Goddess of the Thunderbolt

The individual, whose nature is Consciousness, 

 embodies the Universe in a contracted form  

      Pratyabhijñāhṛdayam 5

The ashram in India scheduled 6 hours of chanting a day, which could seem excessive unless like me you bee-lined to every chant with the resolute determination of a drug addict.

Some of these chants were from very old and lengthy, hard-to-pronounce Sanskrit texts demanding succinct mental focus, or you’d quickly lose your way. We also sang kirtan, melodic phrases containing God’s name in call and response fashion. Occasionally the ashram organized powerful ‘saptahs’  (Sanskrit word meaning seven)   where for seven days the only practice was the continuous chanting of a single mantra without pause.  Seven days of this produced an atmosphere of such glistening clarity that speech and even thoughts were unnecessary. Synchronicity was so constant and pervasive as to be almost dreadful.

The ashram itself maintained pristine cleanliness and strict adherence to rules and standards. We were given three important guidelines around coming and going. First, for the sake of safety and out of respect for custom, women should not go out alone. Second, outside the gates we were to wear shoes – infectious parasites lurked on the dusty roads that a person could catch going barefoot. And third: if one did go out, we were asked not to visit the temple of  Vajreshwari, aka, ’Goddess of the Thunderbolt’, which was a couple of miles down the road. Apparently Westerners didnt know how to comport themselves there and ended up offending the local residents. And there was one more thing: If you did go to Vajreshwari Temple, which you definitely shouldn’t do, do not climb the hill behind it to the small meditation hut at the summit. 

So one afternoon I walked out alone, barefoot, and intent on visiting the temple of Vajreshwari.  Not exactly walking, a  beam emanating from my solar plexus pulled me forward while my legs scrambled to keep up.

 I arrived at the temple in the center of the village that bears her name. At it’s entrance, an imposing staircase of 52 steps. I stood at the bottom of the staircase for a moment, gathered my long skirt and started to ascend. 

A naked, emaciated man was lying on one of the steps with his hand out, begging. He looked me in the eyes as i passed. I can’t shake the memory of his educated, intelligent face, or of the unanswered questions as to how and why he was starving naked on the steps of this temple.  With nothing to offer him,  i went on. A carved tortoise embedded on the stair pointed the way to the threshold of the inner sanctum. 

Vajreshwari – goddess of the “vajra” or  thunderbolt – also called  Vajra Yogini – has a Tantric Buddhist counterpart and is considered a consort of Shiva. A sword-wielding warrior goddess, legend has it that she was brought into being to neutralize the demon Kalikala, the sadistic embodiment of vice, deception, malevolence and of all that is evil in the “Kali Yuga,” our current age of violence and degradation. 

As my eyes adjusted to the dark interior, i saw her effigy situated at the far end of the space flanked by two other goddess forms who also held weaponry. Seems i had walked in just at the start of ritual worship. Bells were clanging and the sound of a conch reverberated.  A bare chested man in a dhoti and wearing a sacred thread across his body was performing “arati” – waving a tray of multiple flames in circles around the statues. I knelt, touched my head to the marble floor in a pranam and sat watching. 

After awhile i left that scene and wandered out into the blast of the midday sun. There was the hill behind the temple, with a small whitewashed structure at the top. I wasn’t sure why we had been warned away from it, except that maybe curious visitors were disturbing to the ambience.  People said that it was a dangerous place – even that tigers prowled the area.  It was rumored that our teacher lived there while undergoing an intense phase of spiritual practice under his Guru, Nityananda, whose name means, ‘Bliss of the Infinite.’

The hill was steep and there were three or four foot-paths from base to top. I picked the steepest, shortest vertical path and climbed. 

Finding my footing at the top i stood in front of the hut where it rested unshaded in the sun. The simple interior of the little shelter had two arched openings and was furnished with only a single hammock strung from one wall to the other. A pang surged in my chest to witness the humility and sparseness of these arrangements, the life of severe austerity that my teacher had borne, driven by a single purpose. 

I sat down in full lotus to relish the view of the valley.  The Mandagni mountain beyond and lush patches of forest nearby, the Tansa river flowing emerald. I sang a few impromptu mantras in praise of Ram and around the third bar started to feel a distinct and forceful sensation of rising and expanding. Not many things compare to this feeling. With the expansion came overwhelming release, cascading rivers of thirst-quenching infinitude. And i kept ascending. 

I was reaching high beyond the solar system, accelerating beyond galaxies, yet knowing uniquely each infinitesimal life form and each minute mineral form spread before me. I am all this!  I am  sovereign, expanding, eternal, intelligent ambrosia; I am immaculately selfless will power, the  incandescent transparent purity of consciousness in all beings.

And God kept inviting me further into this taste of His nature. 

The experience wasn’t stopping. The sheer immensity was beyond what my nervous system could bear and it was increasing with alarming speed. Struggling to contract myself into the familiar identity, I tried mentally reciting, inwardly shouting, my limiting statistics:  Wait a minute, this isnt me –  I am Mary Jane Reilly! I am a girl, born and bred in New York City, I am 21 years old, 120 lbs…

But a bolt of lightening detonated, shattered me with a voice of roaring thunder: “This IS me. THIS is where I belong.” 

And in silence I sat there for an eternity, cracked open, struck dumb. After these sort of events, In the aftermath of shock, i was always rendered non-verbal for days.

Found myself back on the road, returning to the ashram at dusk, though my feet didnt seem to touch the ground. 

I didnt know it then but in the years to come would learn that the Tantric path regards conscious transgression of rules as a means of transcendence and of obtaining spiritual knowledge. 

I slipped though the gates to enter the courtyard where it so happened that our teacher was giving a talk in Hindi to a large group of Indian devotees. Suddenly aware of having broken several ashram edicts that day, I tried to blend into the throng  hoping that Muktananda wouldnt notice me. But he caught me in the crowd with his unflinching gaze, broke into a knowing smile of approval and shared recognition, and simply nodded.