Tag: tantric practices

Kundalini Possession vs. Classic Demonic Possession: A Comparative Study

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Kundalini is often described in modern yoga and New Age spirituality as a universal spiritual energy coiled at the base of the spine, waiting to rise and bring enlightenment. This portrayal is misleading. In reality, what is called a “kundalini awakening” is better understood as a form of possession. Rather than a benign inner energy, kundalini is a demonic force that enters the human mind-body continuum, hijacks the nervous system, and rewires perception, behavior, and physiology. This explains why the symptoms of kundalini often overlap with those of classic demonic possession.

Symptoms: Kundalini Possession vs. Demonic Possession

Kundalini possession symptoms

  • Involuntary bodily spasms or kriyas, often violent or exhausting.
  • A sensation of a serpent or current moving through the spine, causing heat, pressure, or pain.
  • Rapid swings between bliss and terror, often accompanied by visions or auditory phenomena.
  • Disassociation and feelings of being controlled by something non-human.
  • Progressive neurological deterioration: insomnia, paranoia, and psychosis.
  • Identification with Hindu deities or serpentine archetypes, which parallels demonic manifestations described in other cultures.

Demonic possession symptoms (more broadly recognized)

  • Aversion to the sacred, where holy names, prayers, or symbols provoke rage.
  • Manifestations of supernatural strength or the sudden ability to speak foreign languages.
  • Violent outbursts, self-harm, or aggression against others.
  • Distorted voice, grotesque facial expressions, or animal-like behavior.
  • Physical disturbances such as objects moving, foul odors, or sudden temperature drops.
  • A clear sense of hostile external control.

Both states are marked by loss of sovereignty and the intrusion of an alien intelligence. What makes kundalini more deceptive is that it cloaks itself in the language of spiritual progress.

The Entities Behind the Possessions

Kundalini-related beings

  • Kundalini is personified as Shakti, the serpent goddess. While Hindu texts portray her as divine, serpent symbolism universally points to deception and danger, as the serpent has long been associated with Satan in Christianity.
  • Many afflicted report contact with or identification as Kali, Durga, or other fierce Hindu and tantric Buddhist deities whose attributes of blood, violence, and intoxication align closely with demonic qualities.

Entities in wider demonic possession

  • Christianity: fallen angels under Satan’s authority.
  • Islam: malicious jinn, created from smokeless fire.
  • Judaism: dybbuks, wandering spirits of the dead seeking to inhabit bodies.
  • Indigenous traditions: hungry ghosts, nature demons, or restless ancestral spirits.

The same destructive force that is worshiped in India as divine feminine energy is interpreted in other traditions as demonic intrusion.

Why Kundalini Possession Often Appears Different

There are many anecdotal accounts of people afflicted by kundalini who do not display the same dramatic symptoms seen in major exorcisms performed by the Catholic Church. They may not display superhuman strength, speak unknown languages, or react violently to holy objects. Instead, their suffering appears as neurological collapse or uncontrollable kriyas.

Why does this happen? One possibility is what some exorcists call “perfect possession.” By willingly engaging in yoga, Eastern meditation, or tantric practices, the person effectively invites the spirit in. Once invited, the demon does not always need to manifest with violence or open hostility. It is already enthroned, so to speak, in the person’s consciousness and nervous system. It burrows in and embeds itself. The possession is often quieter but no less real.

Another possibility is that kundalini spirits simply manifest differently than other categories of demons. The absence of classic symptoms described by the Catholic Church may not mean the person is not possessed. It may mean they are afflicted by a different type of spirit, or by a demon whose preferred mode of influence is more insidious and long-term. Rather than breaking furniture or speaking in foreign tongues, it works by corrupting the nervous system, trapping the victim in cycles of ecstatic highs and devastating lows, and slowly eroding the mind and spirit.

Implications for the Catholic Church

Because many of these cases do not fit the criteria traditionally used to diagnose possession, individuals suffering from kundalini affliction are sometimes turned away by exorcists. Yet the sheer number of Westerners who have turned to yoga, meditation, and tantric practices since the 1960s suggests that the Church may need to reevaluate how possession presents in modern contexts. Kundalini demons may not manifest with the same overt signs as other kinds of possession, but their effects are no less destructive.

To dismiss these cases as mere psychological breakdowns risks ignoring an entire category of demonic assault that has proliferated under the guise of spirituality. The deceptive packaging of kundalini as “spiritual energy” makes it one of the most dangerous forms of possession today.

Sacrifice, Favor, Repeat

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Before the modern age romanticized pagan religions into New Age panaceas, ancient worship was known to be raw and brutally pragmatic. In our modern spiritual-industrial complex, it is often sugarcoated into some kind of warm, earth-loving ceremony filled with personal empowerment and divine intimacy. But if you’re reading this, you’re probably already suspicious of that narrative.

In fact ancient religion, pagan religion, was highly transactional. The gods didn’t love you. They didn’t weep over your suffering or aspire to protect you.

A passage from Behold the Christ: Proclaiming the Gospel of Matthew by Leroy A. Huizenga makes this brutally clear. Pagan worship, he writes, operated on the ancient principle of do ut des: “I give so that you give back.”(1) In other words, the gods and humans used each other. You offered sacrifices, incense, food, or praise not out of adoration, but because you wanted something in return: good crops, protection in war, fertility, rain, wealth, healing, vengeance, and victory. And the gods? They wanted to be fed, praised, and kept relevant. It was mutual exploitation dressed up in sacred costume.

“That is, the worshipper provides a sacrifice to a god that pleases and empowers the god, who then turns around and does the worshipper favors. Because the gods are often indifferent to humans, worshippers engage in repeated ritual to reach out and get a god’s attention.”

This paragraph says more about ancient spirituality than most modern New Age books on “manifesting” or “connecting with the divine.” The ancients weren’t confused. They understood that the gods were powerful, unpredictable, and not especially interested in human wellbeing unless there was something in it for them.

And this wasn’t limited to Rome or Greece. Versions of do ut des appear in Vedic sacrifice, Mesopotamian temple economies, and also Tantric Buddhist practice where offerings are made to wrathful deities to invoke, control, or appease.

Nowhere is this transactional logic more systematized and ritualized to the point of industrial precision than in Tibetan Buddhism. While cloaked in the language of enlightenment and compassion, the tradition is saturated with mechanisms that mirror the ancient do ut des economy: elaborate offerings, incense, butter lamps, mandalas, and tormas (sacrificial cakes that replaced blood offerings when the Buddhist principle of ahimsa “non-harming” took root). These were given not out of unconditional reverence, but to elicit specific outcomes from specific deities. Monastic liturgies are not just meditative recitations, but are negotiations with a pantheon of wrathful and peaceful beings, each with their own preferences, powers, and temperaments. Moreover, the non-harming sentiment in Tibetan Buddhism only extends so far. While Buddhist tantra forbids blood sacrifice, its subjugation rituals, aimed at both spiritual and human enemies, can involve some of the most brutal punishments found in any ritual religion.

Drupchöd ceremonies, held in large monasteries, exemplify this beautifully. These are days- or weeks-long ritual marathons involving collective chanting, visualization, music, mudras, and vast offerings, all designed to propitiate deities into bestowing protection, wisdom, and worldly benefits like health and prosperity. Whether invoking Mahakala to remove obstacles or Tara for swift blessings, the assumption is clear: the deity acts when properly fed, praised, and invoked. The gods (or enlightened beings, depending on your doctrinal parsing) are not passively watching; they’re participants in a cosmic economy, and Tibetan Buddhism, more than almost any other tradition, has mastered the bureaucratic apparatus needed to transact with them. It’s not just about personal devotion. It’s about correct performance, correct offerings, and the correct “exchange rate” of ritual. The love of the gods is not assumed. Their attention must be earned over and over again.

Modern Takeaways and a Warning

This transactional pattern isn’t limited to ancient paganism or esoteric Tibetan ritualism. You’ll find the same spiritual economy alive and well in the darker corners of contemporary occultism. Take it from someone like Riaan Swiegelaar who’s lived on the other side: former Satanists and occult practitioners routinely speak of offering sacrifices, especially blood, to demons in order to negotiate outcomes.(2)

He described it well: “A lot of people ask me, ‘Why are there so many sacrifices in Satanism? Why is there blood?’ The answer is simple: blood has currency in the spirit world. If I want to negotiate with demons, I need to bring an [animal] sacrifice because that blood holds value. It functions as spiritual capital.

“But here’s the contrast: the blood of Jesus is the highest currency in the spirit world. It covers everything. That’s the authority we stand on. And every ex-Satanist or ex-occultist who’s encountered Christ will tell you the same thing. I might be the only one talking about it openly, but this is real: we engaged in negotiations with demons, offered animal sacrifices, and got results. That’s how the system worked. Then we experienced the blood and love of Christ and there’s no comparison. It’s not even close. His blood is infinitely more powerful. In spiritual warfare, people need to grasp that reality. The blood of Christ is free, but it is not cheap, is it? It came at the highest cost. And what happened on the cross? That wasn’t a one-time transaction in history: it remains as valid, active, and potent today as it was then, and always will be.”

This is so important that it bears repeating: no spiritual currency, no ritual offering, no demonic pact compares to the raw, unmatched power of the blood of Christ. This is the rupture at the heart of Christianity: the economy of sacrifice is over, not because gods stopped demanding payment, but because one sacrifice bankrupted the system.

From blood-soaked altars in Babylon to ritual offering tormas in Himalayan monasteries, humanity has always traded devotion for power and offerings for favor. But the cross flipped the script. There is no more need for bartering, manipulation, and performance to win divine attention. What Christ offered wasn’t another payment into the cosmic vending machine but a final act that rendered the machine obsolete. And if that’s true, then every attempt to re-enter the old system, whether through pagan ritual, tantric bureaucracy, or occult negotiation, isn’t just a return to tradition. It’s a rejection of victory.

(1) Leroy A. Huizenga, Behold the Christ: Proclaiming the Gospel of Matthew (Emmaus Road Publishing, Steubenville, Ohio).

(2) Riaan Swiegelaar, former co-founder of the South African Satanic Church, in various public testimonies including interviews and livestreams (e.g., “Riaan Swiegelaar Testimony,” YouTube, 2022), has spoken openly about blood sacrifice as spiritual currency and his eventual conversion after experiencing the love of Christ.

What I Thought I Was Practicing in Tibetan Buddhism vs. What It Really Was

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When I first encountered Tibetan Buddhism, I was filled with awe, curiosity, and hope. I was drawn to the idea of understanding the nature of mind, developing calm abiding (shamatha), and cultivating compassion and insight. I immersed myself in classic Mahayana texts like the Uttaratantra Shastra, with its soaring vision of Buddha nature, the luminous potential for awakening that each sentient being carries within them.

At that time, I was eager to deepen my meditation practice and learn how to navigate the mental storms of daily life. I believed this was a path of inner wisdom, clarity, and direct realization. I thought I had found something intellectually rigorous and deeply profound.

But after committing years of my life I realized that Tibetan Tantric Buddhism was a spiritual system that operated under authoritarian control, cultural secrecy, and a disturbing atmosphere of fear.

The Surface Beauty: What Drew Me In

  • The language of awareness, wisdom, and nonduality
  • Practices that promised to tame the mind and open the heart
  • Philosophical texts filled with Buddhist logic, the concept of emptiness, and the path of the bodhisattva
  • Encouragement to observe the mind and transcend egoic fixation

Like many sincere Western seekers, I accepted the rigid cultural structure, including the many hours of chanting in Tibetan, the hierarchy, and the ornate rituals, as necessary forms for accessing ancient wisdom. I told myself these were wrappings around the real treasure.

What I Actually Encountered

Instead of freedom, I slowly found myself embedded in a system that demanded unquestioning obedience to the guru, who was said to be indistinguishable from the Buddha himself. We were told the guru’s words were more important than our own inner convictions. If we had doubts, those were signs of impure perception or obstacles on the path.

And so, I suppressed my own sense of truth.

Instead of learning to observe my mind freely, I was encouraged, compelled, really, to submit my perception, my will, and even my moral conscience to someone else’s “realization.” In time, I was told that even misconduct or abuse from a guru must be viewed as pure, and that questioning it was a sign of my spiritual deficiency.

Essentially this was total submission to a human teacher presented as a living deity.

A Necessary Evil… or Something More?

For a long time, I rationalized this aspect of guru devotion. I thought, “This is just part of the package. I’ll take the good parts and accept the hierarchical guru system as a necessary condition to receive the blessings.”

But nothing prepared me for the revelation that this system involved actual practices of deity possession, and in some cases, black magic rituals by a covert spiritual power structure that operated on vengeance. And this wasn’t metaphorical.

The Hidden Core: Deity Possession and Guru Sorcery

Many Tibetan Vajrayana rituals involve āveśa, a concept that translates into spirit or deity possession. The practitioner “invites” a deity to merge with their mindstream. The guru is not just a teacher; he is seen as an embodiment of the deity, and rituals are performed to enforce that identification.

I discovered too late that some high-level gurus use this system to gain psychic and physical access to their disciples, manipulate their minds, and even curse those who disobey or break vows. This is not hyperbole but what has been hidden under the language of compassion and wisdom: a deeply esoteric system of spiritual domination.

My Awakening

It took me years to deprogram myself from the idea that questioning a guru meant spiritual death, and even longer to reclaim my own inner voice, the voice God placed in me. I now walk a different path entirely: One that does not require blind submission, that honors truth over secrecy, and Christ over cosmic manipulation.

If You’re Reading This…

You’re not crazy for feeling that something is off. You’re not wrong to listen to your instincts. What seems like harmless chanting, beautiful thangkas, and inspiring philosophy may hide something far more controlling and spiritually dangerous than you realize.

The Global Spread of Tantric Buddhism: A Departure from the Buddha’s Teachings?

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When people hear the term “Buddhism,” they often imagine a peaceful monk seated under a tree, cultivating mindfulness and inner stillness. They might recall the image of the Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama, who renounced wealth and power to pursue a path of liberation through ethical conduct, meditation, and wisdom. What many do not realize is that across Asia, the original teachings of the Buddha have often been overlaid with rituals, deities, and esoteric practices that resemble occultism more than renunciation. This is especially true with the spread of Tantric Buddhism, also known as Vajrayāna.

Tantric Buddhism, which developed in India around the 6th century CE, introduced rituals, visualizations, secret initiations, deity yoga, and sexual symbolism that were foreign to the early teachings found in the Pāli Canon. While it may have originated in India, the influence of Tantra has spread far beyond the Himalayas. Countries known today for their Theravāda heritage, such as Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam, and Thailand, have all, at different times, been touched or even deeply influenced by Tantric practices. This article traces the spread of Tantric Buddhism and asks a pressing question: Is this fusion of Tantra and Buddhism in harmony with what the Buddha actually taught?

India: The Birthplace of Tantra and the Turning Point

Though Siddhartha Gautama taught a path of non-attachment, the later development of Tantric Buddhism in India marked a dramatic departure. The Tantric path emphasized achieving enlightenment quickly by harnessing the powerful energies of desire, fear, and wrath through ritual and symbolic transgression.

Early Buddhist schools such as Theravāda preserved the monastic, ethical, and meditative disciplines taught by the Buddha. But by the time Vajrayāna emerged, Buddhism in India had evolved into Mahāyāna and beyond, with Tantric elements becoming dominant in institutions like Nālandā and Vikramaśīla monasteries before their destruction. From here, Tantra spread east.

Tibet: The Tantric Stronghold

No country embraced Tantric Buddhism more completely than Tibet. With the arrival of Indian masters like Padmasambhava in the 8th century, Tibet adopted esoteric practices involving deity yoga, ritual offerings (such as torma and blood libations), and secret empowerments. The Nyingma, Kagyu, Sakya, and Gelug schools all incorporated tantric texts and practices, often passed orally and practiced in secrecy.

Tibetan Buddhism’s public face often emphasizes compassion and mindfulness, but beneath the surface lies a highly ritualized system of guru devotion, spirit invocation, and occult symbolism. Even the widely admired Dalai Lama is an initiated tantric practitioner who publicly defends the practice of deity yoga and sexual yogas, raising serious questions about his alignment with the historical Buddha’s path.

China: Mixed Influence and Lingering Tantra

In China, the dominant schools of Buddhism have historically been Chan (Zen), Pure Land, and Huayan. However, during the Tang dynasty (7th–10th centuries), Esoteric Buddhism (Mizong) was introduced by Indian masters like Amoghavajra. While it never overtook the native schools, it left a lasting impact in some sects and still survives in diluted form within Chinese folk religion and Taoist-Buddhist syncretism.

Today, Chinese Buddhism largely appears non-tantric, but undercurrents remain, especially in temple rituals involving spirit appeasement, elaborate deity worship, and occult practices inherited from early Tantric transmission.

Vietnam: The Mahāyāna-Tantra Hybrid

Vietnam officially follows Mahāyāna Buddhism, heavily influenced by Chinese traditions. However, tantric rituals were introduced via Chinese Esoteric Buddhism and Indian Tantric texts. Vietnamese temples often blend Pure Land devotion with protective rituals invoking wrathful deities or dhāraṇīs (mantras with supposed magical powers). Such rituals, while less publicized, reveal an undercurrent of occultism beneath an otherwise devotional landscape.

Cambodia and Laos: Theravāda Facade, Tantric Underbelly

Cambodia and Laos are Theravāda countries, yet their histories are steeped in tantric influence from the ancient Khmer Empire. Angkor Wat, though now viewed as a Hindu and Buddhist site, was once home to elaborate Tantric rituals. Statues of multi-armed deities and ritual paraphernalia suggest tantric syncretism flourished.

Today, while the public face of Buddhism in these countries is Theravāda, local shamans (mo phi) and monks alike may engage in protective magic, spirit invocations, and talisman-making, practices more akin to Tantric ritual than Theravādan restraint.

Thailand: Theravāda Mixed with Occultism

Thailand is often held up as a bastion of Theravāda purity, yet here too the line between Buddhism and occultism blurs. Amulets, tattoos (sak yant), and rituals to appease spirits are common. Many monks perform rituals invoking Phra Ngang or other spirits linked to animistic or tantric practices. While not called Tantra, the ritual culture that has evolved in Thailand includes aspects strikingly similar: mantras, yantras, invocations, and guru devotion.

The Buddha vs. Tantra: Are They Compatible?

The question at the heart of this analysis is critical: Do tantric practices align with the historical Buddha’s teachings?

The Buddha emphasized renunciation, morality, mindfulness, and wisdom. He warned against magic, ascetic extremism, and blind devotion to teachers. He discouraged speculation about supernatural powers and encouraged liberation through insight and ethical living.

Tantric Buddhism, by contrast, often involves oath-bound secrecy, symbolic transgression (including sexual union and consumption of taboo substances), and reliance on supernatural beings and powers. In many forms, it is more reminiscent of sorcery than liberation.

Bluntly stated, Tantra is not a spiritual shortcut, but a dangerous detour. It promises power, but often delivers confusion and spiritual enslavement. For survivors of tantric abuse, like myself, it’s critical to shine a light on how these practices have hidden behind the Buddha’s name and image for centuries. As Tantric Buddhism spread across the globe, from Tibet to Thailand, from China to Cambodia, it cloaked itself in the language of compassion and enlightenment; however, its methods betray a different source, one that leans toward secrecy, manipulation, and occultic power rather than truth and freedom.