After the pupil had undergone several years of instruction, his Guru would admit there was nothing more to be taught. The pupil must seek a more advanced master; and not necessarily a human master.
At this point, the guru suggested his pupil evoke a yidam. A yidam iS a divine teacher who embodies an aspect of the enlightened mind and thus is held in special esteem by Tibetans. There are four main types: peaceful, powerful, wrathful, and increasing. Each manifests in its particular form in order to combat particular types of negative forces. A teacher of this type would, the guru claimed, be able to serve the pupil's needs throughout his life.
If the pupil agreed, it was usually with some trepidation. The evocation of a yidam was a perilous process and the yidam itself a dangerous entity. The whole thing had to be taken very seriously indeed.
As a preliminary, the pupil was set to study images of the deity. These were easily found since they illustrated many Tibetan scriptures. The creature itself was a fearsome-looking entity, but the study was prolonged and profound. Tibetan pictures of deities are stylized, and the smallest detail is often symbolic. The student made mental notes of everything about the yidam: skin coloring, clothing, ornaments, what the creature carried. All were important for the operation that was to follow.
The guru next instructed his pupil to find a suitable place for the evocation.It had to be isolated and remote since any interruptions could prove disastrous, but it had to be somewhere the pupil could stay for long periods of time. The guru suggested that his pupil find a cave, preferably at a high altitude, where no one was likely to visit.
When a suitable cave was found, the guru required his pupil to construct a kylkhor, a sort of magic circle designed to hold the yidam. Properly constructed, it ensured the deity could not attack his evoker.
The kylkhor itself took the form of a mandala, a complex symbolic diagram used in religious rites and as a focus of meditation. In Tibet it is believed to be a sacred area that functions as a collection point for universal forces and a receptacle for the gods.
Although mandalas may be painted on paper or cloth, fashioned in bronze, or even built in stone, the kylkhor used a different technique-the Tibetan art of sand painting. In a process that took months to complete, the disciple first cleared and cleaned a space on the floor of his cave. He then set about memorizing the names, lengths, and positions of the primary lines that defined the basic structure.
The pupil next began to practice the technique of sand painting, an exacting process. Six primary colors are used-white, black, blue, red, yellow, and green-but four of these (blue, red, yellow, and green) come in dark, medium, and light shades, giving fourteen hues in all. The sands are stored in small, convenient pots and are distributed by means of a tapered copper tube. The artist fills the tube with a particular color, closing off the narrow end with his finger. Then holding the tube at an angle, he gently strokes it with a rod. The stroking motion causes the tube to vibrate and release a thin trickle of sand. With practice, Tibetan monks learn to releaseas little as a single grain at a time.
Once proficiency had been developed, the pupil set about constructing a full-scale kylkhor. First, he marked out the major axes and four baselines using chalk strings that had been blessed by his guru. Then, working from the center, he started the painstaking task of building up his picture.
A typical Tibetan mandala consists of an outer enclosure inside of which are one or more concetric circles, which in turn surround a square. Lines run from the center to the corners of the square, dividing it into four triangles.In the center five circles contain images of deities, with this pattern reflected in the middle of each triangle. There are four borders. The innermost depicts lotus leaves, the symbol of spiritual rebirth. Outside of that is a circle of eight graveyards, symbolizing aspects of cognition. Then comes a circle of diamonds, which stand for illumination. The outermost border is a ring of fire to bar the entry of ignorance.
Clearly, the memorizing and reproducing a picture of this complexity requires an impressive proficiency in the art of visualization. But that's only the start. Although parts of this picture involve large areas of color, others comprise lines so fine they are no more than a grain or two of sand in width. The concentration needed to draw such lines is immense. Furthermore, as the pupil begins to stroke the tapered copper tube, it vibrates with a distinctive sound. The sound is hypnotic. Also, the pupil will also be chanting a mantra-a magic formula of words sometimes up to 5000 syllables. After a period of time working on a sand mandala, the artist passes into a state of trance.
Only when the pupil mastered the concentrations, visualization, and trance state necessary to complete a sand mandala perfectly did his guru permit him to proceed with the yidam evocation.
Equipped with his newly developed skills, the pupil made his way to a high cave to begin the onerous task of constructing the kylkhor. When the kyllkhor was finished-a job that took months-the guru came to inspect it. If he was not satisfied, the entire diagram would have to be swept out and begun again.
Once the guru pronounced the kylkhor strong enough to hold the yidam, the invocation began. The main element was visualization. The pupil was required to seat himself outside the kylkhor and bend his mind toward imagining the deity so vividly it appeared to be physically present.
How long a Tibetan student remained in his cave until he was able to see the yidam depended on personal talent and stamina. Some managed the hallucination sooner than others. But eventually the task was completed. When the image stabilized, the pupil hurried down the mountain to tell his master.
The guru congratulated him on his progress, but warned him that simply evoking the diety to visual appearance-which he did with his feat of visualization-was not enough. If the entity was to become his teacher, he must be able to hear its words. Now he has to return to his cave and redouble his efforts until the yidam actually speaks to him. He must enter into dialog so he can seek its advice.
This aspect of the operation typically took less time than the initial visualization. The magician first heard the yidam's words in his mind, as if the entity was communicating telepathically. But with time, effort, and a great deal of concentration, the day came when the pupil heard the yidam in exactly the same way as he heard his guru.
When he reported this development, the guru again congratulated him, but told him that the operation was still not over. Now that he could hear the words of the deity, he must receive its blessing.
In Tibet, a blessing is an energy transfer accomplished by placing both hands on the communicant's forehead. The student now had to work in collaboration with the yidam until the creature solidified. When the blessing was given, the pupil had to be able to feel the deity's hands on his head. He must know that the yidam was physically present, solid, and real.
Some pupils never managed it, just as some never managed to see the yidam in the first place. But the successful ones eventually reported back that the deity was now a living, breathing creature who has manifested fully in the cave.
At this point the guru told his pupil that while an end to his work was clearly in sight, the pupil had to achieve one more thing. While he had evoked a teacher of unsurpassed wisdom, the yidam was of little use to him while it remains locked in the kylkhor. It must be persuaded to emerge from the magic circle so that it could accompany the pupil, lending him its strength, powers, blessing, and wisdom throughout the rest of his life.
Tibetan pupils often balked at this development since they'd been culturally conditioned to view the yidam as dangerous as well as useful. But the guru was able to give reassurance. The fact that the yidam had favored the pupil with his conversation and blessing indicated that the pupil was deemed worthy of the god's assistance. He need have no fear the yidam would ever harm him.
With this encouragement, the pupil returned to his cave and renewed his efforts. With time he succeeded. The yidam emerged from the kylkhor, took its place behind his left shoulder, and agreed to accompany him for the rest of his life.
Many pupils accepted this at face value and spent the remainder of their days guided by an invisible companion. They did so with the blessing of their gurus, who assured them they now had access to a master with the very highest degree of wisdom.
But a few developed doubts. They were unable to shake off the suspicion that the yidam was not a yidam at all, but rather a construction of their own mind, with no reality outside it. When the student returned to his guru to confess, he was immediately sent back to his cave with instructions to pray and meditate until such unworthy thoughts were rooted out.
Unfortunately, once doubts take hold, it is very difficult to escape. Try as he might, the doubts remained.
"Do you not see the yidam?" the guru asked his pupil, who admitted that he did. "Do you not hear him, can you not touch him, do you not feel the energy of his blessing? Is he not as solid and real as the mountains around you?"
The student readily agreed to all this, yet he was now more convinced than ever that the yidam was a product of his mind.
And here the guru sprang his trap, for it was only the doubters who interested him. He told the pupil that the yidam really was no more than the product of his mind, but it was no different from the mountains, the cave, the sands that make up the kylkhor. No different, indeed, from anything else.
Everything in the physical world, without exception, was a product of the pupil's mind.
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