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The Fierce Fire of Tantric Buddhism
Memories of Nepal
Introduction
Nested above the village of Pharping in Nepal is Asura Cave, a spiritual site of major importance for practitioners of Vajrayana Buddhism—also known as Tantric Buddhism. In Asura Cave, Padmasambhava—often referred to as Guru Rinpoché, “the master who introduced the Buddhist teachings to Tibet in the eighth century”[1]—is said to have understood the very nature of reality, ultimately reaching Enlightenment. There, he meditated and practiced highly sacred esoteric knowledge with his closest disciple Yeshe Tsogyal, who herself later reached the same realization. There, Padmasambhava sprouted the knowledge of quantum physics by totally embodying its relative nature to the point of even being able to “traverse freely through solid matter”[2]. Of all the places that were planned to be visited during this restless Nepalese spiritual adventure[3], Asura Cave was the one that got me the most excited. November 17, 2024 is the day it happened.
Vajrayogini Temple
In Kathmandu, 23 spiritual seekers, our guide Keshar, and our teacher Brana got in a small, compact bus operated by a skillful driver. From the capital, we drove for about 1h30, gradually reaching smaller and more sinuous roads, getting higher up the mountains. The size of the vehicle made sense at that point. That day, our first stop was Vajrayogini Temple, located at the foot of the stairs leading to the cave I was so eager to discover. Because of its history, this temple “stands as a timeless symbol of the transmission of the most profound dakini teachings, serving as a testament to the sacred atmosphere of Pharping”[4]. Dakinis are the sacred feminine embodiment of the human and the divine, a principle profoundly anchored within the site dedicated to the female deity Vajrayogini. She is a powerful figure that practitioners find ideal to, amongst other, counter obstacles of the modern time. Sometimes referred to as the Trauma Goddess[5] [6], she helps the ones that work with her to tackle their many fears through energetic action, fast practice, passion and fiery red beauty[7]. Such practice requires initiation and guidance from a qualified teacher in order for the practice to be beneficial. Indeed, the effects of Tibetan Buddhist teachings can lead to noticeable transformation of one’s mind, which necessitates gradual steps of change to avoid creating confusion. While some of those first steps are widely available to the public, others—because of the strong potency they carry—can only be transmitted by initiation from a teacher of an interrupted lineage traceable all the way back to Shakyamuni Buddha. This tradition of knowledge transmission through initiation led to the alternate term “Esoteric Buddhism” to refer to the practice.
Upon arrival at Vajrayogini Temple, we were informed that taking photographs of the deity’s statue was prohibited. The building had a classic Newari design[8], a rare occurrence in the region, with three layers of roof and walls gridded by golden openings and adorned with beautiful wooden carvings. I found the architecture fascinating, magnetizing. Entering the Temple, I met with Vajrayogini’s statue. She was seemingly made of stone with red paint over it, encased in an ornamented box-like frame. I then explored the first floor that had a few small rooms and made my way to a tight staircase, which I climbed to reach the second floor. What looked like a living room had a few people sitting on the ground, meditating—I sat with them. My senses got activated; the candle-lit room felt dark despite the early morning, the incense-filled air was dense, the floor was fresh. The gridded windows let some dimmed light and outside sounds enter the space—all I could perceive was silent visitors, distant whisperings, and a voice. A single female voice that came to my ears. What started off as frail moans kept growing and rising as odd waves that filled the space with scattered whimpers. I could not grasp the emotion behind that voice, I couldn’t figure out if it was one of pain or pleasure. I tried meditating—my uneasiness made it challenging.
After a moment, I stood up and walked around to explore the second floor. Even though the visitors were scattered around the site, I had this sense of a crowded place, a place with a busy past, a place that has seen a lot. During the bus ride, our guide explained to us the history of Vajrayogini Temple, but my mind was too focused on the cave to have retained most of the information, leaving me with many wonders about what I was perceiving. I remembered that many yogis and pilgrims came to this place for limited amounts of time throughout the centuries. That, I could grasp it—the restlessness coating the air, the nomadic qualities of every wall and corner, every object within this place, from the butter lamps to the mattresses I would later notice at this in-between inside-outside space on the side of the main building. It was a place of transition.
The voice was now constant. At that point, I knew it was not one of pleasure, and probably not one of pain either—it was an eerie voice, not talking nor wailing, one that digs within your skin and awakens something hidden. While I initially thought it belonged to a woman participating in a ritual, I didn’t find any trace of such activities currently being performed. When I exited the building, I saw the woman bearing the voice. Standing around the entrance of the Temple, she had her hands facing upwards, she was begging. Her voice, I understood, was one of a person that—due to personal limitations—expressed herself in a way that was unusual to me, at the crossroads of spoken, sung, moaned and wailed. It’s only today that I see how my reaction relates to Vajrayogini’s teachings. I came to wonder if the woman was, somehow, an emanation of the deity to whom ready to see.
Now, I understand that my malaise was caused greatly by that in-betweenness which perfectly embodies the aspect of Vajrayogini which, in the most usual form, is presented between peaceful and wrathful. Such liminal spaces have the qualities of paradoxically being a destination, but ultimately a place of transition towards a different end goal. They are filled with properties that are simultaneously potential and energetic, but also agitated and unsettled.
I didn’t wander around Vajrayogini’s Temple for too long before making my way to the stairs leading to Asura Cave.
Asura Cave
Bordering the side of a mountain with lush greenery, a long set of stone-paved stairs led the way uphill. While excited, my experience at Vajrayogini’s Temple planted a seed of transformation in my beliefs surrounding the spiritual path. It is after this whole trip in Nepal that I realized that, throughout the adventure, my vision of what spirituality truly is was substantially limited by my constrained point of view on universality—I eventually came to better understand and see the vastness of methods one can use to achieve spiritual growth.
During my ascension towards the cave where Padmasambhava—the Lotus Born Master—engaged in an intensive retreat until achieving great spiritual accomplishment, I was holding my mala, unceasingly chanting his powerful mantra combining the wisdom of the five Buddha families:
OM AH HUM VAJRA GURU PADMA SIDDHI HUM
My walk was slow and, as I was getting higher in the mountain, a pressure started weighing on my shoulders and my head—the sensation that was initially a sort of tingle increasingly became heavy on my skin. I had to take a few breaks while going up the stairs to avoid becoming dizzy. In the past, I have experienced physical sensations related to big energetic shifts, such as after Reiki initiations, so I wasn’t alarmed by my symptoms.
After finally reaching the top of the stairs, I saw a long queue of people standing on the side of a wall leading to the cave. Although I had this yearning to enter it for months, I wanted to be able to experience it properly, without being rushed, so I kept walking until finding a place to sit, just in front of the way in Asura Cave. I sat there with other people, analyzing the outer courtyard that surrounded the entrance. I was surprised to see the amount of people present that day, from locals to tourists and a few street vendors. We were not the only group visiting the sacred site. The other thing that struck me the most is the short amount of time every person seemed to be spending in the cave—one of the most sacred places on Earth I knew about.
A dark wood door frame stands at the entrance of the cave. It’s an elegantly decorated design that contrasts with the huge stones that protrude above it, revealing layers of the mountain’s raw geological history crowned with majestic vegetation. On the left side of the doorway were laid offerings—butter lamps, incense—and, embedded in the stone, a handprint that many claim to be from Padmasambhava. For blessing, healing and to connect with Guru Rinpoché, pilgrims place their own hand on the stone handprint, while others rub their mala or other sacred object on it to charge them.
When only a few people were remaining in the queue, I stood up and made my way to the entrance. The day prior, I had bought a rudraksha mala, in addition to the one in amethyst I brought from Canada—I blessed them both and placed my hand on the stone handprint.
Before even entering the cave, I heard chanting—a captivating melody, a low incantation coming from a male voice. I felt the cave’s aura. I entered.
The cave is small, only a few square meters. On the left, two monks sitting on the floor: one chanting by the door, the other one inviting people in. On the right: a few pilgrims sitting and meditating. In front, at the end of the cave: an altar crowded with offerings and behind, the statue of Padmasambhava. A single light bulb lit up the cave. I take a few steps forward, intrigued. I made my way to the statue and looked at it.
Standing there, I felt my body getting activated from within from what felt like electricity until, after a few seconds, my nervous system couldn’t take it anymore and tears started forming on my eyes. What started as a soft cry rapidly became a flow of tears pouring down my cheeks while my body felt less tangible, more porous. Around me, I could feel my personal field starting to spiral, I saw myself in a white energetic vortex that spun faster and faster, so fast that I became dizzy. I looked at the floor and sat on a small cushion at the front-right side of the altar. I sat there looking at the stone wall while my vision became blurry and my body felt like it expanded to the point of not knowing its limitations, not knowing its physical boundaries. I expanded until thinking I would not be able to exit the cave by myself, until not knowing where I was, I expanded until not knowing who I was anymore. At that point, I feared I would absolutely lose control of my consciousness—of my self—I feared I would not be able to find back who I was. I feared I would lose control and plunge into an irreversible state of psychosis.
While weeping uncontrollably, my mind catched my fear and brought me back to my body, then told me to turn around, which I did. On my left, sitting on the other side of the cave, was the monk that I saw when entering. Not the one that was—still—singing, the other one. He was a bit more than a meter away from me. By glimpsing at him a few times, I managed to collect myself. His presence was calming, reassuring. He felt like a teacher. I saw that he was reciting mantras, counting beads of his mala that he held from his left hand. His right hand was on his right knee, sometimes raising it to invite visitors to sit on vacant cushions. Just by observing him, he teached me things I had been wondering about since my arrival in Nepal. By his presence and soft recitations that I could see by the subtle movement of his lips, I understood that he was, somehow, meditating. But meditating in a way that is not physically still nor constricted by a set of rules dictated by a technique, rather meditating by being in absolute awareness of all its senses and while being equally present in the physical and metaphysical worlds. This acute balanced awareness inspired me to take my own mala and recite Padmasambhava’s mantra.
I chanted some series of mantras that were accompanied by waves of emotions that I could not decipher. When a wave reached its peak, tears came down my eyes. Like if chanting mantras as a way of connecting to Padmasambhava became futile in this environment bathed in his energy, I stopped chanting. Before the end of my last recitation, I had some swift look exchanges with the monk in front of me. He was putting away a mala and somehow teaching me how to properly do it when having multiple ones—I bought myself a second mala the day prior. By uncovering his left arm from the burgundy shawl that was covering it, I saw in the candlelight ambiance that he, too, had more than one. He made me understand that, no matter how many malas one carries, they must all be worn on the left wrist if not worn around the neck. After wrapping his mala around his wrist, he covered his left arm again—the one arm associated with feminine, secret energy—and quickly looked at me in the eyes, as if he was hiding something while making sure I saw. I understood that the mala, representing one’s spirituality, must be treated as an intimate part of oneself. I imitated him and wrapped my mala around my left wrist, then covered it with my shawl.
People from my group later told me I stayed for a very long time in the cave. I don’t know how long it ended up being. The compact space was like entering a dimension where time dissipates and true focused attention arises. I had my eyes closed, then half-open, sometimes fully open, it didn’t really change my perception of the place. Being there, I felt like a battery being charged of all the electricity it can possibly hold. I thought to myself: someone who truly aspires to reach enlightenment can simply stay in this cave and download immense amounts of guidance and information, just by being here.
Eventually, I extended both my arms and placed my hands on the ground that felt moist and fresh under my skin. My palms started to tingle, then my fingers. As if I have been sleeping on both my arms for a whole night, the sensation became like electricity passing through my body. From my hands, it creeped up my arms until it reached the very limit of what I could comfortably stand—it stabilized there. Having both hands on the stoned floor, my mind wanted to analyze what was happening, but with the exception of understanding that a tremendous amount of information and energy was penetrating me, I could only perceive the physical sensations and see lots of swirling white light through my third eye. I understood that my mind, at its first analytical level, could not physically handle the amount of information that was downloaded within me at once, and that it would gradually deploy itself over time. When the electric flow in my arms normalized itself, I placed my hands back on my knees. I don’t know how long I have stayed in the cavern at this point, I only know it was a long time. My body was sending me many signals of discomfort, from the persisting pressure on my head and shoulders to the dizziness and nausea. It was time to get out.
Outside, members of my group were sitting together. I sat with them, avoiding verbal interaction. I was reviewing what I felt since coming off the bus: Vajrayogini’s Temple, climbing the stairs, inside the cave. I felt uncomfortable, uneasy. I had this thought about spirituality that is often seen as coming only with this agreeable sensation of lightness. I thought of my own experiences over the years that brought unexpected sides of my psyche to the surface, even physical discomfort, but never to that extent. I wondered if the more one climbs the spiritual ladder, the more those sensations of discomfort arise. I thought of the comfort of routine, the comfort of accepting a life dictated by social norms, a life of tranquility sparse with predetermined tribulations. I thought of Padmasambhava and couldn’t believe that he would spend years of his life actively wanting to feel this malaise. I wondered if the promise of wellbeing, the release of suffering was a foolish thing to believe in. I remember thinking to myself: “If being spiritual means feeling like this, I don’t think I want it after all.” This thought didn’t stay for long in my mind.
Sitting in the shade, I saw the sun beaming on the cave’s entrance, the warm golden morning rays softly caressing the stone, the doorframe, the offerings; gleaming around the leaves, trees and bushes to create an ever changing pierced tapestry of delicate shadows. It called me.
I sat at the right side of the entrance. Cross legged, eyes closing, I layed the back of my head against the stone wall behind me, the sun hitting my face. The discomfort, the unease, the malaise; it went away. I was sitting on the stone-paved floor, head resting. The sun was appeasing me. So calm. My breath—almost like if it was gone. Quiet.
From my right came a stream of incense that was burning next to the door. The smoke, a slender strand of white levitating fluid, extended out towards me, stretched until reaching, from its tip, the right side of my face, my nostrils. I opened my eyes. The subtlest breeze was awakening leaves, rousing the sunrays atop the tree line.
Brana had teached us that sites that hosted Enlightened Masters could hold information in their elements. When transcending in the body of light, they can leave knowledge and teachings available when tuning in with a specific consciousness bandwidth, and only revealed when it can be understood. That November, the way the elements were behaving around me was as if they held keys of healing and wisdom. All the strange symptoms I was increasingly feeling vanished for an instant. In the sun, I was sitting, head resting on the swelling mountain stonewall. My mind went quiet, my body was still. I, for a moment, had no desire or craving for anything, not even for joy, and even less for euphoric highs. I felt bliss, I felt peace. I could stay there forever.
The doubt that previously arose within me by feeling so much—the doubt of the relevance of striving to be spiritual—the doubt got lifted as I understood that the Middle Way—the path of moderation—was not a leveling out of all feelings and emotion in order to neutralize the mind, but rather a cleansing of the mind’s cravings that leads to bliss, to permanent peace on all levels of being. At that moment, it made sense why some people actively seek for a path that enables discomfort because, in the end, it is a path that enables the release of all causes of discomfort to reach a place of indefinite peace—the state of not wanting, the state of being.
Before leaving the site, our group chanted Padmasambhava’s mantra together. The day continued as we went on to visit a Tibetan doctor, a 40-meter-tall statue of Padmasambhava, a local monastery, and we finished by seeing the historical city of Patan.
Conclusion
Buddhas—enlightened beings—can be categorized in five families (the Five Tathagatas) that each relate to an element. The Five Buddha Families are: Karma (air), Ratna (earth), Vajra (water), Padma (fire) and Vairocana (ether). Padmasambhava is part of the Padma family, thus related to the element of fire. I knew the concept of this element, the symbols and main figures related to it, but only integrated the particularity of this family when having a comparison for it. On the same trip, we came to visit Shakyamuni Buddha’s birthplace in Lumbini. The place emanated qualities of its spiritual family—Vairocana—as much as Asura Cave embodied Padmasambhava’s family. Vairocana family being related to the element of ether, or space, I got to an understanding of the spiritual path that does not need to pass through intense physicality to reach peace of mind, in contrast to Padma family—fire—that didn’t shy away from revealing my own zones of malaise.
Spiritual experiences are as complex and as multiple as there are people in this realm. Therefore, I can only speak from my point of view when relating what I have lived and understood from this adventure in Nepal. Very much like music without lyrics, some events impact us in ways that are hardly describable with words only.
The sense of unease that started arising from Vajrayogini’s Temple and grew until becoming physical in Asura Cave was, from my actual perspective, triggered by my inner fears, traumas, cravings and graspings. The attachment that we have towards these aspects of our psyche are the things that bring us discomfort, not the external things in themselves. The symptoms I was feeling were—I currently believe—mostly due to my inner resistance to change, my own stubbornness to hold onto my identity’s constructed image feeded by the fear of losing control of my self. For me, those steps were necessary to understand and integrate the beauty in moderation, to have a glimpse into blissful peace.
And for having experienced that, I can only be absolutely grateful.
Francis
April 27, 2025
[3] Spiritual Adventures in Nepal – DivineYu Academy
[4] Kathmandu’s Timeless Temples of the Yogini — Nekhor
[5] The Vajrayogini – The Trauma Goddess
[6] Lost Sadhanas – The Vajra Yogini – The River of Pain
[7] Vajrayogini, enlightened wisdom queen, leads us to bliss, clear light and emptiness, despite modern obstacles – Buddha Weekly: Buddhist Practices, Mindfulness, Meditation
