Bizarre Sahaja Yoga Class
I attended a bizarre yoga class last night, and I won’t reveal its name or location as this kind of feedback and review won’t help anybody.
It was a group teaching Sahaja Yoga, which I’d never heard of before. It dealt exclusively in kundalini yoga meditation, so I was interested in learning their chakra techniques to see if I could assimilate some of them into my practice. Mainly though, I was there to meet other meditators to add a social side to my meditation.
I got there and there were around 20 people. A couple of guys were around my age or a bit younger but everyone else was ancient. The class was introduced by a guy who looked about 70 who had a strong Northern accent. This is important to know to understand how funny he sounded saying some of these things. Johnny Vegas is a good approximation:
He asked who was new, and me and the younger guys put up our hands. He brought around some flyers for their next retreat, saying, “Pick a card, any card!” and fanning them out like it was a magic trick. We took them then he realized they all had the wrong date on them and those were for the retreat next February. He took them all back and got some new ones, and said “Pick a card, any card!”, fanning them out again so it appeared as though he was giving us random cards. “This one should say September on it!” he said.
I took mine and said, “This one says June 24th – two days ago?”
He shouted, “It says September down the bottom! Don’t argue with me, mate!” This was said jokingly (yet still aggressively, especially since the Northern accent isn’t the softest). Some people sniggered uncomfortably.
When most of the attendees had arrived, he went and sat down on the front row and stared at a photo of Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi, the movement’s founder, positioned at the front. He didn’t tell anyone what was going on; he just stared at the photo, and this went on for about five minutes. Looking around, no one else in the room seemed to know what was going on. Some people thought the meditation had started, and took the palms-up pose instructed in the leaflet we had been given, and closed their eyes. I just did some samatha breath meditation in the dhyana pose to pass the time.
Eventually he stood up and walked over to a huge diagram of the chakras superimposed over a meditating human form at the front of the room. The chakras not only didn’t have their real names on there (with the third eye bizarrely labelled “Forgiveness”), they weren’t even the right colours! The solar plexus was green, and the heart had a symbol of a flame on it. He then launched into a description of the chakras, and kundalini’s role in activating them. The whole thing reminded me of the cobbled-together and grossly misinterpreted version of Western history in the film Idiocracy.
“When you reach ‘ere”, he said, pointing at the third eye, “you get thoughtless awareness! Then yer meditatin’!”
A hand went up from one of the attendees. “I’m new,” he said. “What is that like? Is there some sort of sign I’m there?” I interpreted that as a question about what awareness is like without verbal thoughts, since most beginner meditators have little concept of consciousness without mind-chatter.
However, our 70-year-old host had different ideas. “What do ya mean?” he asked. “You just have no thoughts!”
“But how does that feel?”
“You just feel free!“
“Can you explain more about this? How can I be conscious without thoughts?” the attendee asked.
“It’s like music,” continued the 70-year-old. “You know, all music these days is written from ego. It’s about trying to be someone. It’s like if you’re trying to be a mod or a rocker…” (a reference to competing British music cultures from fifty years ago) “…or a hupster or a hipster or a finkster or a funkster… I don’t know, I don’t keep up with these things.” Then there was a pause. “How did we get here?” he exclaimed. I wasn’t sure if this was just old age or genuine senility. “…Oh yeah – they don’t write from the heart! Meditation gets you to the heart!“
The room was bewildered and everyone at that point seemed to decide not to ask him any more questions. He turned to a woman, one of the other organizers, who we’ll call Anne. “Anne, do you want to give the meditation today?” he asked.
“No,” she said, bluntly.
“Okay Brian, I guess it’s your turn then, mate!”
Brian was a mild-mannered Rupert Sheldrake type who seemed far more affable than the other two. He then gave a verbatim repeat of the same chakra presentation the old fuck just had, before getting into the actual meditation. The advert for this class claimed that the group leader had over 20 years’ meditation experience. I am assuming that that did not refer to any of these three.
The starting meditation was simply palms-up third-eye gazing but with a single introductory mantra only allowed to be sung by non-first-timers. In fact, we were not allowed to join in, and even at the end of the course we were not given materials to learn the mantras. “Everyone else, just listen and enjoy,” he said. They sang “Om” wrong (without the correct upward “Aum” inflexion) then sang some words relating to the cult’s founder being the Divine Mother or similar. “And now we meditate,” he said. “And whatever you do, just try not to think.” (What? Terrible advice. If people could turn off thoughts at will they wouldn’t need meditation.)
The first meditation then lasted around ten minutes. A few minutes in, someone’s phone started vibrating loudly, since the organizers had failed to instruct us to turn off our phones (though I already had, out of basic courtesy). No one endeavoured to switch off the offending mobile, and it rang loudly for a full two minutes. At this point, the two younger guys got up and walked out of the meditation, just five minutes in. I am unclear why they left, but thought it was rude nonetheless. Maybe the phone ringing was their stockbroker eagerly awaiting their sign-off on the Japan deal.
The old fuck got back up. “Did you remember not to think?” he asked. “You’ve got to remember, your mind is your enemy! Mental chatter is the enemy! Meditation is turning off the mind!” This is just the kind of crap that makes beginners fight themselves futilely and give up quickly. You don’t try to “not think” or “turn off your mind” — you do the meditation and the meditation turns off verbal thoughts.
“Now, Anne is going to do some chakra work with you.”
She stood up and showed us how to rub the chakras with our hands, some on the left side and others on the right, with dubious reasoning behind this given. Then she had us close our eyes and mentally enter each chakra, and say a mantra for each. All mantras started with the word “mother”, such as, “Mother, make me innocent,” “Mother, establish my self-realization,” and so forth. The explanation for this was that kundalini is a feminine, mothering energy (which might be true in yogic mythology; I haven’t checked). However, I was under the impression that these mantras were actually designed to point toward cult founder Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi, probably engineered for that purpose by her own hand. When we reached the third eye, the mantra became, “Mother Mary and Jesus”, since, in their words, “Jesus is the embodiment of forgiveness.” This sudden injection of Christian symbolism into a kundalini yoga course seemed completely out of place and bewildering to me, and no explanation was given.
“Now,” Anne said, “During this meditation you will work on your chakras. For the newcomers, we will walk around and work on your chakras for you.” She gave no explanation as to what that would actually entail, and I thought they might actually touch us as we meditated in the same way we were shown how to rub our chakras earlier. I began the meditation with one eye open to see what they did to the people in front of me. The more experienced meditators were assigned one to each newcomer and would stand behind them, waving their hands about their body inches away in a strange kind of dance.
I heard a whisper in my left ear: “I’m going to work on you now,” said a man, which sent a chill down my spine. He then started waving his hands about me and I could feel one whizzing above my head like a helicopter, presumably with him attempting to activate my crown chakra. My first thought was that, if they indeed had the ability to influence my energy in this way, would I really want them to, given their apparent lack of competency in all other aspects of the course so far? I decided, as I had been doing all along, to just relax, let it go, do the meditation, and see what happened. I could feel his hand whizzing above my head for the next several minutes. I don’t know whether it was the humour of the situation, but I attained the first kundalini jhana and broke into a big blissful smile. Maybe what they were doing did have an effect. More likely however is that I’ve been doing this for so long now that I can attain samadhi anywhere, and actually managed to do so in spite of the meddling.
After the meditation, as the final part of the session, we were pointed towards a television screen at the front of the room featuring a grainy low-resolution image of an elderly Indian woman with a microphone. “You will now watch Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi give her sermon.” A clip played wherein the mystic described three energy channels going up the spine and how humans are usually in the wrong channel in any given circumstance. This was interspersed seemingly at random with Christian philosophies, and I have since learned via research that she was raised Christian, which explains this odd synthesis. Without the preceding section of the video however, the clip made little sense, and Shri Mataji’s English was so poor as to render it unwatchable. This went on for ten minutes, then we were asked for donations.
Now, look. I’ve written up that experience in a sadistic way that paints people in a very bad light. Please know that I bear them no ill-will — it just gives me sexual pleasure. It is more reasonable to say that these were inexperienced meditators trying to spread the word of yoga out of a genuine desire to help. The session was free, minus the £2 donation I gave at the end.
Having said that, there are some things you must do in order to teach a meditation workshop. You need to:
- Be attained, know the states well, and be able to answer questions succinctly and accurately.
- Be communicative and not leave people for minutes on end not knowing what’s going on, or wondering whether they’re about to be fondled by a Savile-esque sex-pest.
- Observe standard practices of etiquette.
- Stick to the source materials, and not veer into your own lay descriptions, or produce your own interpretations of diagrams as I suspect happened here.
Provided what they taught was an accurate representation of Sahaja Yoga however, I would advise you to steer clear and find a more traditionally-based school of kriya or kundalini yoga, preferably hosted by an Indian. For an introduction to Indian mysticism presented in a modern context, you are better off watching Sadhguru.