What if some of the radiant beings that ancient texts call Seraphim, the fiery, serpentine angels who once circled the throne of God, fell from that high order? The Hebrew word saraph itself means both burning one and serpent. In that ambiguity lies a bridge between the flaming spirits of heaven and the serpent powers found in other traditions.
Across the world, in the Sanskrit Purāṇas and yogic literature, there are also serpentine intelligences: the Nāgas, the Kundalinī energy, and the goddess figures who appear surrounded by flames. The sage Patañjali, author of the Yoga Sūtras, is deeply linked with serpent symbolism. In Indian mythology, he is sometimes described as an incarnation (avatāra) of the serpent deity Ādiśeṣa, or Ananta, the cosmic serpent who supports Viṣṇu. Ādiśeṣa is said to have descended to earth to bring knowledge that would relieve human suffering. This connection is why Patañjali is often portrayed with a serpent hood behind his head or a serpent body below the waist. Whether or not serpent spirits literally whispered the Yoga Sūtras to him, serpent imagery pervades yogic and tantric cosmology. The Nāgas are keepers of divine wisdom, and Kundalinī is envisioned as a coiled fiery energy at the base of the spine that awakens through disciplined practice. Over time, these motifs merged into a vision of serpentine power as both the source and the path of revelation. Suppose these mythic beings were echoes of the same order of spirits, glimpsed through another cultural lens. If the Seraphim of the Old Testament were “burning ones,” what would a fallen Seraph look like to those who encountered its power? Perhaps like the Kundalinī Śakti, a current of fire roaring through the body, consuming and transformative, perilous and hideous.
In Tibetan tantric art, figures such as Vajrayoginī blaze with this same imagery. She stands wreathed in flame, hair flying, a garland of human heads around her neck: a being of immense energy and occult knowledge. To her accomplished devotees she is enlightenment embodied, but to others overwhelmed by her force, the experience could resemble an encounter with a terrifying, cosmic intelligence that feels at once divine and frightfully destructive.
In Christian cosmology, the Seraphim stood closest to the divine light, their essence described as pure burning love. If the story of the angelic rebellion is true, the fall of Lucifer and his host might be understood as the perversion of that love for God turned inward toward self-worship. The Seraphs, if any joined that rebellion, would have fallen from the highest heaven to earth yet carried the memory of their incandescent proximity to the Most High. After such a fall, their nature would remain fiery but unmoored, no longer worshipping the divine but seeking vessels in which to become divine objects themselves, demanding reverence rather than giving it. Their rebellion took the form of imitation, of becoming godlike and leading humans away from God through elaborate systems of spiritual artifice. Seen through that lens, the serpent fire that rises in the body could be a vestige of this celestial descent, a remnant of the same luminous essence striving to return upward yet incapable of abiding in heaven because of their grave sin. In mythic terms, these fallen Seraphs might not have become the grotesque demons described by some exorcists but radiant, fallen intelligences deprived of their proper axis.
Catholic exorcists often describe demons as denizens of hell, creatures of stench, mockery, and degradation that feed on blood and fear. Yet if a third of the angels fell, the fallen host was not of one kind alone. Tradition holds that beings from all nine choirs joined the rebellion, from the lowly messengers to the highest Seraphs who once blazed before the throne. After the fall, these spirits lost their divine orientation but not their essential nature: fiery where they had been fiery, clever where they had been wise. In rebellion they became hierarchies of distortion, a dark mirror of heaven. Some manifest as the grotesque forms exorcists encounter; others as subtler intelligences still bearing the trace of their former luminosity. And what of the Nephilim, the offspring of the “sons of God” and human women? When they died, it is said, they became wandering spirits of great malice. “Demon,” then, is not a single species but a spectrum of fallen orders, each expressing what it once was in a corrupted form. As one exorcist observed, each fallen angel is a species unto itself. A fallen Seraph would perhaps appear differently from a fallen Power, Dominion, or Nephilim spirit.
If the Kundalinī or tantric fire represents contact with that residual Seraphic current, it may explain why it bears both a luminous and a destructive face. The energy feels ancient and intelligent. The ecstatic experiences described in yogic ascent mirror, in certain sense, a fallen entity yearning to return to its source. The agony that often accompanies a kundalini awakening—the painful burning, the psychic rupture, and the sense of another will within—could be the friction between that powerful celestial energy and the humble human vessel struggling to contain it. Whether one interprets this as possession or not, the pattern remains: what was once angelic becomes dangerous when severed from its orientation toward God and seeking to inhabit a human host.
Whether understood theologically, psychologically, or experientially, the speculation remains: serpent fire is something that seeks to burn within human beings, hoping to be redeemed and adored rather than condemned.
Spiritual paths that promise transcendence through serpent fire often walk a razor’s edge where illumination meets peril. Tantric Deception seeks to explore that tension, showing how practices that seem to lead toward light may instead open gateways into spiritual posession and darkness. What begins as ascent toward divinity can turn into descent into hell, both in this life and beyond. To approach the serpent fire is to confront both heaven and the echo of its fall, a perilous imitation of grace. One might call it a race to the bottom. The fallen angels made their choice long ago, and according to Christian theology there is no return for them. Those who follow, worship, or seek to become like them will share their fate in the same fire reserved for their fallen gods, a place described in Scripture as the final dwelling of the devil, his angels, and all who reject the true light. There they are said to be cast into a lake of fire that burns without end, cut off forever from the presence of the Most High God, where the torment born of rebellion becomes eternal.
In the ancient catacombs beneath Rome, the bones of countless Christian martyrs still rest. Their blood once soaked the soil of the Eternal City, spilled in arenas and burned at stakes. These early saints stood firm as the empire raged against them, refusing to bow before the gods of Olympus. Their sacrifice helped dismantle an entire pantheon, culminating in the 4th century with the conversion of Emperor Constantine and the eventual abolition of state-sponsored paganism.
This was no mere political shift; it was a metaphysical war. The temples of Mercury, Dionysus, and Asclepius were shuttered or repurposed. The rites of Isis, Mithras, and the Eleusinian mysteries faded into obscurity. The cross had conquered the caduceus.
But pagan gods, the fallen angels never truly die. They reinvent themselves. And sometimes, they reappear in new lands wearing different clothes.
The Echoes of Hermes in the Serpent of Shakti
After Constantine, as Christian Rome rose from the ashes of the pagan world, something remarkable was stirring across the continent in India. By the 5th century, the traditions of Tantra and Kundalini had begun to take shape. Where Rome had cast down the serpent as a symbol of Satan, Indian mysticism raised it up as the dormant energy of the Divine Feminine, Kundalini.
Can we trace a spiritual current from Hermes to Shiva, from the Greek mysteries to the yogic inner fire? This is speculative, but consider the astonishing parallels:
Theme
Greco-Roman (Hermes, Asclepius)
Indian Tantra/Kundalini
Serpents
Symbol of wisdom, healing, duality
Coiled energy, Shakti
Staff or Axis
Caduceus (Hermes), two snakes coiled around a staff
Sushumna nadi (central energy channel flanked by solar and lunar channels)
Healing
Asclepius, god of medicine
Kundalini as transformative healing energy
Divine Union
Hieros gamos, Dionysian ecstasy, inner union of male and female energies
Shiva–Shakti union
Body as microcosm of the universe
Mystery religions, alchemy
Tantric yoga, body as vehicle to moksha (liberation)
If we imagine the fall of Greco-Roman religion not as a disappearance but as a transmutation, we might say:
The energy of Hermes migrated eastward, shedding its Western garb and reappearing as Shiva, serpent-lord and cosmic dancer, custodian of the inner path.
A Vision in the Night
Early this morning, something powerful happened to me. I woke up at around 2:30 or 3:00 a.m. and engaged in deep Catholic prayer. Afterwards, I drifted back into sleep and experienced a vivid spiritual battle.
I saw the Caduceus and felt the presence of a dark force, perhaps a demon. Then I sensed small demons leaving as if they shot out of my mouth on puffs of air, accompanied by groaning, crying, even the sound of gunshots, as though a war was raging inside my soul. At the end of the vision, one man remained below, pointing a gun upward. I watched from a higher vantage point. Who was he? The man, I believe, was Satan.
He was not dead and he was poised to keep fighting.
I woke up. What I experienced wasn’t just a dream. It felt like an echo of that ancient struggle in Rome, replayed within the temple of my own body. The Christian martyrs cast down idols with their blood. We, too, must cast down what is false within us at whatever cost; we must uproot and cast out the inner serpent that slithered in during years of practicing the occult.
Rome uprooted the pagan gods and repurposed their shrines into Catholic cathedrals. Sadly, the pagan entities they represented were not destroyed. Perhaps they merely migrated east, into the rituals of Tantra, the breath of yogis, and the rising coil of kundalini.
In today’s spiritual landscape, a troubling trend is emerging: well-meaning Christians are being led to believe that Tibetan Buddhism is not only compatible with Christianity but can even enhance it. This deception, often subtle and clothed in the language of “contemplation” or “interfaith dialogue,” has found its way into Catholic monasteries and retreat centers. At the heart of this distortion is the adoption of Eastern meditative techniques, often inspired by Tibetan Buddhist practices, and the uncritical embrace of yoga as a “neutral” spiritual discipline.
To be clear: Tibetan Buddhism is not a Christian cousin. It is a profoundly different worldview, rooted in concepts like reincarnation, karma, and the ultimate dissolution of the self, doctrines wholly incompatible with Christianity’s vision of a personal, relational God and the eternal dignity of the soul.
Meditation or Manipulation?
The Christian tradition has long held a deep respect for silence, prayer, and contemplation, especially in the monastic practices of the Desert Fathers or the Hesychast tradition of Eastern Orthodoxy. But what is often marketed today as “meditation” bears little resemblance to Christian prayer. Tibetan Buddhism aims at the realization that the self and all phenomena are empty of inherent existence, a direct experience of emptiness (śūnyatā) and the luminous, non-dual nature of awareness.
This goal is diametrically opposed to Christian theology, which insists on the uniqueness of each soul, created in the image of God and destined for eternal communion with Him.
Yet Christian leaders and institutions have increasingly opened the door to these teachings. For example, the late Father Thomas Keating, one of the leaders of the Centering Prayer movement, drew heavily on Eastern techniques, often blurring the line between Christian contemplation and Buddhist meditation. Though his intentions were no doubt sincere, the result was a confusing blend of incompatible truths.
Another case is Father Richard Rohr, a popular Franciscan whose teachings often echo non-dual philosophies far closer to Eastern mysticism than to historic Christianity. Rohr’s discussions of “Christ-consciousness” and the illusion of the separate self bear striking resemblance to Tibetan Buddhist views, yet they are consumed by many Catholics and Protestants as if they are orthodox.
The Yoga Trap
Yoga is another Trojan horse in the spiritual lives of many Christians. Despite its spiritual roots in Hindu and Buddhist traditions, yoga is often presented as a harmless or purely physical practice. In truth, yoga’s asanas (postures) were designed not for exercise, but as physical preparations for meditation and kundalini awakening, specifically, awakening to a worldview that denies the personal God revealed in Jesus Christ.
When Christians engage in yoga or Tibetan-inspired meditation without discernment, they open themselves up not just to foreign practices, but to foreign spirits. This is not religious paranoia but a spiritual reality. St. Paul warned the Corinthians about participating in pagan rituals, saying, “You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons” (1 Corinthians 10:21).
The Deception of Compatibility
Tibetan Buddhist teachers are often happy to affirm Christian practices, so long as they are reinterpreted through a Buddhist lens. Some even encourage Christians to see Jesus as an “enlightened teacher” or “bodhisattva.” This allows the surface appearance of interfaith respect while subtly undermining core Christian claims: the Incarnation, the Resurrection, and the uniqueness of Christ as Savior.
This is not compatibility, but syncretism and it poses a spiritual danger.
A Call to Discernment
This is not to instill hostility or fear of Buddhism and other Eastern Religions. Nor is it a rejection of silence, stillness, and physical well-being. But Christians must recover the spiritual discipline of discernment. Not all that brings peace is from God. The Enemy is more than capable of offering counterfeit serenity, especially when it draws people away from the Cross and toward self-deification or belief in idols.
Christianity offers its own deep, mystical tradition rooted not in esoteric techniques or mantras, but in personal relationship with the living God. Prayer, asceticism, sacramental life, and union with Christ are more than sufficient for those seeking transformation. We do not need to import Tibetan concepts or yogic practices to find God. He is already here, knocking at the door.
The growing blend of Tibetan Buddhism and Christianity may feel harmonious on the surface, but this is illusory. At its core, the Gospel is not compatible with systems that deny Christ’s divinity, the soul’s eternal destiny, or the Triune God. As Christians, we must not be seduced by exotic forms of “spirituality” that utilize half-truths, and communion with fallen angels.
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.
Tantric Deception 