In the modern spiritual landscape, the image of the Tibetan Buddhist guru reigns supreme: a figure of wisdom, compassion, and radiant loving-kindness. They preach mindfulness, selflessness, and sanctity, inviting seekers into what appears to be a sacred journey toward enlightenment. Yet, to me, this image is a facade, a carefully curated performance masking a much darker reality.
I write these words not as a distant observer but as someone who has experienced firsthand the profound betrayal of being targeted by spiritual teachers I once trusted. In my personal journey, three different gurus, revered in their communities for saintly and/or enlightened behavior, turned to black magic rituals against me when I questioned, disagreed, or simply became inconvenient to their carefully maintained personas. This article is an exploration of the deep cognitive dissonance that allows such individuals to publicly embody ideals of compassion while privately committing acts of cruelty.
The Ideal: Loving-Kindness and Compassion as a Mask
Gurus in traditions such as Tibetan Buddhism, Hinduism, and various New Age movements are often held up as embodiments of selfless love and wisdom. Their teachings and writings are saturated with the language of peace and universal compassion. In public, they radiate qualities such as patience and gentleness, reinforcing the image of infallibility.
This idealized projection is not merely for the benefit of followers; it also serves the guru’s own self-concept. They must see themselves, and be seen as holy, thereby reinforcing their authority and maintaining their social and spiritual power.
The Threat: When a Disciple Questions Authority
In the sanitized image of the perfect guru, there is no room for dissent. Questions, criticisms, or any sign of independence from a disciple can be perceived not as opportunities for dialogue, but as existential threats. After all, if a guru’s authority rests on the illusion of flawless wisdom and compassion, any crack in that image could unravel the entire edifice.
When faced with a questioning or independent-minded disciple, an insecure guru may respond not with the compassion they preach, but with fear, rage, and vindictiveness. To protect their power, they must eliminate the threat, not through open dialogue or humility, but through covert aggression.
The Betrayal: Weaponizing Spiritual Power
Traditions rich in esoteric knowledge provide tools that can be used for healing and protection, but also for harm. Tibetan Buddhism, for instance, preserves rituals historically intended to call down curses, obstacles, and psychic attack upon perceived enemies.
In my experience, these gurus invoked black magic against me. These were not random charlatans; they were highly respected spiritual leaders, who waxed eloquently in the language of love and compassion. Yet when challenged, they resorted to covert energetic and magical attacks, using the very tradition they claimed to uphold to violate the sacred trust between teacher and student.
Cognitive Dissonance: Reconciling Saintliness with Malice
How does a guru reconcile the horror of harming a disciple while maintaining their self-image as a bodhisattva, a compassionate enlightened being? The answer must lie in cognitive dissonance: the mental stress of holding two contradictory beliefs simultaneously.
To preserve their self-concept, the guru must justify their actions internally:
“I am protecting the dharma.”
“This disciple was dangerous, impure, deserving of punishment.”
“Sometimes cruel and violent actions are necessary for the greater good.”
Through rationalization, projection, and splitting, they maintain the fiction of compassion while engaging in spiritual violence. They convince themselves that their harmful actions are righteous, necessary, and justified.
The Aftermath for the Disciple
For those of us on the receiving end, the experience is devastating on many levels. It deeply tears at the soul to be targeted by those we once revered. The betrayal fractures trust not only in teachers but in the entire spiritual path. The disciple may grapple at first with:
Confusion: “Was it my fault?”
Self-doubt: “Did I deserve this?”
Spiritual disillusionment: “Is true compassion even real?”
If the disciple survives this first stage, similar to a victim of Stockholm syndrome, there comes a gradual dawning of the truth: the Tibetan Buddhist path, far from being one of light, has revealed itself as a path of darkness. That realization, painful as it is, can ultimately be deeply empowering.
I do not minimize the devastating effects of the powerful magic performed by these modern-day mahasiddhas. Black magic attacks are very real, manifesting as physical illness, emotional despair, and worse. Healing from such trauma requires immense courage and deep inner work. It is one of the most horrific experiences a human being can endure.
Yet, there is a stronger and truly holy force at work in the universe: the Most High God–yes, the biblical God. Sadly, many Tibetan gurus seem to have little experience of Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit, or the true mercy and compassion that they embody.
The Deeper Horror: Gurus Possessed by False Spirits
It is not enough to say these gurus made mistakes or succumbed to human weakness. When a soul trained in the disciplines of compassion, wisdom, and loving-kindness instead chooses cruelty, retaliation, and spiritual violence, something darker is at work.
One must ask: how can they inflict such harm without being crushed by the weight of their own conscience? The terrifying truth is that many of these gurus may no longer be acting from their own hearts at all. They are, at some deep inner level, possessed, not by the enlightened deities they claim to serve, but by deceptive demonic forces masquerading as gods, bodhisattvas, protectors, and spirits of light.
In their ignorance and self-deception, they have invited darkness into themselves. They have handed over their will to entities that delight in mockery, destruction, and the inversion of sacred teachings. The rituals they once performed for healing and protection now become channels for curses, oppression, and spiritual decay.
And yet, even in this darkness, a greater light shines.
There is a true and living God, the Most High, whose justice is perfect and whose mercy is real. There is Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit, and the incorruptible power of divine love, utterly beyond the reach of these childish gurus and their counterfeit spiritualities.
When I was a devoted Tibetan Buddhist, the word enlightenment held sacred weight. It meant the complete awakening of compassion and wisdom, the state of a Buddha who sees through illusion and dedicates themselves to freeing all sentient beings from the sufferings of samsara. I trusted in that vision, because I believed I was following a noble tradition.
But even then, something always felt a little off. I had a quiet discomfort I kept pushing aside.
The problem was this: the term enlightenment wasn’t exclusive to Buddhism. I saw the same word used in the occult, in Theosophy, Freemasonry, and even Luciferianism, often in ways that glorified rebellion and the pursuit of hidden knowledge. Why were systems as wildly different as Tibetan Buddhism and Luciferian occultism both invoking “enlightenment” and “awakening” as their ultimate goal? Why did the same term span both the sacred and the profane?
Tibetan Buddhism: Enlightenment as Compassionate Wisdom
In Tibetan Buddhism, enlightenment is the realization of emptiness, the transcendence of ego, and the birth of boundless compassion. The ideal of the bodhisattva is someone who delays their own final nirvana in order to help all other beings reach liberation. This enlightenment isn’t just something a guru gifts you; it’s a hard-won transformation of your own mind.
Vajrayana Buddhism, the tantric branch of Tibetan Buddhism, adds layers of secrecy and initiation. There are empowerments, mantras, visualizations, and guru devotion practices. It uses powerful symbols such as vajras, weapons, fire, and wrathful deities that on the surface could resemble occult ritual. This made me uneasy. Was this actually an Eastern form of the same hidden path to power that Western esoteric groups followed?
I reassured myself that Vajrayana was different. It used “occult” methods, maybe, but only to realize true compassion and emptiness. Still, the similarity in tone and terminology between tantric rituals and occult rites always bothered me.
Now, after 35 years of hard work, study, devotion, and ultimately betrayal at the hands of tantric Buddhist gurus and deities, I’ve come to a grim realization: the enlightenment I was seeking wasn’t what I thought it was. It is merely an occult system dressed in Buddhist robes. The deeper I went, the clearer it became that Tibetan Buddhism and Luciferianism are two sides of the same coin. They may use different language, imagery, and rituals, but they are architecturally and spiritually similar and they both serve darkness, not light.
The word that they share, enlightenment, is the bait they use to ensnare seekers.
Luciferianism and Tibetan Buddhism: Two Faces of the Same Enlightenment Agenda
In Luciferianism, enlightenment is about becoming your own god. Lucifer is framed not as evil, but as the “light-bringer,” the one who defies divine authority to bestow forbidden knowledge. Enlightenment here is rebellion, self-deification, and esoteric power.
Helena Blavatsky, the founder of Theosophy, which heavily influenced modern occultism, named her journal Lucifer and described the figure as a misunderstood bringer of divine wisdom¹. In The Secret Doctrine, she refers to Lucifer as the “spirit of intellectual enlightenment”² and equates him with the higher mind of humanity. Freemasonry, Theosophy, and modern occultism all share the core motif: moving from darkness to light, and from ignorance to gnosis, through secret initiation.³
This kind of “light” is occult and exclusive. The “enlightened ones” in these systems are initiates who’ve been brought into deeper mysteries. The light is not for everyone; it’s reserved for those chosen by the system who are able to serve its agenda.
What shocked me, and what I ignored for years, is that tantric Buddhism functions much the same way. It promises special teachings, revealed only to the initiated. It trains students to see their guru as a living Buddha, above criticism or doubt, and presents his questionable actions as “skillful means,” while bypassing basic moral accountability. There is a similar secretive, hierarchical structure although this one is surrounded by colorful thangkas and Sanskrit mantras.
The deeper I went, the more I saw that my devotion was being weaponized against me. Tantric gurus used “crazy wisdom” to justify harm, and “samaya vows” to silence dissent. It wasn’t really compassion, but a spiritual aristocracy, no different from the occult orders I once thought Buddhism stood apart from. The beatific vision of enlightenment for the benefit of all sentient beings was merely the bait. The hook was the hidden power of dark forces.
Now I see clearly that the word enlightenment, both in Tibetan Buddhism and Luciferianism, functions as a kind of smokescreen. It sounds noble, luminous, and superior. But in both systems, it serves those in power and creates a class of “enlightened ones” who are above reproach, who serve gods and buddhas from unseen realms that are not what they appear to be.
“Enlightened Ones” as Agents of the Lie
It’s not just that the term enlightenment is misused. It’s that those who claim it, whether in Tibetan Buddhism or Luciferianism, are agents of a system that serves a being or beings pretending to be of the light.
These “enlightened ones” often behave the same way, regardless of tradition: they demand loyalty, obedience, and silence. They wield charisma and secrecy as tools. And when challenged, they invoke mystical authority and retaliation.
In both systems, the “light” is a mask and those who follow it are bound to something posing as divine. Whether it’s called Buddha, a Bodhisattva, an Ascended Master, or Lucifer, the same current runs underneath: it is a demonic force clothed in the language of transcendence.
Christianity and the True Nature of Light
Unlike Tibetan Buddhism and occultism, Christianity doesn’t use enlightenment as a central goal. It speaks instead of salvation, grace, and being born again through the Holy Spirit. The light of Christ is not esoteric knowledge reserved for an initiated elite but is open, relational, and grounded in love and repentance. Christ’s light is not something attained through ritual or secrecy; it is something revealed publicly and offered to all.
As Jesus says in the Gospel of John: *“I have spoken openly to the world. I have always taught in synagogues and in the temple, where all Jews come together. I have said nothing in secret.”⁵ This sharply contrasts with occult traditions, including tantric Buddhism, where knowledge is concealed, layered in initiations, and distributed only to those deemed “ready.” In my own experience, this secrecy became a mask for control. I was told not to question or doubt. I had to sacrifice my own inner wisdom and clarity.
But the light of Christ does not require silence or blind devotion. The Holy Spirit is not a power to be manipulated, but a divine presence who convicts, comforts, and guides with truth. In my experience, that is the only light that does not deceive.
Every other version I followed, no matter how radiant it appeared, eventually demanded that I suppress my discernment, abandon my conscience, and serve a system of secrecy cloaked in mystical language.
A Word to the Seekers
To anyone still in these systems, or brushing up against them through yoga, New Age teachings, or tantric practices: be careful with “light” that demands you stop using discernment. Be cautious of teachers who ask for your silence or your soul. Be wary of the spiritual forces behind the promised enlightenment.
I say this not as an outsider, but as someone who gave my life to this path. I practiced the rituals, prostrated to the gurus, and offered my heart in devotion. And when the mask came off, I saw what was truly being served, and it wasn’t holy. It was something else entirely.
Footnotes and Sources
Blavatsky, H. P., Lucifer, Vol. 1. Theosophical Society, 1887.
Blavatsky, H. P., The Secret Doctrine, Vol. 2. Theosophical Publishing House, 1888.
Pike, Albert. Morals and Dogma of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry. Southern Jurisdiction, 1871.
Mackey, Albert G. The Symbolism of Freemasonry. Masonic Publishing, 1882.
The Holy Bible, English Standard Version, John 18:20.
Crowley, Aleister. The Book of the Law. 1904.
Bailey, Alice A. Initiation, Human and Solar. Lucis Publishing Company, 1922.
Dapsance, Marion. “Behind the Smiling Façade: Abuse in Tibetan Buddhism.” Le Nouvel Observateur, 2018. Translated and discussed in Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.
Sawerthal, Anna. “Sogyal Rinpoche’s Abuse and the Breakdown of Secrecy in Buddhism.” Tricycle, 2018.
Peljor, Tenzin. “Tibetan Buddhism and Abuse: Why Critical Thinking is Essential.” Interview in Spiegel Online, 2019.
Both Vajrayana and Luciferian rites use geometric portals to invoke spiritual forces and what comes through may not leave easily.
Follow-up to: “The ‘Hidden’ Truth of Vajrayana Empowerment: Does the Lama Implant a Deity into the Disciple’s Mind?”
Following the previous article “The ‘Hidden’ Truth of Vajrayana Empowerment,” which exposed how Tibetan tantric initiation involves the lama implanting a deity into the disciple’s mind-stream, this follow-up explores how that same core process, spiritual implantation, appears in Western occult and Satanic initiation rites. Though culturally and theologically distinct, both systems describe a mystical transformation in which the aspirant is indwelt, overshadowed, or spiritually fused with a nonhuman being. The parallels are striking, and the implications for unsuspecting spiritual seekers are sobering.
Union Through Inhabitation
In Vajrayana Buddhism, the empowerment ritual is designed to activate the disciple’s Buddha-nature by personifying it as a specific deity. This process is not symbolic; it requires the intervention of the guru, who performs a series of initiations (vase, secret, wisdom, and word) that culminate in the wisdom deity entering the disciple’s visualized form. Sam van Schaik and other scholars describe this as a fusion of two minds: the practitioner becomes “in union” with the deity.¹ Light or energy entering the heart symbolizes this transmission, and classical sources like Vilāsavajra² and Jamgön Kongtrul³ confirm that the deity’s presence is meant to take root within the initiate.
This process mirrors what takes place in various forms of Western occult initiation. Whether in ceremonial magic, Luciferian practice, or Thelemic rites, the aspirant invites a spiritual entity, sometimes framed as a “higher self” and other times as a demon or god-form, to inhabit or fuse with their consciousness.⁴ In certain traditions, this is done under the guise of awakening one’s divine essence or ascending the Tree of Life, but the mechanics remain: the person is inviting another spiritual will to merge with their own.
The Role of the Officiant
In Vajrayana, only a qualified guru can perform the empowerment. The lama must have realization of the deity in order to transmit it, effectively serving as a channel through which the deity is implanted into the disciple. The disciple cannot access the highest yoga tantra deity alone; it must come through the guru.⁵
In Western occultism, the structure is more flexible. In ceremonial lodges like the Golden Dawn, initiation is conferred by a hierarchy of initiates. In solitary or Luciferian paths, the practitioner may self-initiate, performing a ritual to invoke and receive a spiritual entity directly.⁶ This difference, hierarchical transmission versus self-directed invocation, changes the form but not the essence of what is happening: a spiritual being is invited in.
Seed and Possession
Both traditions speak of what can be described as a spiritual seed taking root in the initiate. In Vajrayana Buddhism this is the seed of the deity that is implanted through ritual and nurtured by mantra and visualization, growing into full enlightenment.⁷ In occult traditions, similar metaphors abound: the Black Flame (Luciferianism), divine spark (Gnosticism), or magical current (Thelema) all describe a presence awakened or implanted within the practitioner.⁸
Possession or identity fusion is not merely metaphorical in either tradition. In Vajrayana, the practitioner becomes the deity in practice and visualization. In Western occultism, invocation or evocation may result in the spirit speaking through the practitioner, taking partial or full control.⁹ The aspirant may not merely visualize the entity; they may be inhabited by it.
Theological Framing
Here is where the surface similarities give way to deeper concerns. Vajrayana presents this union as sacred and salvific. The deities are said to be manifestations of enlightened mind, and the process is aimed at liberation from suffering.
In contrast, many Western occult traditions embrace the transgressive nature of the ritual. In Luciferian and Satanic paths, the union with a spiritual being is framed as an act of rebellion, empowerment, or divinization.¹⁰ Even in systems that use angelic or archetypal language, the goal is often gnosis independent of God, power over nature, or rejection of traditional morality.
From a Christian theological perspective, both processes, however cloaked in cultural or religious language, involve the opening of the soul to spiritual beings not of God.¹¹ Whether the entity is labeled as a deity, guardian angel, or inner Buddha, the core act is the same: inviting possession or fusion with a nonhuman intelligence. Exorcists describe demons as “persons without bodies.”
Deliberate Secrecy vs. Ritual Transparency
Another key difference lies in disclosure. Vajrayana does not typically explain to new initiates that the lama will implant the deity into their mindstream. This is concealed under layers of euphemisms, talk of “blessings,” “inspiration,” or “awakening Buddha-nature”.¹² Western occultism, by contrast, often acknowledges its aims more directly. A Luciferian magician knows they are invoking Lucifer. A Thelemite understands the goal is Knowledge and Conversation with a higher being.¹³
But the result is no less dangerous. Both systems involve entering into a spiritual relationship that can dominate or override the practitioner’s will. From a Christian point of view, these are not symbolic practices but acts of spiritual surrender and potentially, spiritual bondage.
Conclusion: Two Paths, One Mechanism
While Vajrayana tantra and Western occultism differ in terminology, mythos, and cultural packaging, they share a core mechanism: a ritual invitation for a spiritual being to enter the initiate’s consciousness. Whether masked as deity yoga or celebrated as demonic possession, the outcome is the same: identity fusion with a nonhuman spirit.
The true danger lies not only in the act itself but in the lack of informed consent. Many Vajrayana practitioners never fully understand what they’ve opened themselves to until it’s too late. And many occultists, lured by the promise of empowerment, mistake possession for enlightenment.
As explored on this blog, the deeper deception is the true nature of “possession” rituals versus how they are presented. Spiritual seekers deserve the truth: that these practices, whether called empowerment or initiation, are not harmless techniques for personal growth and transcendence. They are open doors: both Vajrayana and Luciferian rites use geometric portals to invoke spiritual forces and what walks through may not be your friend or leave easily.
Sources
Sam van Schaik, “The Limits of Transgression: The Samaya Vows of Mahāyoga” (2010).
Vilāsavajra, Hevajra Tantra Commentary, excerpts found in Mahāyoga textual studies.
Jamgön Kongtrul, The Treasury of Knowledge, Book Eight, Part Three.
Aleister Crowley, Magick in Theory and Practice; Michael Ford, Luciferian Witchcraft.
Ngawang Phuntsok, On Receiving Wang (Empowerment).
Israel Regardie, The Golden Dawn: A Complete System of Magic.
Dalai Lama, Kalachakra Initiation Teachings; traditional commentaries on empowerment.
Michael W. Ford, Apotheosis: The Ultimate Beginner’s Guide to Luciferianism.
Kenneth Grant, The Magical Revival; practices in chaos and ceremonial magic.
Anton LaVey, The Satanic Bible; Ford, Dragon of the Two Flames.
Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraphs 2116–2117.
Scott Globus, “Empowerments: Awakening the Buddha Within,” Rubin Museum, 2021.
Aleister Crowley, The Vision and the Voice; Liber Samekh.
Tantric initiation (Vajrayana empowerment) is often described as a ritual that grants permission to engage in deity yoga and awaken one’s inner Buddha-nature. Yet traditional Tibetan sources suggest that something more mystical and intrusive is occurring, that the lama actually places the deity’s essence into the disciple’s mindstream. This critical detail, essentially the guru implanting or merging the deity (yidam) with the initiate’s mind, is conspicuously absent in most contemporary teachings.
This article examines classical tantras and commentaries to determine whether they explicitly describe the guru installing the deity in the disciple’s mind. It then compares that understanding with modern teachings, exposing a deliberate omission that raises serious questions about transparency in Vajrayana transmission.
Traditional Teachings on Tantric Empowerment
In Vajrayana Buddhism, empowerment (Tib. wang, Skt. abhisheka) is essential. “In the Secret Mantra Vehicle, there can be no accomplishment without empowerment.”¹ Classical definitions stress that this is not merely symbolic but a ritual that transforms the disciple’s mindstream.
According to the Rigpa Wiki, empowerment “awakens the special capacity for primordial wisdom to arise in the mind of the disciple.”² The Dalai Lama’s teachings on the Kalachakra Tantra state the guru “ripens the disciple’s psycho-physical continuum with the initiations.”³ Traditional analogies liken this to planting a seed that, with the right conditions, will grow into Buddhahood. This “seed” is not just metaphorical but is a spiritual presence that enters the disciple.
Tantric texts and commentaries describe empowerment as a mystical transmission wherein the wisdom deity (jnanasattva) is invited to enter the samaya deity (samayasattva), the visualized form of the disciple. Sam van Schaik summarizes: “in empowerment… the wisdom being becomes embodied in the samaya being.”⁴ The two minds are joined.
Instructions for such ceremonies explain that the lama generates themselves as the deity and transmits that awakened essence into the disciple through vase water, mantras, and gestures. The disciple visualizes the deity dissolving into themselves, signifying that the deity’s mind is being placed within them. Lineage sources stress that the lama must already hold the deity’s realization in order to transmit it. As one commentary puts it: “You have to hold something in you before you can give it.”⁵
In short, classical sources affirm that empowerment involves the lama implanting the deity’s essence into the disciple. Without this, Vajrayana texts say, real accomplishment is impossible, “like trying to press oil from sand.”
Does the Lama Literally Install a Deity?
While ancient texts may not use the modern phrase “implant the deity,” their intent is clear. An authoritative Kagyu explanation says the lama “places a recipient in connection with a particular Tantric deity,” enabling a “merging of essences.” This “connection” implies not just a symbolic affiliation but a mystical joining.
The empowerment ritual is the cause that activates and personifies the disciple’s Buddha-nature as a specific deity. This is not something the student can do alone; it requires the guru’s intervention. In Highest Yoga Tantra, multiple initiations (vase, secret, wisdom, word) facilitate this process in stages. During empowerment, the disciple imagines themselves as the deity (samaya being) and invites the wisdom deity to enter. When the two merge, the disciple becomes “in union” with the deity.
Some texts describe this as light or energy entering the disciple symbolizing the deity’s mind entering their heart. The Indian master Vilāsavajra described the climax of empowerment as a point when “wisdom and samaya come together.”⁶ The disciple leaves not just authorized but changed, carrying the seed of the deity from that point forward.
Jamgön Kongtrul writes that empowerment “introduces the disciple into the deity’s mandala” and allows the deity’s form and wisdom to “take root.”⁷ A Nyingma commentary states the guru, visualized as the deity, dissolves into the disciple, granting the blessing of the deity’s mind. Even the phrase “blessings enter the disciple’s stream” implies the transfer of a conscious presence.
In effect, tantric empowerment functions like a spiritual implantation, or even possession, in which the enlightened mind of the deity is placed into the disciple. The initiate now carries the deity within them, not merely as a concept but a living presence.
Modern Teachings: Omission or Adaptation?
If this is the traditional view, why don’t modern teachers say so? Contemporary teachings, especially those aimed at Western or general audiences, consistently describe empowerment in vague terms: permission, inspiration, activation of inner potential. The mystical detail of the lama implanting the deity is nearly always omitted.
In a transcribed teaching from a famous lama, now deceased (see below), empowerment is described as a prerequisite for deity meditation: the disciple receives empowerment, then instructions, and cultivates their body as the deity’s form. No mention is made of the lama placing anything into the disciple. It reads more like ceremonial enrollment than spiritual fusion.
This pattern is widespread: contemporary teachers often emphasize psychological language such as inner transformation, personal growth, and discovering potential, while minimizing the traditional notion of external metaphysical transmission. For instance, the Rubin Museum describes empowerment as a “ritual to introduce us to our own innermost Buddha qualities,”⁸ rather than as the reception of a deity from the lama. Such a framing casts the guru as a guide rather than a spiritual agent. However, this reinterpretation flattens the ritual’s ontological depth and misrepresents the original esoteric function of empowerment.
Even phrases like “placing the disciple in connection with the deity” or “ripening the mindstream” are left undefined. Many Vajrayana students, unless they study technical commentaries, may never realize that the tradition sees empowerment as a supernatural event. The omission is so consistent that one might suspect it’s intentional, perhaps to avoid alarming newcomers with the idea of having a foreign spirit installed in their mind.
Secrecy and Obfuscation in Vajrayana
To understand this omission, we must examine the role of secrecy. Vajrayana has always been esoteric. Revealing inner teachings to the uninitiated is a root downfall. As such, teachers often avoid revealing too much, especially in public settings.
Defenders of this approach argue that it’s compassionate: premature disclosure can cause misunderstanding or fear. Teachings are “graduated” and deeper layers revealed as the student progresses. In this view, the omission is considered skillful, not deceptive.
Yet critics argue that this secrecy amounts to intentional obfuscation in the modern information age. Newcomers are told that Vajrayana is about archetypes and psychological growth; this is appealing, secular-friendly language. Only later do they learn that the practice involves guru-bestowed metaphysical empowerment and deity implantation.
Few Vajrayana centers provide an upfront disclosure like: “In this empowerment, you will vow lifelong devotion and we believe that the deity’s mind will enter into yours.” Without this, informed consent becomes impossible. What if the student has been raised Christian and bound by the First Commandment: “You shall not have strange gods before Me”⁹? Would they agree to deity possession if fully informed?
The disconnect between outer presentation and inner doctrine has led some former practitioners to label the tradition dishonest. Years may pass before students learn that guru-deity fusion/possession are standard parts of the system. At that point, it may be too late as they’ve taken vows, invested emotionally, and become spiritually entangled.
Some defenders argue that Vajrayana’s opacity is necessary, that it was never meant for everyone. But in modern multi-cultural societies, this clandestine approach resembles a bait-and-switch. Students sign up for meditation, not spiritual merging with an imported god. They deserve to know what they’re consenting to.
Restoring Honesty in Transmission
Is omitting the “deity implantation” deceptive? From an academic standpoint, the answer is yes: there is a clear disconnect between traditional texts and public presentation. The idea that the guru installs a deity in the disciple’s mindstream is a core teaching, not a fringe view.
Yet most public talks and introductory texts never say this plainly. The true nature of the ritual, guru/deity fusion with the recipient, is hidden behind euphemism. This may prevent questions, but it is morally dishonest.
Vajrayana dharma centers must move toward transparency. Honesty about what is really occurring would both honor the teaching and protect the student. That this is seldom done nowadays is deeply disturbing.
In a predominantly Christian culture, where devotion to other gods violates divine commandments, the omission is not just deceptive, it’s a spiritual breach of consent. Prospective practitioners deserve to know what is happening before the ritual occurs, not after.
The tradition holds that through the guru’s blessing, one’s mind becomes inseparable from the deity. Then let us insist that teachers explain that clearly, before it is too late for the recipient to turn back.
Sources:
Traditional Vajrayana saying; cited in various commentarial teachings on abhisheka.
His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama, Kalachakra Initiation Teachings.
Sam van Schaik, “The Limits of Transgression: The Samaya Vows of Mahāyoga” (2010).
Ngawang Phuntsok, On Receiving Wang (Empowerment).
Vilāsavajra, commentary on tantric vows; source referenced in academic discussion on Mahāyoga.
Jamgön Kongtrul, The Treasury of Knowledge, Book Eight, Part Three: The Elements of Tantric Practice.
Scott Globus, “Empowerments: Awakening the Buddha Within,” Rubin Museum, 2021.
Exodus 20:3, The Holy Bible.
Kalu Rinpoche – Teachings on Karmamudra and Mahamudra–California, Los Angeles, December 21, 1988
Transcript:
The gentleman is asking whether there is any connection between the traditional Buddhist approach to tantric practice and various sexual yogas—whether these practices have any bearing on the traditional path or whether that’s a misconception.
Yes, there is a connection. Previously, I spoke of the four major classes of tantra: Kriya Tantra, Charya Tantra, Yoga Tantra, and the fourth, Anuttara Yoga Tantra, or the Tantra of Unsurpassable Union. This fourth category is divided into Father Tantra, Mother Tantra, and Non-dual Tantra.
Principally in the classes of Mother and Non-dual Tantra, there are techniques involving sexual union as a basis for spiritual practice, technically termed karma mudra. These practices form part of a broader cycle known as the teachings on the Four Mudras. These teachings, as taught by the Buddha, are authentic and part of the tradition—the challenge lies in practicing them purely.
Traditionally, an individual would first undergo a long period of purification—purifying body, speech, and mind from harmful actions and obscurations, while cultivating positive qualities like merit and awareness. This is done through preliminary practices known as ngöndro.
Next, the individual would receive an authentic empowerment into one of the major tantric cycles from a qualified teacher. They would then receive extensive instruction in deity meditation and cultivate the experience of their own body as the deity’s form—experiencing the union of form and emptiness not as an idea, but as direct realization. Their speech would become the union of sound and emptiness, often practiced through extensive mantra recitation. They would also cultivate the awareness of mind as the union of intelligent clarity and emptiness, stabilizing it through meditative absorption.
Following this, the person would practice tummo or inner heat. This practice is done in stages and begins with the generation of inner warmth at the navel. As the warmth spreads, energy from the crown of the head flows downward. Through mastery of this flow, the practitioner experiences a profound bliss that pervades the mind-body complex.
Advanced stages involve focusing energy through the chakras. When energy is drawn to the throat, joy arises. At the heart, sublime joy. At the navel, special joy. And when energy is drawn down and contained within the genital chakra, co-emergent joy. Karma mudra practice requires the ability to hold this energy without losing it through orgasm. This leads to a nondual, non-conceptual state of awareness.
Eventually, the practitioner reverses the flow of energy upward through the chakras. Mastery over lowering and raising energy is required before karma mudra practice can be properly undertaken. With that mastery, energy is consciously directed through the 72,000 subtle channels (nadis) in the body. The ultimate aim is not sexual pleasure, but realization of Mahamudra.
Examples of individuals who attained enlightenment through such practices include the Indian king Indrabhuti, who is said to have relied on 1,000 consorts over six years. Tibetan lay practitioners like Marpa the Translator—who had eight consorts—are also examples. These paths exist, but must be practiced with purity and commitment.
Misunderstanding these practices—believing tantra is simply about sex—is a serious mistake. One of the 14 root downfalls in Vajrayana practice involves this misunderstanding, particularly the indulgence in orgasm, which is seen as a loss of energy that could otherwise be harnessed for enlightenment.
Another audience question asked about how long to leave a corpse undisturbed after death. In Tibetan tradition, the consciousness remains associated with the body for about 3.5 days. During this time, the body should ideally not be touched. A practitioner of phowa (transference of consciousness) is then called to assist the consciousness in departing skillfully.
After that, the body may be disposed of through burial, water burial, or cremation—accompanied by ritual and chanting to aid the consciousness. These practices can still be valuable even in cultures where such methods are not common, and ideally a phowa practitioner should be contacted if possible.
Another question asked whether one can attain liberation in a single lifetime through tantra. The answer is yes—realization of Buddhahood is possible. However, the physical manifestations may differ from those of a SambhogakayaBuddha, who displays specific physical marks of perfection. Still, the inner realization can be the same.
To discern an authentic teacher, look for someone with an unbroken lineage, proper transmission, sincere motivation, and correct understanding. Avoid teachers who have been disowned by their own lineage, or who act out of selfish motives. Examine their character, conduct, and consistency with traditional teachings.
In closing, the speaker encourages all listeners to study, practice, and seek qualified teachers. The merit of the teaching session is dedicated to the awakening of all sentient beings from ignorance, and the spreading of primordial awareness so that all beings may eventually attain Buddhahood.
In the late 19th century, a young Italian lawyer named Bartolo Longo wandered the outskirts of Pompeii consumed by despair. Once a zealous Catholic, Bartolo had been “consecrated a satanic priest” in a Neapolitan occult circle, even promising his soul to a demon. He presided over dark rituals and blasphemed the Church, but the wages of serving Satan swiftly took their toll. Haunted by diabolical visions, paranoia, and suicidal depression, Bartolo felt his sanity slipping. On the brink of taking his own life, he suddenly heard a familiar voice – the voice of his old Dominican mentor echoing in his mind, repeating the Virgin Mary’s promise: “One who propagates my Rosary shall be saved.” In that moment, light pierced his darkness. Bartolo fell to his knees and vowed to devote the rest of his life to God, spreading the Holy Rosary as a penance and path to salvation. The former Satanist renounced the occult and embraced a life of heroic virtue. He would go on to build the Basilica of Our Lady of the Rosary in Pompeii and be acclaimed by Pope St. John Paul II as the “Apostle of the Rosary.” He will be canonized a saint in the fall of 2025. Bartolo Longo’s dramatic conversion sets the stage for a stark spiritual contrast: the true charisms of the saints versus the counterfeit “siddhi” powers of occult mystics.
Charisms: Miracles Born of Holiness and Submission to God
In Catholic tradition, charisms are supernatural gifts granted by the Holy Spirit to holy men and women for the building up of the Church. Whether humble or extraordinary, every authentic charism serves God’s glory and the good of souls, not the ego of the individual. These wonders blossom only in the soil of sanctity for they are fruits of a life surrendered to God’s will. The Church teaches that charisms must be discerned and always align with charity and truth. In other words, genuine miracles flow from holiness and obedience, never from personal ambition or curiosity.
The lives of the saints abound with such holy marvels. For example, St. Padre Pio of Pietrelcina (1887–1968) manifested numerous charisms that stunned the world. This humble Capuchin friar bore the bleeding wounds of Christ (the stigmata) for 50 years and endured vicious demonic attacks at night in union with Christ’s passion. Thousands of witnesses attest that Padre Pio could read hearts and souls in the confessional, knowing penitents’ sins before they spoke. He was often observed in bilocation, mysteriously appearing to comfort people hundreds of miles away while simultaneously remaining in his monastery. He healed the sick by his prayers (sometimes before they even asked), and he gave prophetic counsel. Famously, he foretold that a young Polish priest (Karol Wojtyła) would ascend to “the highest post in the Church,” years before Wojtyła became Pope John Paul II. All these miracles Padre Pio worked he attributed entirely to God. “I am only a humble friar,” he would insist, pointing all acclaim back to the Lord. His motto, “Pray, hope, and don’t worry,” reflected total trust in divine Providence. In every sense, Padre Pio’s charisms were gifts from God, signs following the faith of one who sought only to do God’s will.
Other saints, too, manifested astounding gifts by God’s grace. St. Joseph of Cupertino, a 17th-century Franciscan, was known as “the Flying Friar” for his frequent levitations during ecstatic prayer. Scores of witnesses, including skeptics, saw Joseph lifted off the ground, sometimes soaring high above the altar, whenever he fell into rapturous contemplation of God. This was no occult trick but a God-given ecstasy, so reliable that it embarrassed Joseph and his superiors (who often transferred him to avoid drawing crowds). Similarly, St. Catherine of Siena in the 14th century had a charism for casting out demons, such was her holiness in spiritual warfare. St. Martin de Porres (1579–1639) humbly bilocated and performed miraculous healings among the poor and sick of Lima. St. John Vianney, the Curé of Ars, could read souls and endured demonic harassment nightly as he drew throngs of sinners back to God. From the earliest apostles (healing the sick with St. Peter’s shadow in Acts 5:15) to modern blesseds like Bartolo Longo himself (whose restored Marian shrine in Pompeii became a locus of miracles), the Church recognizes these phenomena as authentic charisms only when they align with holiness and truth.
Importantly, the saints never sought supernatural gifts for their own sake. On the contrary, many pleaded with God to remove such signs, fearing they might attract attention or pride. Padre Pio, for example, prayed that his visible stigmata would vanish so he could suffer in secret. The holiest souls flee notoriety, embracing suffering and humility. Miracles then follow as God wills, to bear witness to the Gospel. The Catechism of the Catholic Church emphasizes that even remarkable charisms must be exercised in humble conformity to God’s love, and always subject to discernment by Church authorities. In short, the saints did not control or command these gifts, they received them. And they received them only because they first surrendered their lives in total obedience to Christ. The true power behind charisms is God Himself. As Scripture says, “No prophecy ever came by the will of man, but men moved by the Holy Spirit spoke from God” (2 Pet. 1:21). So it is with every healing, prophecy, or miracle of the saints: it is the Holy Spirit at work, a divine gift freely given, never a humanly engineered skill.
Siddhis: Occult Powers and Deceptive Feats of Tibetan Gurus
Contrast this with the siddhis, the flashy supernatural powers claimed by certain Eastern mystics, such as Tibetan Buddhist gurus and Hindu yogis. In the yogic Buddhist tradition, siddhis are paranormal abilities supposedly acquired through esoteric meditation practices or occult rituals. They include feats like clairvoyance (third-eye “vision”), telepathy, levitation, astral travel, bi-location, materialization of objects, extreme control over bodily processes (e.g. stopping the heartbeat or generating intense inner heat), and even the manipulation of matter and weather. The Tibetan landscape of legends and hagiographies is rich with such tales, but from a Catholic perspective, these awe-inspiring siddhis are dangerous illusions springing not from sanctity, but from the influence of demonic forces.
Tibetan Buddhist lore celebrates figures known as mahasiddhas (“great adepts”) who achieved mystical powers. Perhaps the most famous is Milarepa (c. 1052–1135), a yogi revered in Tibet as a great saint. Milarepa’s life story itself is telling: as a young man he learned black magic to avenge a family injustice, invoking demons to slaughter his enemies with a magical hailstorm, an act for which he later repented. After apprenticing under a Buddhist master, Milarepa underwent austere meditation retreats in mountain caves for years. He is rumored to have attained an array of astonishing powers, including the ability to levitate and fly, to walk or sleep while suspended in mid-air, and to transform his body into any shape he wished, even transmuting into fire or water. He could supposedly heat his body internally through tummo yoga to survive subzero winters clad only in a thin cotton cloth. Tibetan paintings often depict Milarepa in a cave, hand cupped to his ear, while effortlessly defying gravity in meditation. Notably, even in Buddhist accounts these abilities were regarded with caution. They were “occult powers” (in Milarepa’s own tradition, siddhis are considered byproducts of spiritual practice, not the goal). In Catholic eyes, such feats are not miracles from God, for Milarepa did not worship the true God; rather, they smack of the preternatural tricks of fallen angels. Indeed, the levitation of Milarepa and others like him stands in stark counterpoint to the levitations of a St. Joseph of Cupertino, one source being occult and the other divine.
Even in modern times, Tibetan Buddhist leaders continue to be credited with paranormal siddhis. Devotees of the late 16th Karmapa, Rangjung Rigpe Dorje (the head of the Karma Kagyu sect, who died in 1981) recount numerous extraordinary deeds. As a child, the 16th Karmapa reportedly displayed clairvoyance, unerringly telling local villagers where their lost animals had wandered. He was fond of birds and was said to put dying birds into a trance so that they stood upright for days after death, a ritual interpreted as guiding the birds’ consciousness to a better rebirth. In 1974, during a visit to a Hopi Indian reservation, the Karmapa performed a ceremony wearing his ritual Black Crown and, as the story goes, ended a 75-day drought by summoning a sudden downpour of rain. There are accounts of Tibetan masters (in various schools) who allegedly teleported or projected astral doubles of themselves across great distances, or who upon death shrunk their corpses to a fraction of normal size accompanied by rainbow lights, the famed “rainbow body”phenomenon that Tibetan Buddhists consider a sign of ultimate realization. All of these siddhis are celebrated within their respective circles as evidence of spiritual attainment. But are they from God? The Catholic answer is a resounding no.
From a Christian standpoint, it is suspicious that these powers arise in those who do not even acknowledge Jesus Christ as Lord, and often in tandem with pagan or occult rituals. The 16th Karmapa, for instance, appeared to be a kind and compassionate man by worldly accounts, even meeting Pope Paul VI, but the source of his “miracles” is highly suspect. Some lamas who knew about his secret magical activities were afraid of him, and after he died, his lineage split apart in a bitter conflict that continues to this day. Performing rain ceremonies invoking Tibetan and territorial or “local” deities (in reality, demons masquerading as gods) is a form of sorcery, explicitly forbidden by Scripture and the Church. The clairvoyance displayed by such gurus parallels the “second sight” of spirit mediums, an ability which the Catechism identifies as false divination that “conceals a desire for power over time, history and other human beings”, in competition with trust in God. And while Catholic saints healed by prayer or expelled demons in the name of Christ, Tibetan lamas employ mantras, secret empowerments, and spirit invocations to wield siddhis.
Jesus warned that “false christs and false prophets will arise and show great signs and wonders to deceive” (Matthew 24:24). The siddhi-working guru fits this warning: no matter how benevolent they seem, if they lead people away from the True God, their wonders are meant to deceive. The Church Fathers and theologians have long taught that demons can produce preternatural phenomena to ape God’s miracles; these are known as “lying wonders”intended to ensnare the unwary. St. Thomas Aquinas affirmed that demons, by their angelic nature, can manipulate matter and human perception, performing impressive tricks (though never true creation ex nihilo) to bolster false religions. An occult practitioner “levitating” or a lama conjuring rain is akin to Pharaoh’s magicians mimicking Moses: infernal sleight-of-hand permitted to test the faithful. What’s more, any apparent good that comes from siddhis is a bait on the hook (I can attest to this from personal experience), and a brief benefit to bind people to demonic influence in the long run.
The True Source: Holy Spirit vs. Occult Spirits
To discern the difference between a saint’s charism and a guru’s siddhi, one must examine the source and fruit of each. True spiritual gifts originate from the Holy Spirit and bear the fruits of the Spirit such as conversion, humility, charity, peace, and truth. By contrast, occult powers (no matter how wondrous) stem from unholy spirits and ultimately yield rotten fruit such as pride, confusion, spiritual bondage, fear, harm, and falsehood. The Catholic Church explicitly warns that seeking supernatural power apart from God’s will is a grave sin that opens one to demonic influence. The Catechism states unequivocally: “All forms of divination are to be rejected: recourse to Satan or demons, conjuring up the dead or other practices falsely supposed to ‘unveil’ the future… Consulting horoscopes, astrology, palm reading, tarot, interpretation of omens and lots, the phenomena of clairvoyance, and recourse to mediums all conceal a desire for power… They contradict the honor, respect, and loving fear that we owe to God alone.”
Likewise, “all practices of magic or sorcery, by which one attempts to tame occult powers… to have a supernatural power over others, even if for the sake of restoring health, are gravely contrary to the virtue of religion.” In short, to seek or use siddhis is to break the First Commandment, usurping God’s authority and bartering with demons for knowledge or power. No matter if one’s intention seems good (“healing” or “enlightenment”), the act of grasping at occult ability is a Faustian bargain and an invitation for the demonic to take control.
By contrast, the Church praises the charisms of the saints precisely because the saints never sought them. They sought only God, and God freely bestowed gifts as He pleased. There is no technique in the Catholic Church to get a charism: no incantation or secret method, only growth in holiness and prayer, which is itself at God’s initiative. Charisms are received in prayerful surrender, whereas siddhis are seized through ritual manipulation. A Tibetan guru meticulously follows occult protocols (chants, visualizations, yoga postures, ritual offerings) specifically to gain powers (the ordinary and extraordinary siddhis), a fundamentally prideful endeavor, however cloaked in spiritual language. A saint, on the other hand, often doesn’t even know they have a gift until it manifests unexpectedly to meet a need. Consider the fruits: When a saint works a miracle, people are healed physically and spiritually. Bodies are mended and hearts turned to Christ. When an occultist displays a wonder, observers might be astonished or entertained, but are they led to repentance and faith in the true God? Or are they lured deeper into fascination with the supernatural for its own sake? The answer is clear. God’s miracles always point back to God increasing faith, hope, and love. Demonic wonders point away from God toward ego, secret knowledge, or exotic spiritualities divorced from Christ.
Even the emotional aura surrounding these phenomena differs. True charisms, though extraordinary, convey a sense of peace, joy, and sacredness. Witnesses of a saint’s miracle often report a deepened devotion or the presence of God’s love. By contrast, siddhis and occult feats often carry an air of thrill, fear, or agitation (i.e. the kundalini phenomena produces a range of frightening symptoms). The devil can dazzle the senses, but he cannot impart true peace. How telling that Bartolo Longo, when he was deep in the occult, was tormented by depression and insanity; only when he returned to Christ did he find freedom and joy. Many who dabble in New Age or Eastern occult practices experience initial wonder, but later are plagued by nightmares, oppression, or a crippling pride. The devil demands a pound of flesh for every favor. As Jesus said, “By their fruits you will know them” (Matt. 7:20). The fruits of siddhis, no matter how impressive, are ultimately bitter. The fruits of the Holy Spirit are sweet and life-giving.
Testimonies of Deliverance: Warnings from Those Who Escaped the Occult
The stark difference between charisms and siddhis is not just theoretical, it is confirmed by the testimonies of those who have escaped the snare of occult practices. Modern Catholic exorcists and former occultists have sounded the alarm with firsthand experiences. Monsignor Stephen Rossetti, an exorcist, recounts numerous cases of people who thought they had natural “psychic” or healing gifts, when in fact these abilities were coming from demons. One woman who had worked as a New Age healer could see spirits and perform cures; after her return to the Church, Msgr. Rossetti counseled that her former “gift” was really an occult third-eye opened by demonic influence, not a charism from God. Only through renouncing all occult ties and intense deliverance prayers over years could such preternatural abilities be purged of dark influences. This illustrates a crucial point: Satan may grant a person a facsimile of healing or clairvoyance for a time, but it’s a Trojan horse, enslaving that soul to his dominion.
A particularly striking testimony comes from a woman who spent 35 years deeply involved in Tibetan Buddhism. She believed in the gurus’ powers and the Buddhist deities until she started to see strange behaviors and have doubts. The deities and the gurus considered her doubts to be “wrong views” and attacked her. The guru performed a horrific annihilation ritual upon her using an effigy ( a form of black magic). She reported a terrible realization: “I was tricked and deceived into believing that Buddha was the same as God… The group’s deities were actually demons and the gurus were their minions.” Ultimately, the gurus cursed her and threatened her with ‘the worst hell imaginable’, and she began suffering intense physical and mental assaults from demonic forces. Only through the power of Jesus, frequent confession, attending Mass, praying the Rosary, did she start finding liberation. This survivor now works to warn others: what Tibetan Buddhism presents as enlightened masters and benevolent spirit guides were, in truth, agents of Satan dragging souls to perdition. Her story is a sobering confirmation that occult powers always come at a terrible price. The devil may masquerade as an angel of light or even as a compassionate “bodhisattva,” but when unmasked, the fangs show. As the survivor put it, those who unwittingly worship these “gods” are in fact worshipping demons, and they often suffer hellish oppression as a result.
The Catholic Church urges us to seek the higher gifts (1 Cor. 12:31), faith, hope, and charity, and to leave extraordinary gifts to God’s providence. If ever we encounter phenomena of a mystical nature, we must test the spirits (1 Jn 4:1) under the Church’s guidance. Does it glorify Jesus Christ? Does it accord with Scripture and sacred Tradition? Does it promote virtue or feed curiosity and ego? The answers will quickly unveil the source.
Let Bartolo Longo’s story stand as a beacon: He tasted the darkest occult powers and found only despair, but when he turned to Our Lady and her Rosary, he found redemption and true spiritual authority over the darkness. In the end, the charisms of the saints point to the triumph of Christ, whereas the siddhis of the Tibetan masters (and all occultists) are a devilish dead-end. One path leads to eternal life; the other, if not abandoned, leads to spiritual death.
Christ or the occult? Each of us must choose. The stakes are nothing less than salvation. May all be moved to embrace the light of Christ, renouncing Satan and all his empty show. Let us therefore strive to become saints, not sorcerers, for in the end, every knee will bow to the true God, and all false gods and their lying wonders will be cast down.
Sources: The Catholic Church’s teaching on charisms and occult practices (Catechism of the Catholic Church 799-801, 2115-2117); Lives of Blessed Bartolo Longo; Testimony of ex-Tibetan Buddhist; Accounts of Padre Pio’s gifts; Tibetan siddhi claims (16th Karmapa, Milarepa); Msgr. Stephen Rossetti on occult “gifts” vs. divine charisms.
In the world of Tibetan Tantra, the guru is not merely a teacher. He is regarded as a living embodiment of enlightenment, someone who, once accepted, must be obeyed as if he were the Buddha himself. Into this framework walk countless Western women, often earnest seekers of truth, healing, or transcendence. But when romance, sexuality, and devotion become intertwined, the results are rarely transformative. More often, they are tragic.
This article explores the inherent power imbalance, cultural dissonance, and psychological manipulation that underpin many intimate relationships between Tibetan tantric gurus and their female disciples.
A Different Cultural Code
In Tibetan culture, it is not uncommon for powerful men, including lamas, to have secret relationships, multiple consorts, or children outside of marriage. In many traditional communities, this behavior is normalized, even expected. Male infidelity is culturally tolerated, and truth-telling in romantic relationships is not seen as a moral imperative.
For many Western women, however, raised in societies where emotional honesty and monogamy are core values in intimate relationships, these behaviors come as a rude awakening. When a Tibetan lama engages in a romantic or sexual relationship with a Western disciple, he often does so under entirely different assumptions than she brings to the table.
The result is a tragic mismatch, not only of expectations, but of entire worldviews.
Samaya: A Weaponized Vow
At the heart of tantric Buddhism is the concept of samaya, a sacred vow of loyalty and obedience to the guru. These vows are complex, often opaque, and understood differently in Tibetan contexts than in the West. A Western woman may believe she is entering a relationship based on mutual affection or spiritual partnership, while the guru sees her as a consort, a dakini, a means to an end, whose role is to support his realization through sexual union, secrecy, and ritual submission. A less realized guru might just use women for his own sexual satisfaction without having the ability to properly engage in tantric sex for spiritual ends. This is often true nowadays.
In any case, breaking samaya is said to have dire consequences, not only spiritually, but psychologically, and physically. The risk is greatly compounded if the woman undertakes a traditional three-year-retreat and engages in the highest yoga tantra practices, including the physical yoga. The looming threat of tantric destruction can trap women in relationships that are exploitative, confusing, and coercive. Once the guru becomes the channel for the deity, any questioning of his authority can be framed as demonic and a cause for imminent karmic downfall.
Possession Disguised as Enlightenment
Tantric union is not merely symbolic. It often involves rituals where the guru is said to be “inhabited” by the deity and his voice, gaze, and touch become divinely charged. During such practices, the female disciple is encouraged to dissolve her ego, to merge into the guru-deity, and to practice dak nang or “pure view.” This process can mimic, and in some cases become, a form of spiritual possession.
What’s often missed is the psychological and energetic takeover that occurs. The guru, now deified in the disciple’s mind and practice, can dominate her thoughts, dreams, emotions, and even her bodily functions. This fusion can make it nearly impossible for her to discern spiritual guidance from emotional manipulation or sexual coercion.
Real-World Tragedies
Numerous cases, both widely reported and quietly suppressed, illustrate the dangers of intimate relationships between tantric gurus and their students. These accounts reveal recurring patterns of deception, coercion, and spiritual abuse, all cloaked in esoteric language and asymmetrical power dynamics. They are not isolated incidents but part of a systemic pattern deeply embedded in a tradition that grants unchecked spiritual authority to men who are rarely held accountable.
For those who wish to explore further, consider just a few of the many investigations and testimonies:
Buddhist Project Sunshine – Phase 3 Final Report (2018) This comprehensive report documents allegations of abuse within the Rigpa community, providing detailed accounts and analyses. 📄 Read the PDF Report
Beyond the Temple – What Now? Blog Formerly known as “What Now?”, this blog offers reflections and information from ex-Rigpa members about their experiences and the broader implications of abuse in spiritual communities. Beyond the Temple – Survivors of Abuse in Tibetan Buddhism
Tricycle – “Rigpa Abuse: Former Students of Sogyal Rinpoche Share Their Stories” An article featuring firsthand accounts from former students detailing their experiences with Sogyal Rinpoche and the Rigpa organization. 📰 Read the Article
Lion’s Roar – “Letter to Sogyal Rinpoche from Current and Ex-Rigpa Members Details Abuse Allegations” This piece publishes a letter from Rigpa members outlining specific abuse allegations against Sogyal Rinpoche. 📄 Read the Letter
The Aftermath: Disillusionment and Healing
For many women, the breaking point comes when the promised enlightenment fails to materialize, and the emotional wounds become undeniable. Depression, anxiety, spiritual confusion, sexual trauma, and a profound crisis of faith often follow. Some leave Tibetan Buddhism altogether. Others struggle for years in silence, fearing karmic retribution or spiritual failure.
But there is also healing. More and more survivors are finding their voices, connecting with others, and re-evaluating what true spirituality looks like outside the grip of occult religions.
Conclusion: A Cautionary Tale
The guru-disciple relationship in tantric Buddhism is not a romantic ideal. It is a spiritual contract saturated with asymmetrical power, cultural blindness, and theological complexity. When this dynamic becomes sexual, the risks multiply exponentially. For Western women seeking union with the divine, the guru-lover becomes not a liberator but a captor. The elaborate practice of guru yoga further seals the deal.
This truth must be told, not to demonize individuals or traditions, but to expose the structural and spiritual dangers that thrive in secrecy. Love, in its purest form, cannot flourish where truth is sacrificed to deception and devotion is manipulated into coercion.
In Hilary Mantel’s The Mirror and the Light, Thomas Cromwell rises from blacksmith’s son to the right hand of King Henry VIII. He becomes the monarch’s “mirror and light,” reflecting and executing his will. But the same proximity that elevates him also destroys him. When Cromwell fails to deliver a pleasing queen, he is arrested, disgraced, and executed, his closeness to power proving fatal.
Tibetan tantric Buddhism operates on a hauntingly similar logic. In this tradition, the guru is king, and the disciple, like a courtier, is raised or destroyed at the guru’s whim. Far from being egalitarian or purely spiritual, Tibetan Buddhism, especially in its institutional forms, retains a deeply feudal structure, complete with titles, inheritance, land ownership, and enforced hierarchy.¹
Tibetan Buddhism as a Feudal System
For centuries, Tibetan Buddhism was not just a religion but the ruling system of the nation. The Dalai Lama was both spiritual sovereign and temporal king. Monasteries controlled vast tracts of land, collected taxes, and held legal authority over villages.² Senior lamas, often reincarnated tulkus, inherited wealth and power from their predecessors, a system akin to aristocracy by divine right. Large institutions like Drepung, Sera, and Tashi Lhunpo amassed political influence and wealth, with monasteries owning up to two-thirds of arable land in pre-1950s Tibet.³
The tulku system (identifying reincarnated masters) consolidated this feudalism. Wealth and authority passed to a chosen child, often from a high-status family, and the child was installed into a network of patronage, where senior monks managed the estate until the tulku matured. Ordinary monks and villagers remained economically dependent on these institutions, often working the land in exchange for spiritual services and blessings.⁴ According to historian Melvyn Goldstein, Tibetan society was “essentially a form of monastic feudalism.”⁵
The Guru as King: Absolute Power
In the Vajrayāna path, the guru is not merely a teacher: he is treated as the Buddha himself. Vajrayāna texts warn against questioning the guru, no matter how erratic or abusive his behavior.⁶ Students are bound by samaya (tantric vows), which demand total obedience, silence, and loyalty. In this relationship, the disciple becomes like Cromwell: a mirror for the guru’s will, performing rituals, making offerings, and receiving favor or punishment.
This closeness creates the illusion of intimacy, even love. Many disciples report feeling spiritually chosen or singled out by the guru. But this intimacy masks a darker truth: it is conditional and instrumental. When the disciple fails to satisfy the guru, by asking questions, expressing trauma, or failing to uphold impossible vows, they are cast out. Not just socially, but cosmically.⁷
Falling Out of Favor: Spiritual Annihilation
When a disciple displeases a guru in these feudal tantric systems, the consequences are severe. Historically, punishments ranged from beatings and public shaming to exile from the monastic estate.⁸ In modern times, exile takes subtler forms: ostracism, reputation assassination, spiritual gaslighting, and the threat of karmic damnation. Survivors of abuse report being told they were “possessed by demons,” “breaking their samaya,” or “falling into the lower realms” simply for speaking out.⁹
Just like Henry VIII’s wives or ministers, the disciple who falls out of favor is ritually erased. Their years of devotion are forgotten; their insights mocked. The same master who called them “special” now identifies them as a threat to the dharma. The disciple’s proximity to power becomes their undoing.
When the Light Burns
The title The Mirror and the Light is tragically fitting for both Thomas Cromwell and the countless disciples who believed that closeness to the guru meant safety. In Tibetan tantric Buddhism’s feudal framework, it often means the opposite. Disciples serve as tools of the guru’s charisma, devotion, and control. When they no longer reflect his will, they are discarded and spiritually “executed” without ceremony.
Just as Cromwell’s brilliance could not save him, neither can sincerity or devotion save a disciple in a rigged, feudal system.
Footnotes
Geoffrey Samuel, Civilized Shamans: Buddhism in Tibetan Societies (Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993), pp. 22–29.
Melvyn C. Goldstein, A History of Modern Tibet, Volume 1: The Demise of the Lamaist State (University of California Press, 1989), pp. 80–95.
Matthew T. Kapstein, The Tibetans (Wiley-Blackwell, 2006), pp. 142–148.
Toni Huber and Stuart Blackburn, Origins of the Tulku System in The Social History of Tibetan Institutions (Brill, 2002).
Goldstein, History of Modern Tibet, p. 90.
Alex Wayman, The Role of the Guru in Vajrayana, in Tibetan Buddhism: Reason and Revelation, ed. S. Lopez (SUNY Press, 1997).
Miranda Adams, Samaya and Silence: Enforcing Obedience in Vajrayana Communities, unpublished thesis, 2020.
Janet Gyatso, Being Human in a Buddhist World (Columbia University Press, 2015), ch. 3.
Annabella Pitkin, “Broken Samaya and the Threat of Hell: Devotion, Dissent, and Control in Contemporary Tibetan Buddhism,” Journal of Global Buddhism, Vol. 22 (2021).
In this thangka-style painting, a wrathful tantric deity, likely Mahākāla, stands triumphant, engulfed in flames of spiritual power. He tramples a beast-like demon beneath his feet, which in turn crushes a human figure below. Far from mere symbolism, this hierarchy reveals a grim reality embedded in Tibetan tantric worldview: a cosmology where demons are organized in ranks, with wrathful deities occupying the highest tiers. These so-called “protector” spirits are themselves demonic in nature. They are powerful but subjugated through ritual, and are commanded by the guru to unleash violence against enemies of the dharma. The animal-like demon represents a lower-order spirit, weaponized by the deity. The crushed human symbolizes an actual person, someone the practitioner or lama has deemed a threat. The image is not just metaphor: it is a magical contract of domination.
Buddhists sometimes invoke ferocious protector deities like Mahākāla or Vajrakīlaya in rituals charged with violent imagery. In Tibetan history, such wrathful practices were often presented as spiritual rites to subdue obstacles, but evidence shows they could target actual enemies. For example, medieval Tibetan lamas served in warfare and politics: Lama Zhang (12th C. Kagyu) “engaged in political and military affairs” and even sent students into battle (War Magic: Tibetan Sorcery | Rubin Museum), using tantric rituals and deities (like Vajravārāhī and Mahākāla) to subjugate foes. Under the Mongol Yuan, Tibetan Buddhist “magical warfare” became statecraft: Tsami Lotsāwa, a Tangut court chaplain, authored texts like “The Usurpation of Government,” a how-to on overthrowing rulers invoking Mahākāla against armies. When Genghis Khan’s siege faltered in 1210, Tibetan sources credit Mahākāla summoned by Tsami (War Magic: Tibetan Sorcery | Rubin Museum) with bursting the Mongol siege dams and routing the attackers. The Mongols then adopted Mahākāla as their state protector. Likewise, Tibetan figures like the 8th Karmapa Karma Pakshi reportedly requested Mahākāla to exact revenge on his Chinese captors; lore even says Mahākāla “struck” the imperial palace (calling upon Mahakala…. | Ganachakra). Even the Nyingma saint Rwa Lotsāwa Dorje Drag (11th–12th C.) is celebrated in tradition for having “killed/murdered thirteen lamas” allegedly via Vajrabhairava rituals (Teacher: Rwa Lotsawa Dorje Drag). These and other incidents show tantric masters of Nyingma and Kagyu lineages historically appealed to protectors and demons in worldly struggles, not just inner battles.
Historical examples of tantric “war magic” include:
Sectarian conflicts: Rival Buddhist factions sometimes accused each other of violent tantra. (For example, later Gelugpa–Nyingma disputes mention rituals aimed at sectarian “enemies.”) In legend, a Kagyu master used Mahākāla to punish “impure” Gelugpas, and Dorje Shugden cult lore alleges victims of protector curses. (Such sectarian claims persist, though here we focus on pre-modern precedents.)
Regional skirmishes: Kagyu and Nyingma yogins were known as healers and sorcerers. One Kagyu lama reportedly used protective rites to strike fear into rebels. Vajrabhairava, a wrathful Nyingma deity, was famously employed by Rwa Lotsāwa in ritual assassinations (one story credits him with killing Marpa Lotsāwa’s son, Dharma Dode) (Himalayan Art: News).
These accounts contradict the comforting piety that “the only enemies are our defilements.” Instead, Tibetan sources show tantric deities being literally invoked against human foes and armies. Even art and prayers reinforce this: Palden Lhamo, the Dalai Lamas’ protector, is often depicted brandishing a sword and holding a skull bowl “brimming with the blood of vanquished enemies” (Palden Lhamo: Supreme Guardian Goddess of the Dalai Lamas – Tibetan Buddhist Encyclopedia). Such imagery underscores that the deity’s “compassion” is militarized.
Violent Imagery in Ritual Texts
The ritual texts themselves are unapologetically graphic. For example, a common Vajrakīlaya (Krodha Phurba) sādhanā (prayer) reads like a battle spell. One verse proclaims that Vajrakīlaya wields weapons “with which even the whole great mountain Sumeru is crushed to dust,” and that he “grinds to atoms the nine Gong-po brothers of phenomenal existence” (Cult of the Deity Vajrakila). In context, the “Gong-po brothers” symbolize fundamental enemies or obstacles (often conceptualized as Mara’s forces or the mind’s afflictions), but the language is literal and violent.
Texts on Mahākāla and Vajrabhairava likewise list long menus of violent exploits, trampling demons, cannibalizing spirits, or annihilating armies. In many kīlaya and bairaṇa (wrathful) rituals, the practitioner is explicitly instructed to cast forms or effigies of enemies into a bonfire or entangle them with magical ropes (Cult of the Deity Vajrakila) (The Rhetoric of Violence in the Buddhist Tantras). These are not purely abstract symbols but are described as actively destroying whoever or whatever they represent.
Indeed, scholar David Gray notes that Buddhist tantras use two kinds of violent rhetoric: grandiose, hyperbolic imagery to glorify the deity and impress the initiate, and actual ritual prescriptions for “violent ritual practices” (The Rhetoric of Violence in the Buddhist Tantras). While the former may seem merely figurative, Gray observes that even “symbolic” rituals often aim to harm the person symbolized (for example, burning an effigy of an enemy) (The Rhetoric of Violence in the Buddhist Tantras). Many tantra texts then justify these acts as transcending ordinary ethics: invoking a state of “non-dual gnosis” to excuse what would otherwise be murder (The Rhetoric of Violence in the Buddhist Tantras). In short, tantric sādhanās straddle symbolism and reality: they metaphorically crush delusions, but describe that metaphor in ultra-realistic, brutal terms accompanied by magical spells intended to harm human beings.
Empowered Lamas and “Transgressive” Rituals
Why this double talk? Tibetan lineages insist that only the most accomplished yogins (mahasiddhas) may perform such rites, precisely because they are “transgressive” and dangerous. The idea is that a realized master, having already tamed anger within, can safely wield wrath outside. As one modern analysis notes, advanced tantric practitioners are allowed “to invert Buddhist moral injunctions,” because rites aimed at killing are taught only to those senior enough to hold them (Buddhist Pacifists at War – JSTOR Daily). In practice, this meant kings, high lamas or court chaplains, not ordinary monks, performed these rituals.
Yet even senior masters often downplay the literal meaning today. Contemporary teachers frequently claim that prayers to “destroy enemies” really target the five poisons or ego-clinging, not people. (For instance, some explain Palden Lhamo’s blood bowl as symbolic of afflictions conquered.) Such interpretations align with inner-journey aspects of Vajrayāna. But history and ritual texts offer a different picture: these deities were invoked as warrior gods. Indeed, modern scholars argue that Buddhist tantra developed war-magic precisely because societies faced real threats. As Iain Sinclair puts it, defensive magic in early tantras was “pacifist in nature” but “destructive war magic also developed.” (Buddhist Pacifists at War – JSTOR Daily) Tantric manuals taught spells to freeze enemy armies with blizzards, sicken them with disease, or even consume them invisibly (Buddhist Pacifists at War – JSTOR Daily) ((PDF) War Magic: Religion, Sorcery, and Performance). One text in the Kālacakra cycle even provides a just-war framework, allowing only defensive conflict, infused with inner virtue, but this too presumes actual armed struggle (Buddhist Pacifists at War – JSTOR Daily).
This tension has sparked scholarly debate. Bryan Cuevas notes tantra’s fusion of “the internal and external worlds,” with protectors serving both spiritual and mundane power (War Magic: Tibetan Sorcery | Rubin Museum). Gray emphasizes that, despite rhetoric, tantrics did prescribe lethal rituals, legitimized by claims to higher awareness (The Rhetoric of Violence in the Buddhist Tantras).
Critical Perspective and Conclusions
In light of this evidence, the standard assurance that wrathful protector practices are only symbolic ring hollow. Certainly, Vajrayāna doctrine can spiritualize violence, positing that a bodhisattva’s anger is “pure compassion.” But when lamas claim “I’m just crushing my own ego,” the historical record shows they were also legitimizing political or personal power plays. At the very least, the literalist language of the liturgies warrants skepticism. A practitioner chanting “grind my enemies into dust” is arguably invoking cosmic butchery, not just inner peace.
For modern readers, this does not necessarily indict all Vajrayāna practice for many make upstanding vows and use wrathful deities for healing or psychological aid. However, it does mean we should be wary of uncritical glosses. As Gray warns, tantra’s “ethical double standard,” appealing to transcendent insight to excuse violence, has been used to justify harmful actions even in contemporary settings (The Rhetoric of Violence in the Buddhist Tantras).
For those intrigued or unsettled by these findings, scholars continue to examine how Tibetan Buddhism navigates the gulf between its nonviolent ideals and its martial heritage. Controversies within the tradition and in academic circles reflect this struggle. What is certain is that any romantic notion of pacifist Buddhism must contend with the very real phenomenon of tantric war magic and the subjugation rituals conducted against human beings.
Further Reading: For critical scholarship on these issues, see Iain Sinclair’s “War Magic and Just War in Indian Tantric Buddhism” (Buddhist Pacifists at War – JSTOR Daily) (Buddhist Pacifists at War – JSTOR Daily) and Bryan Cuevas, “The Wizarding World of Tibetan Sorcery” (in Faith and Empire, esp. ch.5) (War Magic: Tibetan Sorcery | Rubin Museum) (War Magic: Tibetan Sorcery | Rubin Museum). David B. Gray’s article “The Rhetoric of Violence in the Buddhist Tantras” (2018) explicitly examines tantric prescriptions of violence (The Rhetoric of Violence in the Buddhist Tantras). Solomon FitzHerbert’s study of 17th-c. Tibetan “ritual propaganda” is also enlightening. (Online references: Rubin Museum’s “War Magic” exhibition, Himalayan Art archives, and academic discussions by Sinclair and Gray are excellent starting points.)
Tormas, those colorful, often conical sculptures made of barley flour, butter, and symbolic color, are widely recognized in Tibetan Buddhism as ritual offerings to deities. They are often seen as objects of devotion, used to accumulate merit and cultivate compassion. But there is another seldom discussed dimension of torma practice: their use in rituals of subjugation. These are aimed at destroying enemies, silencing dissenters, and even killing.
This article isn’t written for shock value or out of cultural disrespect. It comes from a deep need for transparency. I practiced within Tibetan Buddhism for decades, and what I discovered about the weaponization of these ritual objects came not from hearsay or internet rumors, but from firsthand experience, insider teachings, and years of quiet observation that finally crystallized into understanding.
What Are Tormas?
Tormas are empowered physical representations of deities as well as their palaces and mandalas. They also serve as offerings to the deities. Some types of tormas are used for offerings to spirits, and as weapons against obstructive spirits or humans. Other types of tormas known as “effigies” serve as targets. They are not merely symbolic. In Vajrayana practice, the effigies serve as “substitute bodies” for the consciousness of beings, meaning that a torma can become the ritual stand-in for an actual person. When a torma is offered, burned, stabbed, buried, or fed to spirits, it is not just a prop. It is, ritually speaking, a direct vessel for action.
In general, use of tormas can be for peaceful or wrathful purposes.
Categories of Harmful Tormas
While Western practitioners are often taught the “peaceful” or “blissful” uses of tormas (such as offering to bodhisattvas or for pacifying illnesses), most Tibetan tantric lineages include the “four activities” of pacifying, enriching, magnetizing, and subjugating. These last two, magnetizing and subjugating, can lead to dangerous territory.
Here are some of the more occult, wrathful uses of tormas:
1. Subjugation of Enemies
Tormas are used to summon wrathful deities, who are then directed to “crush” or “bind” an enemy’s consciousness. This includes ritual domination of the enemy’s will, health, and spiritual power.
2. “Black Torma” Killings
Some lineages include advanced practices where a torma is empowered as the life force of a person. The torma is ritually destroyed: stabbed, burned, or fed to spirits. The goal is to destroy the target’s body, mind, or soul. In some cases, the practitioner prays explicitly for the target’s death.
3. “Torma of Speech Destruction”
These are used to silence critics or opposing religious figures. The practitioner invokes wrathful deities to sever the “enemy’s” speech, discredit them, or even cause them to go mad.
4. Sending Spirits via Tormas
Tormas can serve as carriers or offerings to nefarious spirits, binding the target’s consciousness to entities tasked with tormenting them. This can result in psychic invasion, night terrors, loss of mental clarity, or obsession.
Why This Needs to Be Talked About
These rituals are rarely, if ever, disclosed to outsiders. In fact, many lamas downplay them entirely until a student is “ripe” for higher teachings. But many practitioners have felt the effects of these rituals without knowing what they are. Unexplained breakdowns, spiritual confusion, sudden illness, and relational collapse often follow a break with the guru or a breach of samaya. We are told it is just our karma, but sometimes, it’s a ritual backlash.
If this sounds unbelievable, I understand. It sounded unbelievable to me, too, until I experienced it firsthand.
These practices are not just theoretical. They are happening now, in retreat centers and monasteries in India, Nepal and the West, in ritual rooms, behind closed doors. And their effects are very real.
Who Is Most at Risk?
Former students who break samaya or speak out
Critics of the guru or institution
Those perceived as spiritual “competitors”
Women who reject inappropriate advances
Outsiders who get too close to the truth
Reclaiming Truth
This article is not an indictment of all Tibetan teachers or practitioners. There are sincere people within the tradition who reject the use of harmful rites. But silence around these rituals has enabled a culture of fear, manipulation, and unchecked spiritual abuse.
It’s time to talk about it. The torma is not always what it seems. What looks like a simple offering on the altar may, in some cases, be a vessel of vengeance. We must not look away. If we really care deeply about the benefit of “all sentient beings” we must expose the truth about the dark side of tormas and their harmful uses in tantric Tibetan Buddhism.
When I first encountered Tibetan Buddhism, I was filled with awe, curiosity, and hope. I was drawn to the idea of understanding the nature of mind, developing calm abiding (shamatha), and cultivating compassion and insight. I immersed myself in classic Mahayana texts like the Uttaratantra Shastra, with its soaring vision of Buddha nature, the luminous potential for awakening that each sentient being carries within them.
At that time, I was eager to deepen my meditation practice and learn how to navigate the mental storms of daily life. I believed this was a path of inner wisdom, clarity, and direct realization. I thought I had found something intellectually rigorous and deeply profound.
But after committing years of my life I realized that Tibetan Tantric Buddhism was a spiritual system that operated under authoritarian control, cultural secrecy, and a disturbing atmosphere of fear.
The Surface Beauty: What Drew Me In
The language of awareness, wisdom, and nonduality
Practices that promised to tame the mind and open the heart
Philosophical texts filled with Buddhist logic, the concept of emptiness, and the path of the bodhisattva
Encouragement to observe the mind and transcend egoic fixation
Like many sincere Western seekers, I accepted the rigid cultural structure, including the many hours of chanting in Tibetan, the hierarchy, and the ornate rituals, as necessary forms for accessing ancient wisdom. I told myself these were wrappings around the real treasure.
What I Actually Encountered
Instead of freedom, I slowly found myself embedded in a system that demanded unquestioning obedience to the guru, who was said to be indistinguishable from the Buddha himself. We were told the guru’s words were more important than our own inner convictions. If we had doubts, those were signs of impure perception or obstacles on the path.
And so, I suppressed my own sense of truth.
Instead of learning to observe my mind freely, I was encouraged, compelled, really, to submit my perception, my will, and even my moral conscience to someone else’s “realization.” In time, I was told that even misconduct or abuse from a guru must be viewed as pure, and that questioning it was a sign of my spiritual deficiency.
Essentially this was total submission to a human teacher presented as a living deity.
A Necessary Evil… or Something More?
For a long time, I rationalized this aspect of guru devotion. I thought, “This is just part of the package. I’ll take the good parts and accept the hierarchical guru system as a necessary condition to receive the blessings.”
But nothing prepared me for the revelation that this system involved actual practices of deity possession, and in some cases, black magic rituals by a covert spiritual power structure that operated on vengeance. And this wasn’t metaphorical.
The Hidden Core: Deity Possession and Guru Sorcery
Many Tibetan Vajrayana rituals involve āveśa, a concept that translates into spirit or deity possession. The practitioner “invites” a deity to merge with their mindstream. The guru is not just a teacher; he is seen as an embodiment of the deity, and rituals are performed to enforce that identification.
I discovered too late that some high-level gurus use this system to gain psychic and physical access to their disciples, manipulate their minds, and even curse those who disobey or break vows. This is not hyperbole but what has been hidden under the language of compassion and wisdom: a deeply esoteric system of spiritual domination.
My Awakening
It took me years to deprogram myself from the idea that questioning a guru meant spiritual death, and even longer to reclaim my own inner voice, the voice God placed in me. I now walk a different path entirely: One that does not require blind submission, that honors truth over secrecy, and Christ over cosmic manipulation.
If You’re Reading This…
You’re not crazy for feeling that something is off. You’re not wrong to listen to your instincts. What seems like harmless chanting, beautiful thangkas, and inspiring philosophy may hide something far more controlling and spiritually dangerous than you realize.
Tantric Deception 