In a dusty corner of southern India, something strange is happening. Among the Catholic untouchables of Tamil Nadu the Virgin Mary reigns. These are the Dalit communities who converted to Christianity to escape caste oppression. Here the Virgin Mary is not just the mother of Christ or the Queen of Heaven. She’s the protector from demons, the healer of the possessed, and the exorcist of lustful spirits who prey on young women. [1]
Her name here is Arockyai Mary, “Our Lady of Good Health,” and unlike the goddesses of India’s native pantheon, she never harms. She doesn’t demand blood, or rage, or possess.
This makes her an anomaly in a world where possession is an everyday threat and where menstruation, pregnancy, and the liminal chaos of female sexuality are believed to attract wandering spirits, often the ghosts of those who died violently or before their time. These spirits, it is said, latch onto the vulnerable, especially women, and drive them into trances and convulsions.
And then there are the Hindu goddesses like Mariyamman [2] and Kaliamman [3], powerful but volatile. They heal, but they can also possess, punish, and destroy. Unlike the Virgin Mary, who is seen as unconditionally loving and healing, Mariyamman and Kaliamman’s protection must be earned through ritual and sacrifice. Their presence is often feared as much as it is venerated, revealing a form of feminine divinity that is transactional, fierce, and unpredictable.
The deeper thread that ties this to my own journey through Eastern mysticism and into Catholic truth is that the female deities of India are not so much saviors as they are owners. They ride their devotees like horses often through an overpowering kundalini experience. They enter bodies without informed consent. They demand submission, sacrifice, and pain. This is what possession looks like when the divine manifests as fierce femininity unmoored from moral restraint.
But the Virgin Mary is different in kind, not just degree. She doesn’t exploit vulnerability; she protects it. Her power is rooted in love, not domination. She doesn’t punish women for their sexuality; she guards them from the predators that do.
Many of us who were drawn into the tantric and yogic traditions found ourselves worshiping goddesses we didn’t truly understand such as Kali, Vajrayogini, and Durga. These powerful beings granted “blessings” that often came in the form of disorientation, illness, and spiritual invasion. What we called “awakening” was perhaps possession, wrapped in ritual and mystique.
In the story of the Paraiyar women, we see this clearly. Demonic possession is a warning as well. The culture teaches women that if they stray outside ritual boundaries, if they become too sexually visible, if they travel alone at dusk or cross the wrong river, they open the door to attack. And it’s the Virgin Mary, not Kali, who shows up to cast the darkness out.
Humanity does not need more divine rage, but the one Woman who is pure benevolence: the Mother of Jesus who through her perfection is feared by and can cast out spirits and demonic goddesses.
[1] Source article: Deliège, Robert. “La Possession démoniaque chez les Intouchables catholiques de l’Inde du sud / Demoniac Possession Among the Catholic Untouchables in Southern India.” Archives de sciences sociales des religions, no. 79, 1992, pp. 115–134. Available online.
[2] Mariyamman is a powerful village goddess widely worshipped in South India, especially in Tamil Nadu. Her name combines “mari,” meaning rain or disease, and “amman,” meaning mother—making her the Mother of Rain and Disease. She is especially associated with illnesses like smallpox, fevers, and skin diseases, but also with fertility, childbirth, and protection from evil spirits. Visually, she often appears fierce—sometimes with fiery red skin, holding a trident, and crowned with flames—bearing a resemblance to goddesses like Kali or Durga. Her shrines are typically modest, and her worship is deeply rooted in folk rituals. Devotees may offer animal sacrifices, participate in firewalking, or fall into trances believed to be divine possessions. In many cases, women are the ones possessed by Mariyamman, and these episodes are interpreted as both blessings and warnings—depending on whether the goddess has been properly appeased.
[3] Kaliammam is a fierce village manifestation of the goddess Kali, worshipped primarily in Tamil Nadu and other parts of South India. The name “Kaliamman” translates to “Mother Kali,” reflecting her role as a local protective mother goddess rooted in folk traditions. Like Kali, she is associated with destruction, power, and the eradication of evil, but in the village context, she is also invoked for healing, fertility, and protection from malevolent spirits. Kaliamman is often depicted with dark skin, a lolling tongue, wild hair, and multiple arms holding weapons—symbolizing her unrestrained spiritual power. Her worship includes rituals that are intense and sometimes violent: offerings of blood, possession trances, firewalking, and dramatic acts of devotion are common. She is believed to possess her devotees—often women—either to bless them, deliver a warning, or punish neglect. She must be honored and feared. Her presence reinforces moral and ritual boundaries in the community, demanding reverence through sacrifice and submission rather than drawing near in mercy or compassion.
Vajrayana Buddhism presents itself as a path of radical transformation: a sacred alchemy where ordinary perception is transmuted into enlightened wisdom. Its ritual technologies are often described as “skillful means,” and its magical practices framed as expressions of “Buddha activity.” But the colorful mandalas and enchanting deity meditations may obscure something far more dangerous than most practitioners realize.
According to vajranatha.com, Vajrayana operates through four principal kinds of magical activity, each aligned with a cardinal direction, a color, and a particular type of power:
White (east): for pacifying and healing
Yellow (south): for increasing wealth and wisdom
Red (west): for attraction and control
Dark blue or green (north): for wrathful subjugation and protection
These are personified in the deity forms of White Tara, Dzambhala, Kurukulla, and Vajrakilaya, respectively. Collectively, these “Four Activities” are described as enlightened, but their function mirrors the mechanisms of many other occult systems: healing, sorcery, love spells, exorcism, and domination.
So who, or what, is powering these rituals?
Chögyam Trungpa, one of the most influential Tibetan lamas to bring Vajrayana to the West, once gave a startlingly candid warning:
“Committing oneself to the Vajrayana teaching is like inviting a poisonous snake into bed with you and making love to it. Once you have the possibility of making love to this poisonous snake, it is fantastically pleasurable: you are churning out antideath potion on the spot. The whole snake turns into antideath potion and eternal joy. But if you make the wrong move, that snake will destroy you on the spot.” —Chögyam Trungpa
This is not a metaphor for the all-encompassing wisdom and compassion of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. It is a warning of immense spiritual danger.
Vajrayana demands the total surrender of body, speech, and mind, not only to the teachings, but to the guru and the spiritual forces behind those teachings. This surrender is cloaked in bliss, ecstasy, and the promise of transformation. But as Trungpa makes clear, one wrong move and the very force you trusted can turn lethal. It can turn on a dime.
I experienced this firsthand. It began as a profound visualization and mantra practice during a three-year retreat and gradually turned into energetic torment and psychological destabilization. The deities I once practiced became increasingly foreign, invasive, and predatory. The guru, once seen as a vessel of wisdom, became a wrathful executioner.
These practices are not what they seem: they tap into powerful magic. And one must ask, who is really powering these rituals? Who benefits when a practitioner opens themselves to these entities and their so-called “energies”? Why should we assume these forces are benevolent, simply because they have Buddhist names and appear in ornate, colorful iconography?
The structure described here isn’t just about religious symbolism or spiritual beauty, it reflects a deep psychological system designed to influence the mind through ritual. Vajrayana practices use visualization, chanting, offerings, and mantra repetition to create altered states of consciousness and emotional bonding with supernatural entities. This is what scholars call ritual psychology: the way ritual shapes belief, identity, and experience.
But Vajrayana doesn’t just manipulate the mind. It aligns closely with classic occult systems, ones that use similar rituals to summon, contact, and make pacts with spirits. Healing and increase, attraction and domination are bit neutral tools. They are technologies for channeling unseen forces toward specific outcomes. And these forces are personified, and bonded with through ritual acts that, the deeper you go, begin to resemble spiritual possession with demonic pacts.
In my own experience, the entities I contacted through these practices eventually revealed themselves to be something other than the enlightened mind of the Buddhas, whatever that might be. They had their own will, their own agendas, and their own personalities. Especially in the darker rites of semi-wrathful and wrathful deities, there was a sharp edge of coercion, and spiritual threat.
If we take these rituals seriously, not as colorful mysticism, but as real technologies of spiritual manipulation, then we must also take seriously the possibility that their source may not be benevolent.
Just because it’s branded as “Buddha activity” doesn’t mean it is holy. Survivors of spiritual abuse in Tibetan Buddhism must be brave enough to ask the hard questions. Who, or what, are we inviting into our minds and bodies when we chant these mantras, visualize these beings, and make offerings in exchange for spiritual results? Are these forces truly enlightened or are we just calling them that because we’ve been taught to?
When your healing comes at the cost of spiritual bondage…When your wisdom is bought by making pacts with demons…Something is deeply wrong.
Magic in Vajrayana is not peripheral but central to the practice. And it must be examined not with awe, but with clear-eyed discernment.
The Buddhist Tantras present themselves as the so-called ‘fast track’ to enlightenment, yet their historical origins, practices, and content diverge so significantly from the Buddha’s original teachings that one must ask: has something hijacked Buddhism under the guise of esoteric wisdom? Given that the Buddha never endorsed magical practices, sexual rituals, or deity worship, why would these suddenly emerge in the later tantric texts? Did an alien or even malevolent force infiltrate and co-opt Buddhism?
The Evolution of Tantra: A Radical Departure
David B. Gray’s study of the Cakrasamvara Tantra and Francesco Sferra’s analysis of the Hindu-Buddhist tantric relationship both expose an inconvenient truth: Tantric Buddhism did not originate organically from the Buddha’s teachings. Instead, it emerged centuries later, largely influenced by non-Buddhist elements, specifically, Hindu Śaiva traditions and indigenous occult practices.
The Buddha’s original teachings in the Pali Canon and early Mahayana texts emphasized ethical living, meditation, and wisdom as the path to liberation. Nowhere in the sutras do we find instructions for transgressive sexual rites, violence, or summoning spirits, yet these are prominent features in Tantric Buddhism.
Gray’s study of Cakrasamvara Tantra makes it clear that these texts were not composed within monastic Buddhist institutions but rather in liminal, non-traditional spaces. The practitioners of these tantras, the siddhas, were often depicted as wandering ascetics engaging in bizarre and shocking rituals. This movement incorporated elements of Hindu Kapalika practices, which involved cremation ground rituals, consumption of taboo substances, and the worship of wrathful deities. Such imagery is wholly alien to the serene and ethical path laid out by the Buddha.
Magical Powers and Occult Influences
One of the most glaring discrepancies between Tantra and early Buddhism is the obsession with supernatural powers (siddhis). In the Cakrasamvara Tantra, entire chapters are dedicated to spell-casting, invisibility techniques, and the control of spirits. Gray describes a ritual where an adept pulverizes the skin of a corpse’s foot, mixes it with blood, and recites mantras to gain the power of invisibility. This is not the noble Eightfold Path.
Similarly, Sferra highlights the deep infiltration of Hindu esoteric ideas into Buddhist Tantra. The very concept of mantra as a mechanism for altering reality aligns more closely with Vedic sacrificial traditions than with the Buddha’s core doctrine of impermanence and dependent origination. If enlightenment is beyond form, why is so much emphasis placed on elaborate rituals, deity worship, and secret initiations?
The “Demonic” Question: An Ancient Deception?
Given the radical departure from Buddhist teachings, one must ask: what is really behind the Tantras? If Tantra promises enlightenment but is steeped in dark rituals and transgressive practices, could it be a deception? The Bible describes Satan as a deceiver who masquerades as an angel of light (2 Corinthians 11:14). Could Tantra be a system where malevolent entities disguise themselves as enlightened deities?
Tantric deities such as Heruka and Vajravārāhī are described as trampling on Hindu gods, signifying the subjugation of earlier traditions. However, they themselves bear striking similarities to wrathful Hindu deities like Bhairava and Kali. Gray notes that these deities were often worshipped in charnel grounds, places of death and decay: locations that, across cultures, have been associated with spirits and demonic activity.
Furthermore, the Yoginītantras introduce figures such as dakinis, who were once seen as flesh-eating spirits but were later reinterpreted as enlightened beings. Why would the Buddha, who taught the renunciation of desire, suddenly endorse interactions with terrifying, sexualized female spirits? Could it be that these entities were never enlightened at all, but rather opportunistic spirits hijacking Buddhism for their own ends?
Why Would the Buddha Suddenly Promote Magic?
Sferra’s work highlights that even within Buddhist circles, there was resistance to the Tantras. The Yoginītantras, which emphasize sexuality and violent rituals, were seen as particularly controversial. The historical Buddha spent his life teaching śīla (morality), samadhi (concentration), and prajñā (wisdom). The introduction of abhiseka (initiation rites), visualization of deities, and sexual yoga represents an alien system grafted onto Buddhism rather than an authentic development of his teachings.
Even within later Buddhist traditions, there were attempts to downplay the more disturbing aspects of Tantra. Gray notes that later Tibetan commentators, such as Tsongkhapa, reinterpreted or omitted elements that were too transgressive. If Tantra were truly the highest Buddhist path, why would it require such extensive revision?
Conclusion: A Counterfeit Path?
Tantric Buddhism presents itself as a shortcut to enlightenment, but historical scrutiny reveals it to be a hybrid system, borrowing heavily from non-Buddhist traditions while contradicting the very essence of the Buddha’s teachings. The emphasis on occult powers, erotic mysticism, and deity worship starkly contrasts with the original Buddhist path.
If the Buddha himself never taught Tantra, why should we accept it as a legitimate form of Buddhism? More disturbingly, given its fixation on spirit invocation, possession, and ritual magic, is it possible that Tantra is not just an aberration but an infiltration? Is it a deception designed to mislead practitioners?
The questions remain open, but one thing is clear: Tantra is not Buddhism as the Buddha taught it. Those seeking truth must discern whether they are walking the Buddha’s path or following an elaborate illusion that masquerades as enlightenment.
REFERENCES:
Gray, David B.The Cakrasamvara Tantra: Its History, Interpretation, and Practice in India and Tibet. Religion Compass 1, no. 6 (2007): 695–710. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1749-8171.2007.00046.x.
Sferra, Francesco. “Some Considerations on the Relationship Between Hindu and Buddhist Tantras.” Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 27, no. 1 (2004): 263–307.
When I share my experience with Vajrayāna Buddhism, I encounter two distinct reactions.
Some people, those who don’t practice Tibetan Buddhism but have helped individuals suffering spiritual harassment from the occult, immediately recognize the patterns I describe.
Others, particularly Western Vajrayāna practitioners and scholars, dismiss my testimony outright.
They assume that my experience must be:
A misunderstanding of Vajrayāna teachings.
A psychological disturbance.
The result of improper practice.
A projection of my fears of retribution.
But my experience is not only real but also completely plausible when examined through the lens of history, psychology, and Vajrayāna’s own teachings.
The Problem with Dismissal: A Lack of Critical Engagement
Many Western Vajrayāna practitioners approach the tradition with a romanticized view. They believe they have found an unbroken lineage of wisdom, distinct from Western religion and free from the power dynamics that have corrupted other faiths. They assume they can pick and choose what they accept while ignoring the rest.
But if we apply some intellectual honesty it is clear that:
If someone left a charismatic cult claiming they had been spiritually manipulated and attacked, we wouldn’t immediately dismiss them.
If someone escaped from a Satanic cult and said demons pursued them, we wouldn’t automatically assume they were delusional.
If someone left a New Age movement after a kundalini awakening that triggered possession-like symptoms, we wouldn’t rush to call them crazy. Many Western Buddhists acknowledge that kundalini can cause spiritual emergencies.
If an anthropologist studied indigenous shamanic traditions and found initiates reporting spirit attacks, scholars wouldn’t dismiss their experiences. They’d document how these encounters function in that culture.
Yet when someone shares a disturbing experience from Vajrayāna Buddhism, the immediate response is:
“You misunderstood the teachings.”
“The deities or gurus would never harm anyone.”
“The deities aren’t real; they’re just projections of your own mind.”
“You must have mental health issues.”
This double standard serves as a defense mechanism, not an intellectually rigorous position.
Vajrayāna’s Own Teachings Make My Experience Plausible
Vajrayāna, more than any other Buddhist tradition, teaches that initiation and meditation create real, external effects in the spirit world. If you don’t believe that, then you’re not truly practicing Vajrayāna; you’re engaging with a secularized, sanitized Western reinterpretation.
Consider the following:
Empowerments (abhisheka) explicitly link practitioners to tantric deities, dakinis, and protectors. If you believe these forces are real, why assume they are always benevolent?
Vajrayāna warns against breaking samaya (tantric vows), claiming it angers deities and protectors. Why would angering supernatural beings have consequences if they were just psychological symbols?
Many initiates, particularly in traditional Tibetan settings, report strange and distressing experiences such as dream visitations, intrusive thoughts, even physical ailments. Teachers will say, “This is your karma ripening from breaking samaya,” but isn’t this just another way of saying that ambiguous spiritual forces attached to me through the empowerments and practices?
Vajrayāna itself affirms the reality of what I describe, it just frames it differently, often in ways that maintain control over practitioners while allowing plausible deniability.
The Historical Context of Tantra and Its Parallels to Occultism
Vajrayāna did not develop in a vacuum.
Tantric Buddhism emerged in India in the late first millennium, heavily influenced by esoteric Hindu traditions, Shaiva Tantra, and the Kapalikas, wandering renunciants who engaged in spirit summoning, sex rituals, and corpse meditation.
Chinese Buddhist monks like Hsuan Chao were deeply critical of Vajrayāna because they saw parallels between tantric rituals and the black magic they had encountered in India. Despite these warnings, Tibetan Buddhist traditions absorbed these practices wholesale.
Western scholars readily acknowledge that tantric Hinduism and Shaivism engage with external spiritual forces. Why, then, would Buddhist Tantra, which emerged in the same time and place, not also be interacting with something real?
Psychological Manipulation and Cognitive Entrapment
Even if you reject the idea of spirit harm from gurus and tantric deities, consider the psychological and emotional conditioning at play in Vajrayāna.
Mantra repetition rewires the brain. Studies show that repetitive prayer, chanting, and visualization alter consciousness, reduce critical thinking, and induce dissociation.
Guru devotion fosters dependency. Many ex-practitioners struggle with guilt, fear, and paranoia, symptoms identical to those of cult survivors.
The fear of breaking samaya becomes a mental prison. Some Vajrayāna students dismiss samaya punishments as psychological control, while others live in terror of divine retribution. Either way, the belief system exerts total influence over the mind.
If Vajrayāna were just an innocuous Buddhist tradition, why does the thought of leaving it leave so many people in existential terror?
The “Magical” Elements in Buddhist Sutras: Later Additions?
One common argument is that Vajrayāna is just a natural extension of Mahāyāna Buddhism, thus the spells, deities, and rituals have always been part of Buddhist practice.
That’s only partially true.
While some Mahāyāna sutras contain dhāraṇīs (magical incantations), serious scholars debate whether these were later interpolations, added to appeal to popular religious sensibilities.
The Pali Canon, the earliest Buddhist texts, explicitly warns against summoning spirits and using supernatural powers for personal gain. The Buddha rejected such practices. Vajrayāna, by contrast, embraces them.
If you’re a Western scholar, you might want to ask: How did this shift happen? If you’re a Vajrayāna practitioner, you might ask: Why does this look more like occultism than Buddhism?
Conclusion
If you are a Vajrayāna practitioner or scholar, you might still be skeptical. That’s fine. I only ask that you apply the same intellectual standard to my experience that you would to any other spiritual testimony.
If you believe Vajrayāna empowerments connect practitioners to supernatural forces, consider the possibility that these forces may not always be benevolent.
If you acknowledge the historical connection between Vajrayāna and Hindu Tantra, ask whether something deeper is at play.
If you recognize the psychological power of guru devotion and mantra repetition, be open to the idea that Vajrayāna entraps people in ways they don’t initially see.
I’m not here to tell anyone what to believe. But I am here to challenge you to question what you think you know about Vajrayāna, power, and the unseen realms.
If you think what happened to me could never happen to you, think again.
The emergence of Tantric Buddhism, also known as Vajrayana, represents a radical departure from the original teachings of the Buddha. While early Buddhism focused on ethical conduct, meditation, and wisdom as the path to enlightenment, Tantra introduced esoteric rituals, mantras, and controversial practices that blurred the lines between Buddhism and Hindu Shaivite traditions. The origins of Tantric Buddhism can be traced back to the mid-first millennium CE, gaining prominence between the seventh and tenth centuries. This period saw its infiltration into the great Buddhist monastic institutions of India, including the renowned Nalanda University.
The Rise of Tantric Buddhism
By the seventh century, Buddhist monks and scholars at Nalanda, Vikramashila, and other centers of learning began incorporating Tantric elements into their teachings. The introduction of deities, elaborate rituals, and magical practices marked a significant transformation from the rational and ethical framework established by the Buddha. The Guhyasamāja Tantra (c. 8th century) and other tantras became part of monastic curricula, suggesting that at least some scholars at these institutions were receptive to these esoteric traditions.
However, not all Buddhist monks welcomed these innovations. The Chinese monk Hsuan Chao (Xuanzhao), who traveled to India in the 10th century, was particularly critical of the Tantric Buddhists he encountered. He likened their practices to those of the Kapalikas, a Shaivite sect notorious for engaging in transgressive rituals involving human remains, sexual rites, and magical invocations.
Hsuan Chao’s Observations
Hsuan Chao’s journey to India was part of a larger Chinese monastic tradition of seeking authentic Buddhist teachings from their source. Although there is no definitive evidence that he studied at Nalanda, he likely visited Buddhist centers where Tantra was taught and observed its practitioners firsthand. He was disturbed by their practices, which he viewed as a stark deviation from the ethical and meditative traditions that defined early Buddhism.
His critiques were not merely personal reflections; they were grounded in the belief that Buddhism had been corrupted by external influences. The Buddha’s original teachings, as preserved in the Pali Canon and early Mahayana texts, emphasized renunciation, discipline, and insight. By contrast, Tantric Buddhism introduced complex rituals, deity worship, and doctrines that mirrored Hindu traditions, leading figures like Hsuan Chao to question whether these practices were truly Buddhist at all.
The Heretical Shift
Tantric Buddhism’s divergence from the core principles of Buddhism raises important questions about its legitimacy. The Buddha’s teaching on suffering (dukkha), impermanence (anicca), and non-self (anatta) left no room for the mystical aspirations of Tantra. Yet, by the late first millennium, Tantric texts were becoming influential within Buddhist traditions, particularly through the incorporation of dhāranīs (magical incantations) and mantras into Mahayana and Vajrayana texts. Some Mahayana sutras, such as the Lotus Sutra and Golden Light Sutra, contain elements of magical prayer, leading to scholarly debate over whether these were original to the texts or later interpolations. The presence of spells and protective charms in Buddhist literature suggests that such additions may have been efforts to appeal to popular religious sensibilities rather than direct reflections of the Buddha’s earliest teachings.
It is likely that some of these magical elements were added later, as Buddhism adapted to local traditions and sought to compete with Hindu and indigenous religious movements. In doing so, it absorbed ritualistic elements that were foreign to its original doctrine. The Buddha himself warned against blind faith in supernatural powers, emphasizing instead the development of wisdom and ethical conduct. This makes the inclusion of tantric rituals, many of which involved breaking moral precepts, highly suspect.
Conclusion
The rise of Tantric Buddhism represents a significant and, arguably, heretical transformation of the Buddha’s teachings. While early Buddhism sought liberation through ethical discipline and meditation, Tantra embraced occult rituals and esoteric knowledge as shortcuts to enlightenment. Monks like Hsuan Chao saw this as a dangerous deviation, likening Tantric Buddhists to the Kapalikas, whose extreme practices had long been considered outside the bounds of both Buddhist and Hindu orthodoxy.
The question remains: Was Tantric Buddhism a legitimate evolution of Buddhist thought, or was it a corruption of its foundational principles? Given its reliance on practices that directly contradicted the Buddha’s teachings, the latter seems more likely. As such, the study of Tantric Buddhism should be approached with a critical eye, recognizing its fundamental departure from the wisdom and ethics that once defined the Buddhist path.
Throughout Tibetan history, occult warfare has been an enduring element of religious and political life. The case of Jamgon Kongtrul the Great, one of Tibet’s most revered scholars and visionaries, illustrates this reality. The texts documenting Kongtrul’s life recount a dramatic confrontation with an adversary named Kuntrul, who sought to harm him through violent and magical means. Kongtrul, deeply engaged in esoteric practices, responded with his own ritual countermeasures, emerging victorious in a struggle that was as much metaphysical as it was physical. Notably, some accounts suggest that Kongtrul’s rituals were not merely protective but also offensive, raising questions about whether his actions aligned with the pacifist image of Tibetan Buddhism.
Given the ubiquity of such accounts in Tibetan history, it is striking that contemporary adherents of Tibetan Buddhism often dismiss similar experiences when they occur today, particularly when they involve those who challenge the power structures of the tradition.
The Occult Battles of Jamgon Kongtrul
Jamgon Kongtrul’s conflict with Kuntrul was a high-stakes struggle marked by sorcery and supernatural intervention. Historical sources describe how Kuntrul employed a mix of mundane and esoteric strategies, including bribing local leaders to attack Kongtrul’s camp. Faced with this threat, Kongtrul and his party resorted to protective rituals, invoking powerful deities such as Tārā and performing rites designed to repel harmful influences. Despite being outnumbered and targeted, Kongtrul survived unscathed, a testament, in the view of his followers, to the efficacy of his spiritual defenses.
His ritual responses played a role in neutralizing Kuntrul as a threat. “As Gardener surmises, it does not just appear that Kongtrul protected his companions and himself with various rituals and so on, but that they positively ‘vanquished their enemies’ like the victor in a ‘deadly black magic contest.’” [1] What is evident is that Tibetan Buddhist magic was not just about shielding oneself from harm but also about eliminating threats in a direct and forceful manner. This calls into question the modern perception of Tibetan Buddhism as purely compassionate and pacifist, when in reality, its historical figures wielded spiritual power as a weapon.
Kongtrul’s deep knowledge of tantric practices, including wrathful deity invocations, can be better understood through his own writings in The Treasury of Knowledge. In this monumental work, Kongtrul systematically outlines the structure of Buddhist tantra, including the use of rituals for both protection and destruction. [2] His mastery of these teachings suggests that his confrontation with Kuntrul was not an isolated event but part of a broader understanding of how spiritual power could be wielded in Tibetan Buddhism.
The 5th Dalai Lama and Ritual Warfare
One of the most well-documented cases of tantric warfare in Tibetan history is the political ascent of the 5th Dalai Lama (1617–1682). The Great Fifth, as he is known, engaged in elaborate tantric rituals to subdue his enemies, particularly those who opposed the Gelugpa school’s dominance. His autobiography describes how he invoked wrathful deities to ensure the downfall of his opponents, including the destruction of the Jonang and the suppression of rival sects. The Dalai Lama’s spiritual and political strategies were deeply interwoven, demonstrating how ritual power was a critical tool in Tibetan statecraft. [3]
The Silence Around Modern Black Magic Warfare
Given the historical reality of occult battles in Tibetan Buddhism, why is it so difficult for contemporary practitioners, especially those invested in maintaining the tradition’s public image, to acknowledge that similar tactics might still be used today?
This question is especially pertinent to my own experiences after participating in the public exposure of my first teacher as a sexual predator. Tibetan Buddhism has a long history of protecting its elite figures through both institutional suppression and supernatural means. If even luminaries such as Kongtrul were subjected to ritual attacks and responded with powerful countermeasures, why should it be inconceivable that similar tactics would be employed against those who disrupt the modern power structures of Tibetan Buddhism?
The cognitive dissonance here is profound. Those who deeply believe in the efficacy of Tibetan magic when it serves the tradition’s interests refuse to acknowledge its potential use against those who challenge the status quo. This selective skepticism allows abuse and corruption to persist while shielding the tradition from scrutiny.
Conclusion
Tibetan Buddhism has never been a purely pacifist tradition; it has always wielded spiritual power in service of political and institutional control. The case of Jamgon Kongtrul the Great, as well as the 5th Dalai Lama’s strategic use of tantric rituals, reveals that black magic battles were historically a real and recognized aspect of Tibetan life.
To dismiss similar experiences today, particularly when they involve whistleblowers or those who expose misconduct, is not only inconsistent but a deliberate act of denial.
If the Tibetan Buddhist establishment was willing to deploy supernatural means to protect its authority in the past, why would it not do so in the present?
Kongtrul, Jamgon. The Treasury of Knowledge: Book Six, Part Four: Systems of Buddhist Tantra. Translated by Elio Guarisco and Ingrid McLeod. Ithaca, NY: Snow Lion Publications, 2008.
Ngawang Lobsang Gyatso, Fifth Dalai Lama. The Autobiography of the Fifth Dalai Lama. Translated by Zahiruddin Ahmad. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998.
Smith, Gene. Among Tibetan Texts: History and Literature of the Himalayan Plateau. Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2001.
Gardner, Alexander. The Life of Jamgon Kongtrul the Great. Boston: Shambhala Publications, 2019.
The practice of divination has long been embedded in the religious and esoteric traditions of cultures across the world. One particularly striking example is the use of mirror divination, or prasena, a ritual in which a prepubescent child gazes into a reflective surface to reveal hidden knowledge or foresee the future. This practice, as highlighted by scholar Sam van Schaik in a recent interview, appears in both Ethiopian and Tibetan traditions and has possible roots tracing back to ancient Babylonian magic. [1]
Such continuity across vastly different cultures raises compelling questions about the transmission and persistence of esoteric knowledge throughout history.
The Ritual and Its Cultural Manifestations
Mirror divination has been historically practiced in multiple religious traditions, often involving a spiritual mediator, typically a child, who, under the guidance of a ritual master, peers into a reflective surface to receive supernatural insights. In Ethiopian traditions, this practice is documented in both ancient manuscripts and contemporary ritualistic settings. In Tibetan Buddhism, it appears in esoteric texts and continues to be used in divinatory rituals conducted by monks and lay practitioners alike.
The use of children in such rituals is significant. Many cultures have believed that children, being less conditioned by worldly concerns, are more receptive to supernatural or spiritual forces. These divinatory practices align with similar practices found in the Greco-Roman world, where oracles and seers would enter trance states to communicate divine messages.
A Babylonian Legacy?
Van Schaik suggests that mirror divination may have originated in Babylonian magic before spreading both eastward and westward. Babylon, as a major center of esoteric learning, was home to extensive traditions of divination, astrology, and ritual magic. Texts from Mesopotamia describe forms of lecanomancy (divination using liquid in a bowl) and katoptromancy (mirror scrying), practices that share structural similarities with the Ethiopian and Tibetan rituals.
This hypothesis aligns with broader historical patterns of cultural diffusion. The Silk Road and other trade routes served as conduits for not only commerce but also religious and magical knowledge. Babylonian astrological systems influenced both Greek and Indian traditions, just as mystical and ritualistic practices traveled alongside Buddhist monks and lay merchants. The presence of mirror divination in both Ethiopia and Tibet suggests that it may be a fragment of a much older and interconnected system of spiritual technologies.
Esoteric Transmission and the Kundalini Connection
The cross-cultural presence of mirror divination raises intriguing parallels with other esoteric practices, including the concept of kundalini. Just as divination involves opening oneself to external spiritual influences, kundalini awakening in tantric traditions is described as an energetic activation that fundamentally alters consciousness. In both cases, the practitioner becomes a vessel for forces beyond the self, forces that can be interpreted as divine or, in some cases, as possessing spirits.
For those who have experienced kundalini awakenings through tantric or meditative practices, the sensation of an “other” presence taking control is strikingly similar to descriptions found in spirit possession traditions. The parallel suggests that some esoteric practices, whether labeled as divination, energy work, or spiritual awakening, may stem from the same underlying phenomenon, one that has been variously interpreted depending on cultural and religious frameworks.
Implications for Understanding the Occult Legacy
If mirror divination has indeed traveled from Babylon to the far reaches of Ethiopia and Tibet, it serves as a potent reminder that esoteric traditions are rarely confined to one religion or civilization. They emerge, transform, and persist across centuries, carried by those who practice them and reshaped by the cultures that adopt them.
For those exploring the intersection of ancient magic and spiritual deception, this historical continuity offers a crucial insight: many seemingly distinct mystical practices may share a common origin, one that predates organized religions and crosses the boundaries of geography and belief. As such, these traditions warrant deeper examination, especially for those who, like myself, have encountered their hidden dangers firsthand.
[1]Sam van Schaik, interviewed by Jonathan Samuels, Interview with Sam van Schaik (January 15-16, 2019), p. 12.
As a young practitioner, I was taught that the Buddhist tantras were revealed after the Buddha’s parinirvana (death). According to this myth, the Buddha appeared in a divine form to gods and advanced beings, delivering esoteric teachings that remained hidden during his lifetime. These secret instructions were entrusted to celestial beings, nāgas (serpentine spirits), and bodhisattvas, who later transmitted them when conditions were ripe. This framed the tantras as mystical extensions of the Buddha’s wisdom, distinct from his public teachings in the sutras.
However, modern scholarship, like Jacob Dalton’s work, suggests a different history. Instead of divine revelation, tantric rituals and methodologies likely evolved through independent ritual manuals rather than canonical scripture.
The Karma Kagyu Perspective
The Karma Kagyu tradition holds that tantras were revealed by Vajradhara, the Dharmakaya Buddha, through visionary transmission to highly realized beings like Tilopa. Some teachings were safeguarded by dakinis and nāgas, while others were hidden as terma (treasures) to be revealed later. These traditional narratives emphasize a mystical origin; however, Dalton’s research suggests that tantric Buddhism developed more organically, emerging from evolving ritual manuals.
If one takes the traditional Buddhist stance that tantra was revealed by the Buddha (or Vajradhara), then Dalton’s research presents a major challenge. It suggests that these teachings were likely developed and refined within Buddhist circles long after the Buddha’s time rather than being his direct transmission.
Sutras vs. Tantras
Sutras are foundational Buddhist texts attributed to the historical Buddha, emphasizing ethical conduct, meditation, and wisdom. These canonical scriptures are preserved in the Pali, Chinese, and Tibetan canons. In contrast, tantras focus on esoteric rituals, deity yoga, mantra recitation, and secret initiations aimed at accelerating enlightenment. Unlike sutras, tantras use symbolic, coded language and require initiation from a qualified teacher.
The Dunhuang Manuscripts and Ritual Manuals
The Dunhuang manuscripts, discovered along the Silk Road, offer insight into early tantric Buddhism. Dalton’s work with these texts suggests that tantric Buddhism initially developed through practical ritual manuals (Vidhis, Kalpas, and Sadhanas) rather than formalized scriptures. These guides were adapted and often discarded, making their historical traceability difficult.
Dalton found that these manuals were frequently appended to or inserted into Dharani sutras, but also existed independently.[1] This suggests that Buddhist rituals did not originate from sutras but were already in practice before being formally recorded in scripture.
The Evolution of Tantric Practices
By the fifth century, ritual manuals became prominent alongside Dharani sutras, marking a shift toward applied spirituality. The rise of altar diagrams, temple worship, and visualization techniques in Buddhist rituals coincided with Hindu esoteric traditions, reflecting a cross-pollination of practices.
Conjuring the Buddha: A Reversal of Scriptural Authority
Jacob Dalton’s book Conjuring the Buddha: Ritual Manuals in Early Tantric Buddhism, explores how tantric Buddhism is deeply ritualistic and magical, emphasizing that practitioners sought to conjure the Buddha rather than merely study doctrine.
A key argument in his work is that ritual practices predated and shaped canonical texts, rather than the traditional assumption that textual sources dictated practice. This challenges the linear evolutionary model that sees tantric Buddhism as a straightforward development from Mahayana sutras. Instead, Dalton suggests that lived ritual traditions influenced the formation of canonical texts, making tantric Buddhism a dynamic and experiential tradition rather than a purely doctrinal one.
Rethinking Tantric Buddhism’s Origins
Dalton’s research does not outright prove that tantra did not come from the Buddha, but it strongly challenges the traditional Buddhist claim that tantras were directly revealed by him (whether in his historical form or as Vajradhara). Instead, it suggests that tantric Buddhism developed as an evolving ritual tradition rather than being a fully formed teaching originating from the Buddha himself.
Here’s why:
Ritual Practices Evolved Separately from Canonical Teachings Dalton’s findings indicate that tantric practices were initially recorded in independent ritual manuals that were later appended to or integrated into Dharani sutras. This suggests that these practices were not originally part of the Buddha’s recorded teachings but emerged over time within Buddhist communities.
No Direct Scriptural Evidence from Early Buddhist Texts The earliest Buddhist texts, the Pali Canon and Mahayana sutras, do not contain fully developed tantric doctrines. Tantra, as it appears in Vajrayana Buddhism, became prominent centuries later, and its early development seems to be more of a gradual accumulation of esoteric ritual practices rather than a singular revelation by the Buddha.
Cross-Pollination with Other Esoteric Traditions Many tantric elements such as mantras, deity yoga, mandalas, and ritual visualization, resemble practices found in Indian Shaiva and Shakta traditions. This suggests that tantric Buddhism developed through cultural and religious exchange rather than being an entirely unique transmission from the Buddha.
A Shift in Scriptural Authority The fact that tantric practices existed before being formally written into Buddhist scriptures implies that tantric Buddhism may have been practitioner-driven rather than stemming from a singular enlightened source (such as the Buddha). The codification of these rituals into texts might have been an attempt to legitimize or systematize existing practices rather than recording an original revelation.
What This Means for the Traditional View
If one takes the traditional Buddhist stance that tantra was revealed by the Buddha (or Vajradhara), then Dalton’s research presents a major challenge. It suggests that these teachings were likely developed and refined within Buddhist circles long after the Buddha’s time rather than being his direct transmission. Whether this undermines the legitimacy of tantra as a Buddhist tradition depends on one’s perspective: traditionalists may argue that the Buddha foresaw and seeded tantric teachings in hidden ways, while scholars would argue that tantra is a later development influenced by various religious and ritual traditions.
[1] In Tibetan Buddhism, a Dharani Sutra is a type of scripture or sacred text that contains dharanis—extended formulas or phrases composed of Sanskrit syllables believed to carry spiritual power. These are similar to mantras but often longer and more elaborate.
The full transcript of the lecture cited in the article can be read here:
Speaker: Jacob Dalton, Ph.D. | Distinguished Professor in Tibetan Buddhism, UC Berkeley
Thank you, Sanjot, for inviting me. It’s a strange experience to speak to a home crowd.
I’ve given a couple of talks on this book before, and those were more formal, in-depth lectures on specific elements of the book. But since those are all available online, I decided to take a different approach today—something a bit more personal and informal. I want to talk about the process I went through in writing this book.
Since many of you, particularly those in my seminars, have probably heard me discuss these ideas countless times—ideas I’ve been working with for nearly 20 years—I hope this will be the last time you have to listen to me talk about them.
This book began taking shape after I finished my Ph.D. and moved to London to work at the British Library. I was hired by the International Dunhuang Project, which had received a three-year grant to digitize the Tibetan tantric manuscripts in the Stein Collection.
A brief word on the Dunhuang manuscripts: they were discovered over a century ago in a cave along the Silk Road, near the city of Dunhuang. They are a treasure trove for scholars of Chinese and Tibetan religious studies, containing some of the earliest materials we have in Tibetan.
As part of this project, I worked alongside Sam van Schaik to catalog the tantric manuscripts. It was an incredibly fortunate three years, as my interests aligned perfectly with the project’s goals, allowing me to read through the collection extensively.
As I began working through these manuscripts, I noticed that previous scholarship had largely relied on the existing catalog of Tibetan manuscripts in London. Rather than being constrained by that framework, I decided to read through the manuscripts one by one, which led to the discovery of many new treasures.
At the start, I was so excited by my findings that I rushed to publish a few articles. Looking back, I wish I could retract them—they were filled with errors. I simply wasn’t yet qualified to fully understand the collection. Realizing this, I paused my publishing efforts to re-educate myself on the early history of tantric Buddhism in India, which ultimately delayed the completion of this book for nearly two decades.
The book does several things at once. It uses the Tibetan tantric manuscripts from Dunhuang as a window into the development of tantric Buddhism in India. My previous book, Taming of the Demons, used the same manuscripts to explore early Tibetan history, but this time I wanted to contextualize them in relation to Indian developments. While I am not a Sanskritist, I undertook the challenge of examining this material from an Indian perspective.
Despite what Sanjot may have said, much of the book is quite technical, dealing with the evolution of tantric ritual and how it functioned as a system. However, two larger arguments underpin the book.
First, I emphasize the importance of ritual manuals. The book is, in many ways, a study of early tantric ritual manuals as a distinct genre, particularly those preserved in Dunhuang.
Second, influenced by my time at UC Berkeley and conversations with colleagues like Paula and Allan, I began approaching these texts through a more literary lens.
The Discovery of Ritual Manuals as a Distinct Genre
In 2004, while working on an exhibition at the British Library, I was asked to write catalog entries for several manuscripts, including a Chinese diagram of an altar for the worship of Uṣṇīṣa Vijaya. Not knowing Chinese, I sought help in translating it, and I soon realized that nothing in the Uṣṇīṣa Vijaya Dhāraṇī Sūtra itself corresponded to the ritual practices depicted in the manuscript.
This led me to investigate further, and I discovered multiple versions of the text—some with separate ritual sections, others with independently circulating ritual manuals (vīdhis). The Chinese canon preserved some of these, as did the Tibetan canon, while the Dunhuang manuscript represented yet another variant.
This realization led to a major breakthrough: I began to see that ritual manuals had a life of their own, distinct from the canonical scriptures. Using the Taishō Tripiṭaka, I traced the emergence of ritual manuals, finding that they first appeared alongside dhāraṇī sūtras in the second half of the fifth century and proliferated in the sixth and seventh centuries.
Surprisingly, I found no evidence of Buddhist ritual manuals before this period. This was a revolutionary moment for me—I realized that an entire genre, central to contemporary Buddhist practice, had emerged relatively late in Buddhist history.
Ritual Manuals and the Proto-Tantric Debate
This finding intersected with a longstanding scholarly debate about whether dhāraṇī sūtras were proto-tantric. Scholars like Michel Strickmann argued that they were, while others, such as Robert Sharf, disagreed.
I concluded that dhāraṇī sūtras themselves were not tantric but rather Mahāyāna texts. However, the ritual manuals associated with them were proto-tantric. These manuals became a kind of “literary Petri dish,” fostering experimentation, localization, and innovation in Buddhist ritual practice.
What made these ritual manuals so flexible was their non-canonical status. Unlike scriptures deemed the word of the Buddha, these were human-authored texts that practitioners personalized with notes, additions, and modifications. Today, we can still see this practice in Tibetan Buddhism, where individuals compile personalized collections of prayers and instructions.
Yet, because they were seen as unimportant, these manuscripts were rarely preserved—except in rare cases like the Dunhuang collection, which offers a unique glimpse into this otherwise ephemeral tradition.
The Literary Qualities of Ritual Manuals
A turning point in my thinking came when Paula, a literature scholar, asked me what defined ritual manuals as a genre. Until then, I had approached them purely as practical guides. But her question forced me to consider their literary qualities.
Unlike Mahāyāna sūtras, which recount the Buddha’s teachings in a narrative framework, ritual manuals speak directly to the reader, instructing them in the imperative tense: “Place the offering here. Hold the beads in your right hand. Recite the mantra 21 times.” This direct address collapses the distance between text and practitioner, drawing the reader into the ritual itself.
With the rise of tantra, another shift occurred. The imagined world of the Buddha, once distant in Mahāyāna sūtras, merged with the practitioner’s experience. Instead of merely praying to a Buddha, practitioners imagined themselves as the Buddha at the center of the mandala.
This change is vividly illustrated in an eighth-century Tibetan commentary, which states that before drawing a physical mandala, the practitioner must first visualize the true mandala hovering above it. Here, the imagined world takes precedence over the physical.
The Evolution of Tantric Ritual and Poetic Language
A key feature of tantric ritual manuals is their use of poetry at crucial ritual moments. While early manuals were mostly prose, later tantric texts incorporated poetic passages, particularly during initiations and moments of transformation.
For example, in an initiation ritual, the master bestows symbolic objects upon the initiate while reciting poetic verses. This poetic register heightens the ritual’s significance, marking it as a moment of spiritual transformation.
By the ninth and tenth centuries, entire tantric ritual manuals were composed in verse, blurring the lines between human and Buddha-authored texts. These poetic passages, rich in metaphor and imagery, were designed to induce visionary experiences in the practitioner.
Conclusion
The developments I have traced in ritual manuals culminated in the late eighth and ninth centuries with the rise of esoteric initiations, the fourth empowerment, and the direct transmission of awakening through poetic or symbolic gestures—hallmarks of later tantric Buddhism.
While I have limited my argument to the evolution of ritual manuals, it is tempting to see a connection between these literary developments and the emergence of direct transmission methods in traditions like Dzogchen and Zen. By the end of the eighth century, the transmission of awakening was no longer solely a doctrinal process but an experiential one, facilitated through poetic, symbolic, and ritual means.
As a young person, I was assured by a respected Tibetan Buddhist rinpoche that one could be both Christian and Buddhist. [1] He acknowledged that many had faith in Jesus Christ and claimed there was no contradiction between the two traditions. Yet, this assertion directly contradicts biblical Christianity. Whether well-intentioned or deceptive, he was wrong.
Tibetan Buddhism is often presented in the West as a tradition of wisdom and compassion, sometimes compared to Christianity. However, its fundamental tenets conflict with Christian doctrine, not only in rejecting a Creator God but also in its deep commitment to tantric practices that diverge from biblical teachings. Tibetan Buddhism’s fusion of Indian Buddhist philosophy, tantric practices, and Tibetan shamanism has resulted in a system where esoteric tantric laws supersede even the historical Buddha’s teachings, let alone Christian principles.
Tantric Roots: Beyond the Buddha’s Teachings
It is important to note that Tibetan Buddhism is not solely derived from the historical Buddha’s teachings but incorporates various esoteric influences, including elements from broader South Asian tantric traditions. Scholar Jacob Dalton notes that early Buddhist tantra developed ritualized practices such as mantra recitation and yogic breath-control techniques. Over centuries, Tibetan Buddhist tantra evolved beyond the Buddha’s original teachings, shaped by ongoing ritual innovations and textual developments rather than direct continuity with the Buddha’s doctrine (Dalton, “On the Early Development of Sexual Union in Buddhist Tantric Practice”) [2]
The Buddha’s original teachings emphasized ethics, meditation, and wisdom, not esoteric rituals, deity invocations, or secret empowerments, which later became central to Tibetan Buddhist practice. The introduction of tantric elements centuries after his death fundamentally altered Buddhism, aligning it more closely with Hindu tantra than with its original foundations.
The Fusion of Buddhism, Tantra, and Tibetan Shamanism
Tibetan Buddhism is not a pure continuation of the Buddha’s teachings but a blend of:
Mahayana Buddhism: Contributed philosophical concepts like emptiness (shunyata) and the bodhisattva ideal.
Kashmir Shaivism & Indian Tantra: Introduced deity yoga, secret initiations, and esoteric sexual rituals.
Tibetan Bon Shamanism: Integrated animistic practices, spirit invocations, and sorcery.
This synthesis was fraught with contradictions. The Buddha’s ethical teachings often clashed with tantra’s disregard for conventional morality, which, according to tantric texts, must be transcended for enlightenment. Tantric laws ultimately took precedence over traditional Buddhist ethics, justifying actions that the Buddha explicitly condemned, such as ritual intoxication, sexual practices, and deceptive methods of control.
Dalton’s book, The Taming of the Demons: Violence and Liberation in Tibetan Buddhism, highlights how tantric law overshadowed Buddhist nonviolence, allowing for ritual violence against perceived enemies of the dharma (Dalton, The Taming of the Demons). [3] This unresolved tension continues in Tibetan Buddhist circles, where lamas justify behaviors the Buddha would have rejected.
Idol Worship and the Biblical Condemnation of Tibetan Buddhism
Christianity explicitly condemns the core practices of Tibetan Buddhism, particularly idol worship, sorcery, and reliance on spiritual intermediaries outside of God. Scripture warns against such practices:
Isaiah 42:8 “I am the Lord; that is my name! I will not yield my glory to another or my praise to idols.”
Galatians 1:8 “Even if we or an angel from heaven should preach a gospel other than the one we preached to you, let them be under God’s curse!”
Deuteronomy 18:10-12 “There shall not be found among you anyone who… practices divination, tells fortunes, or interprets omens… For whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord.”
1 Corinthians 10:20-21 “The sacrifices of pagans are offered to demons, not to God, and I do not want you to be participants with demons.”
Tibetan Buddhism actively promotes deity worship, ritual magic, and tantric initiations that invoke spiritual forces, aligning it with practices the Bible condemns as deceptive and demonic.
Two Paths That Cannot Be Reconciled
Despite modern claims of compatibility, Christianity and Tibetan Buddhism are fundamentally irreconcilable. Tibetan Buddhism is rooted in tantric laws that contradict the teachings of both the Buddha and Christ. It is not merely a philosophy but an esoteric system steeped in idol worship, occult rituals, and doctrines opposed to biblical truth.
An honorific title used to refer to highly respected teachers.
Jacob Dalton, On the Early Development of Sexual Union in Buddhist Tantric Practice, Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies, vol. 32, no. 1–2, 2009.
Jacob Dalton, The Taming of the Demons: Violence and Liberation in Tibetan Buddhism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011).
Kundalini has long been described as a latent energy residing in the root chakra, an evolutionary force waiting to be awakened. Across various esoteric traditions, this energy is believed to rise through the subtle body, purging karmic imprints, and ultimately merging with the crown chakra, culminating in what is often called spiritual enlightenment. But is this awakening truly a path to liberation, or is it something more insidious?
The Traditional Narrative of Kundalini
In Hinduism, kundalini is depicted as a coiled serpent at the base of the spine, lying dormant until activated through practices such as yoga, mantra recitation, or tantric rituals. Its ascent is said to be accompanied by profound energetic experiences such heat, visions, bodily tremors, and radical shifts in consciousness. Similarly, Tibetan Buddhism invokes powerful deities like Vajrayogini through tantric practice, where practitioners visualize and merge with these beings to achieve heightened states of awareness.
But what if kundalini is not simply an impersonal, evolutionary force? What if it is an entity, a being that takes possession of the initiate?
My Personal Awakening: The Force That Felt “Other”
During my three-year Tibetan Buddhist retreat, I engaged in rigorous tantric practices designed to accelerate spiritual transformation. I was instructed to visualize deities, recite mantras, engage in an extreme form of yoga and breath manipulation, replace my ordinary identity with that of the enlightened being, and then dissolve that conceptual construct into emptiness. At the culmination of my practice, I experienced a massive kundalini awakening, a phenomenon that, at the time, was being reported by many across various spiritual modalities, particularly in the nascent days of internet forums and search engines.
I was assured that kundalini was a benevolent force, the fuel for spiritual enlightenment, and a necessary purification process. But the experience was horrific. At its peak, in the midst of unbearable energetic torment, I saw the tantric deity I had been invoking appear above my head. She was trying to enter my body. I intuitively understood that what I was experiencing was her attempt to expand my nervous system so she could fully inhabit it. Whether that was for good or for ill I wasn’t sure. The kundalini energy always felt alien. Finally it dawned on me: it felt other because it is other. I have come to the conclusion that Kundalini is not just an neutral spiritual energy but a possessing spirit.
The Ancient Serpent Spirit Across Cultures
The realization that kundalini is a sentient force aligns with countless historical accounts of spirit possession in esoteric traditions. In Hinduism, Shiva and Kali are both associated with immense, transformative energy, often depicted in forms that suggest possession. Shiva’s wild, ascetic frenzy matches Kali’s violent, all-consuming nature. In Tibetan Buddhism, Vajrayogini and some other tantric deities are depicted in a similar manner. They are summoned and merged with the practitioner, suggesting an external force taking control of the body.
The ancient Greeks spoke of the Python spirit, a demonic entity associated with divination and oracles. The Bible recounts how the Apostle Paul encountered a slave girl possessed by the “python spirit,” a demon of fortune-telling, and cast it out in the name of Jesus Christ (Acts 16:16-18). The parallels between the descriptions of the python spirit and kundalini are striking. The spasms, altered states, and prophetic visions are all common signs of both kundalini awakenings and spirit possession.
Apostle Paul casting out the demon of divination from the servant girl.
Kundalini: The Spirit of the Serpent
What if kundalini is not the divine energy it claims to be? What if the spiritual transformations it promises are merely a baited hook leading to deeper and deeper possession? Many undergoing kundalini awakenings report disturbing symptoms: involuntary body movements, extreme heat, uncontrollable weeping, and even a complete breakdown of identity. These are not signs of enlightenment but of something powerful taking over.
In Christian theology, the serpent has always been a deceiver, from the Garden of Eden to the python spirit Paul cast out. In many indigenous traditions, serpent spirits are revered but also feared, as they often demand submission in exchange for their so-called “gifts.”
If kundalini is truly a possessing spirit, then its widespread activation in modern spiritual movements is not a path to liberation but a global initiation into deception. Esoteric traditions have long venerated the serpent, but history and scripture warns against it.
For those undergoing kundalini awakenings, it is crucial to question the nature of this force. Is it truly an impersonal divine energy, or is it an entity seeking a vessel? And if so, how can one break free from its grip?
The time has come to reconsider the nature of kundalini, not as an evolutionary force but as the ancient spirit of the serpent who, as deceiver, has masqueraded for centuries under the guise of enlightenment.
Tantric Deception 