knowledge, initiation, and disciplined practice.
4. Prohibition of Magic vs. Ritual Use
The Bible consistently forbids sorcery and magical practice. Tantric traditions incorporate rituals, mandalas, invocations, and even practices described as subjugation or destruction of enemies.
That last point raises a difficult question: how do such practices relate to broader Buddhist teachings on compassion and non-harm?
5. Apostolic Succession vs. Spiritual Lineage
In Catholic Christianity, spiritual authority is understood to flow through apostolic succession: a historical, traceable line from Christ to the apostles and through the bishops of the Church. This succession is not merely symbolic; it is understood as a transmission of authority grounded in Christ Himself, preserved through sacrament and doctrine.
In Tibetan Buddhism and related traditions, there is also a strong emphasis on lineage. Spiritual authority and teaching are passed from guru to disciple in an unbroken chain, often tracing back to an enlightened master. In Tibetan Buddhist lineages it traces back to the Buddha himself. Initiation into practices, especially in tantric contexts, typically requires empowerment from someone within that lineage.
At a structural level, the resemblance is striking. Both systems emphasize continuity, transmission, and authorized access to deeper spiritual realities. But within the framework of inversion, the similarity itself becomes significant.
If Lucifer’s rebellion operates through mirroring and distortion rather than outright opposition, then a counterfeit system would not discard the idea of transmission but it would replicate it in altered form. Instead of a lineage grounded in divine revelation and safeguarded by the Church, one might expect a lineage grounded in esoteric knowledge, initiation, and experiential realization.
In that sense, what appears to be parallel structure could be interpreted as inversion: a system that retains the form of authorized transmission while redirecting its source and purpose.
Which leads to a deeper conclusion: if both claim lineage, continuity, and authority, you must discern the true source of that transmission, whether it originates from the Most High God or from something that imitates Him.
Are These Just Different Paths?
At this point, some might object: what if these are simply two different paths to the same ultimate reality? What if “God” in Christianity and “enlightenment” in other systems are just different expressions of the same truth? But that idea becomes difficult to sustain when the core claims directly contradict one another. A personal Creator who judges the soul is not the same as an impersonal reality with no creator. A single earthly life followed by judgment is not the same as endless cycles of rebirth. Grace given by God is not the same as enlightenment achieved through occult techniques. These are not minor differences but fundamentally opposed descriptions of reality. Within the framework of inversion, this matters. If one system is true, then a parallel system that contradicts it cannot simply be an alternative route to the same destination, it must lead somewhere else entirely.
The Question of Power
Another detail from the interview adds an important layer. Fr. Ripperger describes cases in which individuals gained accurate hidden knowledge through demonic influence:
“The demons would tell her, ‘This is what your husband’s doing,’ etc. And it was accurate… that’s how you know it’s true—it’s actually accurate.”
Accuracy, in itself, is not proof of goodness. Many systems, ancient and modern, promise access to hidden knowledge, insight, or power. But the deeper question is: what is the source of that knowledge?
A Counterfeit System?
If we follow this line of thought, a possibility emerges. A fallen angel, originally designed to enlighten, could create entire systems that:
Mimic divine structure
Offer real spiritual experiences
Provide accurate, but limited or misleading, knowledge
Encourage self-deification (“you will be like gods”)
And ultimately redirect worship, trust, and dependence away from the Biblical God
In that light, the serpent’s words in Genesis begin to look less like a one-time event and more like a recurring pattern:
“You will be like God.”
Not through obedience, but hidden knowledge, technique, and transformation.
Final Thought
If Lucifer’s original role was to enlighten, and he rejected God, then the question is not whether enlightenment exists. The question is where each path promising “enlightenment” ultimately leads.
A recent Vatican meeting between Pope Leo XIV and the International Association of Exorcists underscores growing concern within the Church about the spread of occult practices and their spiritual consequences.
According to the exorcists, there has been a “noticeable rise” in involvement with “occultism, esotericism, and Satanism,” developments they associate with increasing cases of spiritual distress.¹ These trends are not viewed as abstract cultural shifts, but as realities encountered in pastoral work.
The delegation stressed that many individuals who engage in such practices experience serious harm, describing “grave spiritual suffering” among those affected.¹ In their view, these are not isolated incidents but part of a broader pattern requiring a structured response from the Church.
“Ignoring these realities leaves many people without an adequate response to grave spiritual suffering.”¹
For this reason, the exorcists emphasized the importance of ensuring that every diocese has properly trained clergy capable of addressing these situations. They called for stronger formation, clearer discernment, and greater institutional readiness.
At the same time, they acknowledged the complexity of these cases. The meeting highlighted the need for collaboration with medical and psychological professionals to distinguish between spiritual affliction and mental health conditions.¹ This cooperation is seen as essential for responsible pastoral care.
The Vatican framed the issue as one of accompaniment and guidance. Many who turn to occult or esoteric practices are described as searching for meaning or relief from personal struggles.¹ From the exorcists’ standpoint, this search can expose individuals to demonic influences that require careful spiritual intervention.
Overall, the meeting reflects a coordinated effort within the Church to respond to what exorcists describe as a growing pastoral challenge: one that involves both spiritual discernment and practical support for those affected.
St. Michael the Archangel, defender of the faithful, stands as heaven’s warrior casting down the forces of darkness and waging relentless battle against demonic powers.
Footnote
Marty Vergel Baes, “Pope Leo XIV Hosts Exorcists at Vatican — Surge in Satanism Cases Raises Concern for Vulnerable Believers,” International Business Times UK, March 23, 2026.
(Left) The Miss Shakti pageant described by former members of the organization. Participants performed dances representing Hindu goddesses during the group’s annual spiritual camp in Costinești, Romania. According to survivor testimony, the competition was presented as a celebration of divine feminine energy within the movement’s tantric teachings. At the end, women were encouraged to lose their costumes and dance naked.
(Right) Illustration represents a disappointing moment described by former members when selected women were brought to meet the group’s leader in a private setting. Several survivors have said the faded older guru greeted them in a bathrobe, and after sex made them drink his pee. Women claimed the encounter differed sharply from the expectations created by the organization’s portrayal of the guru as a spiritually extraordinary figure.
In late November 2023 French police launched a series of coordinated raids across the Paris region targeting a network of international yoga schools linked to Romanian guru Gregorian Bivolaru. Investigators deployed roughly 175 officers to search multiple properties connected to the organization. Dozens of suspects were detained, including the movement’s founder.[1]
Authorities allege the investigation uncovered a system that recruited women through yoga courses and spiritual retreats before subjecting some of them to psychological coercion, sexual exploitation, and trafficking. Prosecutors say the network relied on secrecy, spiritual authority, and tightly controlled living environments to maintain power over followers.[2]
To the outside world the organization presented itself as a loose federation of yoga schools devoted to meditation, spiritual growth, and tantric philosophy. Classes advertised esoteric spirituality and techniques for personal transformation. Students attending local branches often believed they were participating in ordinary yoga programs.
However, former members say the reality behind the scenes could be very different.
Their accounts describe a gradual process in which newcomers were drawn deeper into the group through friendship, spiritual promises, and increasingly secret teachings. And a select number of participants encountered the most controversial practices, which were framed as advanced spiritual initiations.
The story of one former member, Miranda Grace, provides a detailed glimpse into how that process unfolded.[3]
The Spiritual Entry Point
Miranda first encountered the organization through what appeared to be an ordinary yoga school operating in London under the name Tara Yoga Centre. At the time she was deeply interested in spiritual practice and had recently returned from India after completing yoga teacher training. The school’s curriculum seemed attractive to someone searching for deeper spiritual knowledge. Courses covered yoga postures, meditation techniques, astrology, tantra philosophy, and elements of Kashmiri Shaivism.
Students were told the organization practiced something called “white tantra,” which teachers described as a sacred spiritual tradition emphasizing energetic transformation rather than sexuality. This distinction was important because many Western tantra workshops openly incorporate sexual exercises. By contrast, the school presented itself as offering a purer and more traditional form of tantra rooted in ancient teachings.
Miranda later explained that nothing initially appeared suspicious. Teachers and students were warm and welcoming and the environment felt supportive and spiritual. Like many new members she believed she had discovered a serious community devoted to meditation and self-development.
The Founder and the Network
The broader movement behind these yoga schools traces back to Romanian teacher Gregorian Bivolaru. During the 1970s and 1980s Bivolaru taught yoga under Romania’s communist regime, when alternative spiritual practices were often suppressed. This period helped build his reputation among followers as a persecuted mystic and spiritual rebel.
After the fall of communism he established the Movement for Spiritual Integration into the Absolute, commonly known as MISA.[4] The organization later expanded internationally and began operating under numerous affiliated names, including the Atman Federation of Yoga Schools. Branches have appeared across Europe, Asia, and North America under names such as Tara Yoga Centre, Natha Yoga, and Mahasiddha Yoga.
Within the movement Bivolaru is referred to by followers as “Grieg,” a spiritual guide believed to possess advanced enlightenment and extraordinary energetic powers. Students are taught that he can accelerate spiritual evolution and transmit powerful mystical states to disciples. Critics and investigators, however, describe a very different picture. European authorities say the guru used psychological manipulation and spiritual authority to obtain sexual access to female followers and maintain a network of exploitation.[5]
Gradual Indoctrination
According to Miranda’s account, the group’s recruitment process unfolds slowly. New members begin with standard yoga classes and meditation workshops. Over time they are invited to retreats and special groups where the teachings become more esoteric. Teachers often emphasize themes of sacred femininity and the spiritual importance of sexual energy.
Women’s groups may include exercises designed to help participants feel more comfortable with their bodies. In some cases members are encouraged to wear lingerie or perform sensual dances framed as spiritual empowerment. Discussions about sexuality become increasingly explicit, though always couched in mystical language about energy, chakras, and sacred union.
Miranda recalled that the process felt gradual rather than shocking. The environment was filled with people who appeared joyful and spiritually advanced, which made it easier to overlook moments that felt strange or uncomfortable. Compliments and encouragement from teachers created the sense that she was progressing along an important spiritual path.
Eventually she was invited to join a more exclusive women’s group. Members were described as women who were particularly “open” and spiritually receptive. Inside the group the practices intensified. Participants were told they were exploring sacred feminine energy and were encouraged to express sensuality without shame.
At one point photographs were taken of participants and sent to the guru so he could evaluate their spiritual potential by reading their aura. Some of the photographs were nude. Shortly afterward Miranda was told she had been chosen to attend a summer camp in Romania.
The Romanian Retreat
The retreat took place during the organization’s large annual spiritual camp in Costinești, Romania. Thousands of followers from around the world attend the event each summer for lectures, meditations, and spiritual workshops organized by the movement. For many participants the gathering resembles a festival devoted to yoga and mystical philosophy.
According to Miranda’s account, the atmosphere changed once she arrived at the women’s villa connected to the retreat. Participants were required to surrender their passports and phones when entering the building and were only allowed to retrieve them when leaving the premises. Organizers explained that the rules were meant to protect the group from outside interference and to maintain a focused spiritual environment.
Women were also asked to swear secrecy oaths. In Miranda’s case this involved placing a hand on a Bible and promising never to reveal what happened inside the retreat or during certain initiations. Participants were warned that breaking this oath could damage their health, spiritual evolution, or even harm their families.
Another practice involved filming participants naked while they slowly turned in a circle. Organizers told them the recordings would allow the guru to read their aura and determine their spiritual level.
During the retreat the guru himself was spoken about in increasingly reverential terms. Teachers and senior members described him as a spiritual guide whose consciousness operated beyond ordinary human limitations. Followers shared stories about profound spiritual transformations they said they had experienced through his teachings.
One of the most prominent events at the camp was the Miss Shakti pageant. The competition was presented as a celebration of divine feminine energy inspired by Hindu goddess traditions. At the beginning participants wore elaborate costumes and performed choreographed dances meant to embody different goddesses. As the competition progressed, the performances became increasingly sexualized. By the final stage the remaining contestants appeared nude on stage. According to Miranda, the winner received the prize of a special spiritual relationship and guidance from the guru for one year.
The Secret Trip
After the retreat Miranda was invited to meet Bivolaru personally. The journey was conducted under strict secrecy. Participants were instructed to tell friends and family they were attending a silent retreat and would not be reachable.
During the drive toward Paris the women were given hats and sunglasses and told to keep them pulled down so they could not see where they were going. If police stopped the vehicle they were instructed to say they were simply traveling on a yoga holiday.
When they arrived at a house outside Paris their phones, passports, and bank cards were confiscated. Organizers said electronic devices interfered with spiritual energy and that documents had to be stored safely. In practice the measures ensured that the women had no independent means of communication or travel.
Inside the house they were required to read long documents describing tantric sexual techniques, watch videos, and write reflections about spiritual experiences. Participants were filmed naked again so the guru could supposedly analyze their energy. Several women slept in each bedroom while new arrivals appeared frequently. Investigators who later raided similar properties reported finding dozens of women living in crowded conditions under tight supervision.[6]
The Initiation
Eventually Miranda was taken to meet the guru. Her first reaction was confusion. She had expected a powerful spiritual figure but instead encountered an elderly man in a bathrobe.
Despite feeling no attraction, she felt enormous pressure to proceed. Every woman she knew in the organization had supposedly undergone the same initiation. Refusing would mean failing spiritually and losing her entire community.
She later described dissociating during the experience. Afterward she was required to record a positive testimonial while naked on camera describing the encounter as spiritually meaningful.[3]
Economic Exploitation
Miranda was later transferred to another house described as a spiritual integration center. In reality it functioned as a camgirl studio. Women worked shifts on adult websites while being told the activity was a form of spiritual volunteering known as karma yoga.
The payment structure was confusing. Food, housing, and fines were deducted from earnings, leaving many participants with little or no money. Former members say similar operations existed across several countries, including webcam studios, erotic film projects, massage centers, and clubs staffed by female disciples.
Investigators believe these businesses generated substantial income for the organization.
The 2023 Police Raids
Years of complaints from former members eventually led to a large international investigation. On November 28, 2023 French police carried out coordinated raids targeting properties connected to the network.[1]
Authorities arrested dozens of suspects and placed several in pretrial detention. Bivolaru himself was arrested in Paris, where police reportedly discovered large sums of cash during the search.[7] Investigators also reported finding dozens of women living in crowded conditions at locations linked to the case.[6]
Prosecutors allege the organization used spiritual ideology and psychological pressure to control followers and obtain sexual access to women. The guru denies the accusations and supporters claim the investigation is politically motivated. The case is expected to move toward trial in the coming years.
The “Golden Elixir” Practice
One of the most unusual doctrines described by former members involves a ritual referred to inside the organization as the “golden elixir.” According to Miranda’s testimony, women were taught that after prolonged tantric intercourse the body’s fluids become spiritually transformed into a sacred substance containing a person’s highest energetic essence.[3]
Within the ritual, urine produced after the sexual act was described as a powerful elixir capable of transmitting spiritual energy between partners. Participants were told that consuming or exchanging the substance allowed practitioners to absorb each other’s spiritual qualities and accelerate enlightenment.
The terminology appears to borrow from several older esoteric traditions. In Taoist internal alchemy, texts sometimes refer to symbolic “elixirs of immortality” created through meditation and breath practices that refine the body’s vital energy. These teachings describe internal energetic processes rather than literal bodily fluids.
Classical tantric traditions also contain symbolic references to sexual energy and bodily substances as vehicles for spiritual transformation. However, scholars note that the specific ritual described by survivors does not appear in historical tantric texts and appears to be a modern interpretation developed within the group’s teachings.
Former members say the doctrine functioned as a powerful form of conditioning. By framing extreme sexual practices as advanced spiritual techniques, it helped normalize behaviors that many participants would otherwise have found disturbing.
Why Systems Like This Work
Stories like Miranda’s often provoke disbelief. It is tempting to ask how intelligent people could become involved in such situations.
But the structure of these organizations explains much of the dynamic. People do not join a cult on the first day. They join yoga classes, meditation groups, and spiritual communities. The most extreme practices appear only after months or years of gradual escalation.
By that point members often have close friendships, romantic relationships, housing arrangements, and spiritual identities tied to the organization. Leaving can mean losing an entire social world and admitting that a deeply held belief system may have been deceptive.
That psychological trap is one of the most powerful control mechanisms any high-demand spiritual group can create.
When the Pattern Appears in Other Traditions
At first glance the story of the Romanian yoga network may appear to be an extreme and unusual case. It is easy to assume that such dynamics occur only in fringe spiritual movements operating outside established religious traditions.
Yet similar patterns have appeared in many different spiritual communities where authority becomes concentrated in the hands of revered teachers and questioning that authority is discouraged.
My own experience practicing within Tibetan Buddhist communities made this reality difficult to ignore. Within Vajrayana Buddhism, devotion to the guru is considered a central element of the spiritual path. Students are taught that the teacher embodies enlightened wisdom and that maintaining trust in the guru is essential for progress. In traditional teachings, breaking that bond of devotion can be described as creating extremely serious karmic consequences.[8]
In theory these teachings are meant to cultivate trust between teacher and student. In practice they can create environments where misconduct becomes difficult to challenge. When a teacher is viewed as spiritually infallible, ethical concerns can be reframed as failures of devotion.
Recent reports from the Samye Ling Buddhist community in Scotland illustrate how such dynamics can arise. Samye Ling is one of the oldest Tibetan Buddhist centers in the West and has played a major role in introducing Tibetan Buddhism to Europe. Yet accounts published by former practitioners describe allegations of bullying, coercion, sexual abuse, and misuse of tantric authority during retreats connected with some of the teachers associated with the community.[9]
According to reports compiled from former residents and retreat participants, several women had previously raised complaints about intimidation and psychological pressure during extended retreats on Holy Isle, the island retreat center connected with Samye Ling.[9] Some accounts describe the use of tantra in ways that participants experienced as coercive or abusive.
One particularly tragic case involved the reported suicide of a woman after participating in a long retreat associated with the center. Statements shared by members of a survivors’ support group suggest she had previously expressed distress about bullying by the guru during the retreat experience.[10]
These reports do not describe the same type of organized trafficking network alleged in the Romanian case. The situations are different in important ways. Yet the structural similarities are striking. In both contexts spiritual authority can become so elevated that criticism becomes socially and psychologically dangerous. Students may feel pressured to reinterpret discomfort as evidence of their own spiritual shortcomings rather than possible misconduct by a teacher.
Over time this dynamic can lead people to reinterpret harm as a path to spiritual progress and to ignore red flags.
Recognizing this pattern reveals a recurring vulnerability that appears whenever secrecy, hierarchical authority, and devotion converge around charismatic and powerful spiritual leaders.
Examining that vulnerability openly may be one of the most important steps spiritual communities can take if they hope to prevent similar harm in the future.
The story that began with a Romanian yoga movement ultimately points to a broader issue that reaches far beyond a single organization or religious tradition. Whenever spiritual authority becomes insulated from scrutiny, secrecy surrounds advanced teachings, and students are taught that questioning a teacher is a spiritual failure, the same dynamics emerge again and again. For many survivors, the hardest realization is that practices once presented as sacred were used to enforce silence, obedience, and harm. Understanding the patterns that recur in high-demand spiritual groups is one important way people can be protected from those who seek to misuse them.
Note: In recent years the controversy surrounding the Romanian yoga movement has begun to attract wider public attention. A new documentary series titled Twisted Yoga on Apple TV examines allegations surrounding the organization and its founder, drawing on interviews with former members and investigative reporting. Independent researchers have also compiled information and survivor testimony through the website Atman Cult Alert, which tracks developments related to the network and its affiliated schools. Several podcast series have explored the story in depth as well, including The Bad Guru from the BBC in the United Kingdom, Toxic Tantra produced in Germany, and The Road to Paradise, a Danish podcast investigating the organization’s activities in Europe. Together these projects reflect a growing international effort to understand how the movement expanded across multiple countries and how former members say they were drawn into its inner circles and exploited.
Footnotes
International reporting on the November 2023 French police raids targeting the Atman Federation and related yoga organizations.
Statements from French prosecutors describing trafficking and organized crime charges connected to the investigation.
Miranda Grace interview on the YouTube channel Cults to Consciousness describing her experiences inside the Tara Yoga / Atman network.
Historical background on Gregorian Bivolaru and the Movement for Spiritual Integration into the Absolute (MISA).
Investigative reporting describing allegations of psychological manipulation and exploitation linked to the organization.
Reports from French authorities describing conditions discovered in properties raided during the investigation.
Media coverage describing the arrest of Gregorian Bivolaru and seizure of cash during searches in Paris.
Discussions in Vajrayana Buddhist literature regarding the seriousness of breaking devotion to one’s guru.
Reports compiled by Dakini Translations regarding allegations of misconduct and bullying involving Drupon Karma Lhabu and teachers connected with Samye Ling and Holy Isle retreats.
Reporting and survivor statements regarding the death of a woman following participation in a retreat associated with the Samye Ling community.
Tibetan Buddhism is marketed in the West as a path of the highest integrity. It is described as a philosophical system with techniques for developing mindfulness, compassion, and ultimately for attaining enlightenment. What is rarely stated plainly is that Vajrayāna tantric systems are structured around ritualized spirit possession and identity takeover.
A 2022 doctoral dissertation, Āveśa and Deity Possession in the Tantric Traditions of South Asia by Vikas Malhotra, documents that possession became central to medieval Tantric practice, including Buddhist Tantra that later developed into Tibetan Vajrayāna.[1] The Sanskrit term āveśa literally means “entering into.” In Tantric contexts, it refers to the fusion of practitioner and deity. This was not marginal but foundational.[2]
Deity Yoga Involves Possession
In Tibetan Deity Yoga, practitioners visualize themselves as a deity, recite its mantra, adopt its gestures and identity, and are instructed to experience no separation between themselves and that being. Modern teachers frame this as symbolic or psychological and as a method to realize emptiness. But examined historically, it follows the structure of possession technology:
Invocation
Descent of power
Identity fusion
Altered agency
Bodily and psychological signs
Medieval Tantric texts describe possession markers such as trembling, ecstasy, altered consciousness, and loss of ordinary identity. These same phenomena and mechanisms are reported in Vajrayāna contexts.
Guru Yoga and Human Possession
There are also uncomfortable truths concerning Guru Yoga. In this practice, the visualized guru dissolves into light and enters the disciple. The disciple experiences the guru’s mind as inseparable from their own. Empowerment is described as a descent of blessing into the subtle body. The dissertation notes that in Tantric systems, even advanced humans could possess others in positive ways. [3]
The guru embodies enlightened power.
Through initiation, that power descends.
The disciple becomes a vessel.
Identity shifts from individual to lineage-bearer.
This is ritualized human-to-human possession. It is framed as a positive transmission, but is it really? What are the implications of inviting another human being in to possess you? If you examine the numerous exposés of abuse in Vajrayāna communities over the past few decades, you might wonder why anyone would let a fallible human being enter and possess them. As someone who lived through egregious abuse by a supposedly enlightened Vajrayāna master, I can speak from personal experience. Guru yoga creates a framework in which another human being is granted intimate internal authority over your mind and identity. Why would anyone knowingly consent to that dynamic? They probably wouldn’t if they knew that spiritual possession is what actually happens during guru and deity yoga.
Why This Is Glossed Over
The fact that this is glossed over in Tibetan Buddhist teachings should give one pause. Why isn’t this discussed up front? It is because possession sounds primitive and carries negative psychiatric and colonial baggage. For these reasons, traditions seeking Western legitimacy avoid the term and conceal the reality beneath layers of theological and philosophical euphemism. The issue is not vocabulary, but whether practitioners are told clearly what is structurally taking place. If Vajrayāna depends on ritualized possession through deity and guru incorporation, that should be stated plainly.
In Western religious history, especially within Christianity, possession has long been regarded as negative, spiritually dangerous, and psychologically destabilizing. It is associated with loss of agency, vulnerability to manipulation by demonic entities, and the need for protection or exorcism. It is not treated as spiritually glamorous. It is treated as a serious risk.
Yet when similar identity-dissolving dynamics appear within an imported spiritual system, they are often elevated, aestheticized, and shielded from scrutiny. The language changes but the underlying structure does not.
Why does ritual possession provoke alarm in one context but reverence in another? Why does a shift in metaphysical framing automatically neutralize the concern? If this would raise red flags in a Western church, why should it be exempt from examination in a Tibetan temple?
The historical record is clear. Possession is not peripheral to Tibetan Tantra. It is embedded in its ritual core. If that is so, then practitioners deserve to confront that reality consciously rather than encounter it disguised as harmless symbolism or elevated mysticism.
Footnotes
[1] Vikas Malhotra, Āveśa and Deity Possession in the Tantric Traditions of South Asia: History, Evolution, & Etiology, PhD diss., University of California, Santa Barbara, 2022 .
[2] Ibid., discussion of possession becoming central to Tantric praxis .
[3] Ibid., discussion of positive forms of human possession .
[4] Ibid., integrated model of possession as embodied transformation .
In public he was a benefactor of science, a patron of universities, and a familiar presence at elite gatherings where presidents, financiers, and scholars lifted glasses in his honor. He spoke often about innovation and the future of humanity. He funded research into artificial intelligence and longevity. He donated to museums and cultivated relationships with some of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world.
In private, according to court findings and sworn testimony, he engaged in the sexual exploitation of underage girls. For years he maintained elite access even after a 2008 conviction in Florida that resulted in a widely criticized plea deal and a remarkably lenient sentence that allowed him to leave his jail cell to work in his office by day. His re-arrest in 2019 on federal sex trafficking charges exposed how effectively wealth, influence, and reputation had insulated him from deeper scrutiny.
Epstein seemed to understand a brutal rule of power: visibility can function as protection. The more photographed he was beside institutions of prestige, the less imaginable his alleged private conduct became to those outside his inner circle.
His gatherings were invitation-only, often held at his private island compound in the U.S. Virgin Islands. The architecture there blended minimalist modernism with a small blue-and-white striped domed structure that media outlets dubbed a “temple” because of its appearance. Guests described the environment as theatrical. Much of what occurred behind closed doors is documented only through depositions, allegations, and ongoing public debate.
Recently unsealed court documents, often referred to online as “the Epstein files,” have reignited public scrutiny. Thousands of pages of redacted emails including some visual material are being dissected not only by journalists but by ordinary citizens on TikTok, X, Reddit, and other platforms. Some social media users claim the documents reveal evidence of very extreme abuses beyond the charges formally brought in court, including references they interpret as ritualized harm or Satanic Ritual Abuse. These interpretations circulate widely online, though the verified criminal cases center on the exploitation and trafficking of minors.
Epstein was, by all outward appearances, a master of code-switching. By day he discussed finance, philanthropy, and global policy. By night, prosecutors allege, he participated in the exploitation of vulnerable girls. Private investigators with platforms on social media allege that he functioned as a sort of occult high priest who orchestrated acts of unimaginable depravity. He moved between these worlds without visible friction. Financier and social strategist in public; accused trafficker in private.
The deeper question is not merely how one man operated, but how systems of prestige allowed him to do so for so long. And whether others who participated in or enabled the abuse will ever face prosecution.
The Cult of Radiant Compassion
Across the ocean, in the mountains of distant lands, another structure flourished for centuries. Let’s just call it the Order of Radiant Compassion.
To outsiders, the Order appeared serene. Its temples were adorned with luminous murals depicting buddhas and bodhisattvas acting for the benefit of all sentient beings. Devotees spoke of nonviolence, transcendence of ego, and enlightenment.
But within the inner circles of the most accomplished adepts, a harsher doctrine was practiced. These gurus demanded absolute obedience. Students pledged sacred vows called samayas that many did not fully understand. Breaking those vows, they were warned, would condemn their consciousness to eons of unimaginable torment. Many vulnerable disciples were abused and gaslighted.
In this cult, the outer teachings emphasized kindness, while the secret teachings emphasized power and allowed for great cruelty. Advanced disciples were taught that reality could be manipulated through ritual and that consciousness could be fractured and reconstructed by tantric techniques. A disciple’s identity became malleable clay in the hands of the enlightened master who used those techniques to enforce his will. The language was luminous, but the implications were not.
Epstein’s circle believed themselves liberated from morality by intellect. The Order believed themselves liberated from morality by metaphysics. One cloaked itself in secular humanism, while the other cloaked itself in sanctified mysticism. Both relied on a similar architecture of control:
Public virtue
Private transgression
Initiation through secrecy
Loyalty secured by psychological or other forms of leverage
While some investigators have speculated that Epstein leveraged compromising information, the Order secured obedience through fear of karmic retribution and promises of enlightenment. In both systems, followers surrendered discernment in exchange for something greater.
The House of Mirrors
The lesson is not about one man’s island of horrors or one enlightenment cult’s flourishing through deception. It is about systems that divide the world into initiates and outsiders, that sanctify hierarchy, and that position certain people into positions of authority beyond moral scrutiny.
The public exposure of Epstein’s life shattered the illusion that prestige guarantees virtue. It forced a reckoning with how reputational power can silence victims for decades and how easily human beings are dazzled by proximity to influence. No system, whether financial, political, or spiritual, should ever place itself above ordinary morality. Accountability begins when we stop confusing the appearance of status with sanctity.
In Vajrayana Buddhism and related tantric systems, practitioners are taught that enlightened activity manifests in four fundamental modes, often called the Four Activities. These are commonly translated as Pacifying, Enriching, Magnetizing, and Subjugating. In Sanskrit they correspond to śāntika, pauṣṭika, vaśīkaraṇa, and abhicāra. In Tibetan sources they are known as zhi, rgyas, dbang, and drag po.
Doctrinally, the Four Activities are described as spontaneous expressions of awakened compassion. An enlightened being pacifies obstacles, enriches virtue and resources, magnetizes beings toward the Dharma, and subjugates harmful forces. This presentation emphasizes intent and realization, assuring the student that such actions, when performed from enlightenment, are free of karmic stain.
Yet this sanitized description obscures a more uncomfortable reality. Historically and textually, the Four Activities function as classificatory frameworks for large compendiums of ritual technologies. These include magical spells, rites, visualizations, mantras, and talismanic operations designed to bring about very specific effects in the world. Such effects include healing and calming, increasing wealth or longevity, attracting and binding others, and coercing, harming, or destroying enemies.
This dual framing creates a tension that is rarely examined openly within modern Buddhist discourse.
The Four Activities as Magical Technologies
Tantric manuals from India and Tibet make explicit that the Four Activities are not metaphors. They are actionable ritual categories. Tantras such as the Guhyasamāja Tantra and the Hevajra Tantra, along with later ritual compendiums such as the Sādhanamālā and abhicāravidyā genre texts, provide detailed instructions for rites aimed at controlling weather, influencing rulers, compelling lovers, paralyzing rivals, or causing illness and death.[1]
These materials make clear that tantric ritual was never confined to inner transformation alone. The Four Activities structured a full spectrum of practical interventions into social, political, and psychological life.
The Sādhanamālā
The Sādhanamālā is a large Sanskrit compendium of tantric ritual manuals compiled in India roughly between the 8th and 12th centuries CE.
It is Buddhist, specifically Vajrayana or Mantrayāna, and not Śaiva, even though it shares techniques and ritual logic with non-Buddhist tantric traditions. The text consists of several hundred sādhana instructions for meditation and ritual practice focused on Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and tantric deities such as Tārā, Avalokiteśvara, Mañjuśrī, Vajrayoginī, and Hevajra.
Many of these sādhanas are explicitly or implicitly classified according to the Four Activities. They include ritual prescriptions for pacifying illness, enriching wealth or lifespan, magnetizing kings, patrons, or disciples, and subjugating enemies. The intended effects are practical and worldly as well as soteriological.
The Sādhanamālā was translated into Tibetan in parts and circulated widely in Tibet. Tibetan ritual literature draws heavily on this material, even when the Indian source material is not foregrounded explicitly.
Standard scholarly references include: Benoytosh Bhattacharyya, Sādhanamālā, Baroda, 1925–1928, and David Snellgrove, Indo-Tibetan Buddhism, Shambhala, 1987.
Abhicāravidyā Texts
Abhicāravidyā is not a single book but a category of ritual literature.
The Sanskrit term abhicāra refers to rites of coercion, harm, or destructive magic. Vidyā means a spell or magical formula. Abhicāravidyā texts are therefore manuals of destructive or coercive rites.
In Buddhist tantra, such texts describe subjugation practices including immobilization, madness, illness, death, expulsion of consciousness, and rites intended to cause death, sometimes described as ritual killing by proxy. These rites are usually justified as actions taken against enemies of the Dharma, oath breakers, or beings deemed karmically irredeemable.
These texts circulated in India among tantric specialists and were selectively translated into Tibetan, often under euphemistic titles or embedded within larger ritual cycles. In Tibet, their contents were reorganized under the heading of drag po, or wrathful activity.
Important examples of Buddhist abhicāra material appear in:
The Guhyasamāja Tantra and its explanatory tantras The Hevajra Tantra The Sarvatathāgatatattvasaṃgraha Later ritual manuals attributed to figures such as Nāgārjuna and Padmasambhava
Because of their ethical volatility, abhicāra rites were rarely taught openly. Access was restricted, which is one reason modern practitioners often underestimate how central such practices were historically.
Key scholarly discussions include: Ronald Davidson, Indian Esoteric Buddhism, Columbia University Press, 2002, and Alexis Sanderson, “The Śaiva Age,” in Genesis and Development of Tantrism, Tokyo, 2009.
Relationship to Tibetan Buddhism
Tibetan Buddhism inherited these Indian materials largely intact. The Four Activities framework in Tibet is not an innovation but a systematization of Indian tantric categories.
What changed in Tibet was less the ritual content than the doctrinal rhetoric surrounding it. Destructive and coercive rites were reframed as compassionate acts performed by realized beings. This rhetorical move allowed the practices to survive while softening their public presentation.
When Tibetan teachers speak of the Four Activities today, they are standing on a ritual foundation built by Indian Buddhist tantra, including the Sādhanamālā and abhicāravidyā traditions, whether this inheritance is acknowledged or not.
In Tibetan contexts, this ritual material was further systematized. The Four Activities became a classificatory framework under which thousands of rites were organized. Fire pujas, effigy magic, thread-cross rituals, and sexual yogas all find their place within this scheme.[2]
The ethical difficulty is obvious. While pacifying and enriching activities can be interpreted charitably, subjugation practices explicitly involve violence, coercion, and psychological domination. Tibetan ritual manuals state that subjugation rites can cause madness, death, or rebirth in hell realms for the target, often justified by vague claims that the victim is an enemy of the Dharma.[3]
Subjugation and Buddhist Ethical Dissonance
From the standpoint of Buddhist ethics, subjugation is the most troubling of the Four Activities. Buddhism is grounded in non-harming and the cultivation of compassion. Yet subjugation rituals rely on wrathful intent and instrumental harm. Traditional defenses argue that enlightened beings act beyond dualistic morality because they have transcended good and evil.
For modern Western practitioners, these explanations often remain abstract. Teachers rarely teach subjugation practices explicitly, and students are encouraged to interpret wrathful deities symbolically. This produces a form of cognitive dissonance. The practices exist, are preserved, and are sometimes performed within group pujas, but disciples can maintain psychological distance by not understanding the wrathful practices or details. Ignorance becomes a form of insulation.
Magnetizing Activity and the Binding of Disciples
Magnetizing activity is often portrayed as benign. It is described as the compassionate attraction of beings to the path. Yet tantric texts are explicit that magnetizing rites are used to influence minds, bind loyalty, and generate devotion.[4]
In ritual manuals, magnetizing practices are used to attract lovers, patrons, followers, and students. They involve visualizations of cords, hooks, nooses, and substances entering the bodies of targets to incline their thoughts and emotions. These are not metaphors for persuasion. They are magical technologies of attachment.
Within guru-disciple relationships, magnetizing activity takes on a particularly disturbing dimension. Once a student takes tantric initiation, they are bound by samaya vows. These vows often include lifelong loyalty to the guru and lineage until enlightenment is achieved.[5]
The power imbalance is severe. The teacher is positioned as the embodiment of awakening. The student is warned that doubt, criticism, or separation leads to spiritual ruin.
What If Enlightenment Is Not Reached?
Traditional literature assumes enlightenment will be reached. But what if it is not. What if the practitioner becomes disillusioned, traumatized, or psychologically destabilized.
In such cases, the Four Activities do not disappear. The same ritual logic that binds can also be used to punish. Tibetan sources describe the use of subjugation rites against oath breakers, samaya violators, and enemies of the lineage.[6]
Modern scholars and psychologists studying tantric communities have documented patterns of dependency, identity collapse, and long-term trauma following abusive guru relationships.[7] Magnetizing activity, in this light, resembles a spider’s web. Attraction is not neutral. It is structured, adhesive, and difficult to escape.
Conclusion
The Four Activities are not merely poetic descriptions of enlightened compassion. They are historical and functional systems of magical action. To ignore this is to misunderstand tantra at its core.
Subjugation challenges Buddhist ethics directly. Magnetizing challenges them more subtly. It operates through devotion, love, and surrender, making it easier to accept and harder to question. For Western practitioners kept deliberately ignorant of these dynamics, the result is not safety but vulnerability and the possibility of ruin.
An honest engagement with tantra requires confronting these practices without romanticism, without denial, and without pretending that malevolent harm disappears simply because it is cloaked in sacred language.
Footnotes and Sources
Alexis Sanderson, “The Śaiva Age,” in Genesis and Development of Tantrism, Tokyo, 2009.
Samten Karmay, The Arrow and the Spindle, Mandala Book Point, 1998.
Ronald Davidson, Indian Esoteric Buddhism, Columbia University Press, 2002.
David Gordon White, Kiss of the Yogini, University of Chicago Press, 2003.
Jamgön Kongtrul, The Torch of Certainty, Shambhala, 1977.
Stephen Beyer, The Cult of Tārā, University of California Press, 1978.
Mariana Caplan, Halfway Up the Mountain, Hohm Press, 2011.
Among the many images that circulate quietly within Tibetan tantric lineages, there are several that are never explained to most practitioners and never shown outside advanced ritual contexts. One such image, often embedded within long Mahākāla rites and other high-level tantric liturgies, depicts a bound, pierced, weapon-studded human figure marked with mantras, seals, and symbolic restraints. To the uninitiated, it resembles a wrathful medical diagram or an esoteric curse talisman. To insiders, it represents something much more disturbing.
These images are not symbolic reminders of compassion, nor are they abstract metaphors for ego-death. They are ritual instruments. Specifically, they are used in rites intended to punish, bind, obstruct, or destroy the lives of those who are deemed to have broken samaya—the sacred vows binding a tantric practitioner to their guru, lineage, and yidam deity.
This fact is rarely discussed openly. When it is mentioned at all, it is framed euphemistically as “removing obstacles,” “protecting the Dharma,” or “subjugating harmful forces.” What is almost never acknowledged is that, within some tantric systems, the “harmful force” being targeted is a former disciple.
Why Beginners Are Never Told
Students entering Tibetan Buddhism are typically introduced through ethics, meditation, philosophy, and aspirational ideals: loving-kindness, compassion, non-violence, and wisdom. Tantric Buddhism is presented as a fast but benevolent path, dangerous only insofar as it requires devotion and discipline.
What they are not told is that questioning, criticizing, or emotionally reacting to a guru can itself be framed as a samaya violation. Nor are they told that certain rituals explicitly teach that lineage holders have the right, and sometimes the obligation, to retaliate metaphysically against perceived betrayal.
Beginners are warned vaguely that breaking samaya leads to “terrible consequences,” often described as karmic rather than intentional. The implication is that the universe itself will respond. What is left unsaid is that these consequences may be deliberately invoked, ritualized, and sustained by human agents acting within a tantric framework.
The unspoken lesson is simple: dissent is dangerous.
The Yidam Is Watching
At the core of highest yoga tantra is the yidam deity, the meditational deity with whom the practitioner forms an exclusive, intimate bond. The yidam is not merely visualized as an external symbol but is gradually internalized, embodied, and ultimately identified with as one’s own enlightened nature.
This process is often described in modern terms as psychological transformation. In traditional terms, however, it is far closer to classical possession.
The practitioner receives initiation from a master understood to be fully realized–meaning fully inhabited by the yidam. Through empowerment, mantra recitation, repeated visualization, and ritual invitation, the practitioner repeatedly invites the deity to enter their body and mind. Over time, the boundary between practitioner and deity is intentionally dissolved.
This is how the yidam “monitors” the practitioner: not metaphorically, but through total psychic access. Thoughts, emotions, doubts, and impulses are no longer private. They are offerings or offenses.
Within this framework, enlightenment, siddhis, and protection are granted conditionally. The deity gives, and the deity can withhold. More disturbingly, the deity can retaliate.
“Sons” of the Deity and Absolute Obedience
Advanced tantric systems often refer to lineage masters as the “sons” of the yidam. These are the men who have fully merged with the deity through practice. Disrespecting such a figure is not treated as a social conflict or ethical disagreement; it is framed as an attack on the deity itself.
This becomes especially dangerous in cases involving sexual relationships between guru and disciple. While not every such relationship is abusive, many are. In some cases, a guru expects sexual access as a demonstration of devotion and service. When the disciple becomes distressed, confused, or resistant, or when she later speaks out, the guru’s response is not accountability but punishment.
From within the tantric logic, the guru is not merely a man abusing power. He is a god-being whose will cannot be questioned. The disciple’s suffering is reframed as karmic purification or divine retribution.
Ritual Retaliation Is Real
There is a tendency among modern defenders of Tibetan Buddhism to dismiss accounts of retaliation as superstition or paranoia. Yet whistleblowers, both Western and Asian, have repeatedly documented actions taken against former disciples over months or years. In the most extreme cases, these are not momentary curses but sustained practices intended to ruin health, relationships, livelihood, and sanity.
I personally have known three gurus who engaged in such retaliatory behavior. These were not fringe figures. They were respected, accomplished masters with devoted followings. The rituals were not symbolic. They were methodical, intentional, and experienced by the practitioners themselves to be effective.
This is witchcraft in the plain sense of the word. It is no different in structure or intent from Haitian vodou curses or European malefic magic. The only difference is the religious branding.
The Ethical Contradiction at the Heart of Tantra
This raises an unavoidable question: how can a system that claims descent from the historical Buddha whose teachings emphasize non-harming, restraint, and compassion contain practices that deliberately destroy human lives?
The answer lies in tantric exceptionalism. Within these systems, ordinary Buddhist ethics are considered provisional. Once one enters the tantric domain, morality becomes subordinate to obedience, secrecy, and power. A guru possessed by a wrathful deity is no longer bound by conventional ethics because the deity is not.
Publicly, tantric masters speak constantly of compassion and loving-kindness. They smile, bless, and perform virtue with great skill. Privately, nothing is free. Every empowerment creates obligations. Every vow tightens the noose. And the deeper one goes, the more rigid and unforgiving the system becomes.
The Real Danger
Not all Tibetan Buddhist teachers engage in these practices. Many do not. But the fact that some of the most accomplished masters have done so for centuries means the danger is structural, not incidental.
The real threat of tantric Buddhism is that it weaponizes devotion, sanctifies possession, and normalizes ritual violence while hiding behind the language of Buddhist compassion and enlightenment.
Until this is openly acknowledged, aspirants will continue to walk blindly into systems that can, and sometimes do, destroy them, all in the name of awakening.
Tantric Deception 