Bhuvaneshwari’s shadow of constriction arises from the limitations of knowledge. The antidote for her shadow is her light of surrender, one of the niyamas in the Yoga Sutras—it enables us to step out of the constricting grip of knowledge into the limitlessness of our true nature.
Bhuvaneshwari gazes with magnetic, compassionate eyes that perceive the space in which creation happens. Just as a screen forms the background that a movie is projected onto, Bhuvaneshwari provides the space in which Kali’s dance of time takes place.
Bhuvaneshwari’s name means “Queen of the Universe.” By embodying the space in which creation arises, she rules over it.
Exercise: Contemplate Bhuvaneshwari
Feel Bhuvaneshwari’s compassionate gaze, for as she watches, she creates the space in which your life unfolds. Look at the objects around you. Can you sense the space in which they are held? Can you sense the space in which you are held?
Shiva-Shakti’s limitless potential is known as prakasha, or the great light. Driven by Sundari’s will, prakasha becomes limited as the vastness of space in which all phenomena occur. This space is known as akasha. Bhuvaneshwari’s magnetic gaze makes possible the subtle space of akasha in which creation rises and falls, while her noose limits creation to this space.
As young children, we are open and trusting of everyone. We own nothing because we know nothing. The whole world is ours—we have the potential to be anything. We know ourselves as Tara’s limitless I-Am. As we grow up, the limitless I-Am becomes limited to “I am so-and-so” based on the labels we give ourselves. Our desires channel us into particular actions through knowledge. For example, if we desire a particular career, we start by researching it and gaining the knowledge required to manifest it. Once we decide to pursue a desire in one specific way, we lose access to every other way of accomplishing it. The outcome of our action becomes limited by this limitation in knowledge. Knowledge thus limits our perception by making all other possibilities invisible.
On the macrocosmic level, Bhuvaneshwari limits the Divine into space through her function of divine knowledge. Sundari’s will is channeled into the limited space in which all of creation can be actualized. Knowledge limits creation as space by making all other possibilities inaccessible—no object in creation can exist outside of this space. This space is the only possibility for manifestation of objects.
Knowledge limits our true nature, the I-Am, by channeling our desires in specific and limited ways. For example, when I say I know an apple, I limit my perception of the object by coming to the same conclusion every time I see it. This conclusion limits my ability to see it in any other way—I’m unable to perceive its empty, radiant nature that lacks “apple-ness.” Similarly, our knowledge of who we think we are limits us from knowing our true nature—knowledge thus limits us in space and time.
It’s helpful to examine what “knowledge” here refers to. When we say we “know” a thing, we are expressing that we understand what it is, that we can label or categorize it, or that we know it exists. In knowing an object, we are separate from it. I may “know” a flower for how it looks or smells—importantly, I know that I am not the flower. We can call this secular knowledge, which refers to me, the subject, knowing the flower, an object.
Objects of secular knowledge include literature, art, music, sense objects, memories of the past, hopes for the future, relationships, and all our experiences—each of these is known by the subject, the I. We start accumulating secular knowledge in childhood. As young, nonverbal children, we can only marvel at the color, texture, and odor of objects but have no concept of “flower” or “cup.” We also have no way to know that the object is not us, the I. Our well-meaning caregivers point to the colorful object, calling it “flower,” and point to us, calling us by our name. When we become a unique I with a particular name, gender, and other characteristics, the flower becomes “not I.”
What we take ourselves to be, the I-self, is also made of secular knowledge—a collection of labels that refer to past events, body characteristics, behavior, and likes and dislikes. These labels are so hardy that they seem to refer to the subject or the I, when in reality they are subtle objects.
Exercise: Examine Your Knowledge
Are there some things about yourself that you “know” to be true? How did you arrive at this knowledge—was it something you were taught, something you observed or decided, or is it something everyone around you agrees on? Examine this knowledge—can you see how it limits you?
Desires reside as vasanas in the causal body, which translate into knowledge in the granthis of the subtle body, and manifest as action in the gross body. Knowledge presents as the collection of the labels that make up who we think we are. For instance, if my early life was characterized by struggle to be seen, I come to know myself as a survivor. Thus, I may carry myself with an attitude of toughness that validates taking myself to be a survivor. Knowledge and action therefore drive each other in endless cycles.
Our sadhana progresses smoothly when the granthis are dissolved in order, beginning at the Brahma granthi at the navel, proceeding to the Vishnu granthi at the heart, and then the Rudra granthi at the third eye. This process is facilitated by the upward movement of kundalini, where obstructions in the form of limited knowledge in the granthis are resolved and erased. The labels holding the I-self in place dissolve, and secular knowledge gives way to Self-knowledge.
At the crown, Shakti as kundalini becomes one with Shiva, and we come to see that who we are is limitless awareness. This is known as “Self-knowledge,” which is knowledge of the one who knows—the subject, or the Self. The capital S refers to the nature of the Self that has no borders or attributes.
In Self-knowledge, knowing as a function shifts from the limited mind to witnessing awareness. We realize that awareness has been the subject all along, the knower of the objects of the world, body, mind states, moods, and labels as well as of secular knowledge. We see that all the limited labels that we defined ourselves with are not who we really are, which is limitless, unborn, and undying awareness.
Bhuvaneshwari holds both types of knowledge in her two lotuses—one binds us in suffering, and the other frees us from it.
Becoming identified as the body-mind reduces the vast and infinite nature of who we are into a tiny speck limited by time, space, fear, and suffering. Any label that we give ourselves serves to limit our true nature and arises from Bhuvaneshwari’s shadow of constriction.
Constriction is the sense of lack that is inherent to the I-self. We intuitively know that we are not limited to the body-mind, but our secular knowledge obscures our limitlessness. Not knowing how to undo the constricting effect of secular knowledge, we try to dissolve the constriction by trying to acquire more—material possessions, love, success, fame, or self-worth.
Although the uncomfortable feeling of constriction is more obvious when we are feeling anxious, fearful, or overtly unhappy, it can creep up on us even when everything is going well in our life as a vague discomfort regarding our changing circumstances, aging, or the inevitability of our death. The shadow of constriction can take physical and palpable forms when what we think we know about ourselves leads us to make choices that limit us further.
A teacher I know named Barbara had been through a difficult divorce, and the pain had led her to believe that she was not worthy of happiness. Even though she was highly respected as a leader in the community, she suffered the effects of constriction by seeing herself as “one who didn’t deserve comfort.” She had opted to live in a tiny apartment where she couldn’t host her adult children and their growing families on holidays.
After years of this self-imposed hardship, she began to suffocate from the constriction of not opening to the joy of her family. When she finally inquired into the source of her suffocation, she realized that it arose from the guilt of putting her children through her divorce. She had labeled herself as an unfit parent—she acted in a way that reinforced this knowledge, which kept her from experiencing happiness. Her choice to live in a constricted space arose from a constricted view of herself.
On this inner journey, merely becoming aware of our shadows begins to make way for the light of transformation, which often results in radical shifts in our lives and relationships. As soon as Barbara became aware that her self-imposed labels had never been true, her constriction began to dissolve, and her external circumstances rapidly changed. She moved to a spacious, comfortable home and is now able to host her family. She admitted that the freedom she experienced was not the result of the bigger house, but from releasing her constricted label of herself. By making space within, she could manifest it in her home and life.
We set ourselves up for suffering when we take our roles to be our identities. With each role, we compartmentalize who we are, trying to fit our identities into our knowledge of the roles. If I take myself to be a mother, my happiness will depend on my knowledge of what “good” mothering is, which I pick up from my family, society, and culture—it may not fit with how the role is defined in other families, societies, and culture.
Moreover, when I take myself to be a mother, my happiness will rest upon my children. When they succeed, I feel validated, and if they don’t, I blame myself. They feel guilty when they are unhappy because they see that it makes me unhappy. My role as a mother constricts not just me but also my children because they are not even given the freedom to be unhappy! I create karma by entangling them in my attachments and aversions that become deep-rooted vasanas for all of us.
Exercise: Undefine Yourself
Choose one label or role that you “know” to be you. Then imagine what it would be like if this didn’t limit your experience of who you are. Who would you be if you were not your role? See if you can touch the sense of freedom that lies beyond limited knowledge.
Constriction from knowledge also affects our progress on the spiritual path. Becoming identified as a “spiritual” person is just as constricting as taking ourselves to be a certain gender, race, nationality, style, or role. Importantly, the knowledge we acquire on the spiritual path can remain secular, where we can know everything about the Self.
The constricting power of spiritual knowledge is called shastra vasana, which translates to “the binding power of scripture.” This vasana is like knowing everything about a strawberry without ever biting into one and reveling in its sweetness. Our knowledge about Self as an object keeps us from realizing that it is who we really are. Instead, I-self’s sense of lack leads us to acquire more objects—instead of material possessions, we chase spiritual knowledge. This is known as “spiritual materialism,” which is primarily the shadow of Bagalamukhi, the eighth Mahavidya.21
Chasing spiritual knowledge can make us lose touch with our immediate and always-present experience of being grounded in the Self—our true nature. The antidote to Bhuvaneshwari’s shadow of constriction is to open to her light, where we surrender secular knowledge in favor of Self-knowledge.
In the Yoga Sutras, we are asked to cultivate the niyama of surrender to facilitate our progress along the spiritual path, which requires faith. Although faith is complete trust in the Divine, it can manifest as Bhuvaneshwari’s shadow of constriction.
When we mistake our roles to be who we are, our faith becomes a belief that is rooted in fear and hope. We believe that if we have faith, the Divine will sustain our roles and save us from suffering, illness, and pain. We can feel that just because our faith is strong, we will be looked after preferentially. This kind of faith may be helpful initially to gain trust in a teaching. However, it can eventually lead to delusion and disappointment when the Divine doesn’t appear to keep up its side of the bargain—we don’t get what we want, our suffering doesn’t end, nonbelievers thrive, and we are afflicted with disease and pain.
When faith is based on beliefs, it becomes an object of secular knowledge. When we say we believe something, there is at least a remote possibility that it may not be true. In contrast, when we know something to be true in direct experience, there is no need to believe it. Faith thus becomes surrender when belief gives way to direct experience.
On the path of the Mahavidyas, we learn that Shiva-Shakti, as the one Divine, has no preferences because all of creation is its child. We understand that the purpose of Shakti’s apparent separation from Shiva is to playfully explore the infinite possibilities of her own nature. When this understanding seeps in, we begin to trust that all is well even when things don’t seem to be going our way. This trust opens to Bhuvaneshwari’s light of surrender.
What must we surrender? In one word, everything. In bhakti yoga, which is a path of ardent devotion, we cultivate the attitude that everything belongs to God—including our actions, choices, thoughts, and emotions. Nothing is ours, including our hopes or fears. We give up everything at the altar of our beloved, including our greatest fears, our most shameful thoughts, and our worst habits. We never ask, “Why me?” because we trust Shakti. We take everything that comes our way as a blessing of divine grace and even welcome suffering, sickness, and death as gifts that chisel away everything that doesn’t serve us. To have this kind of faith is to not worry, and “my” will is surrendered to divine will.
Surrender is a challenge and goes against our grain because the ability to choose and control our lives is one of the most tenacious characteristics of the I-self. Surrender is especially hard because we naturally value pleasure more than pain; we tend to want to surrender what we don’t like and keep what we like.
This is why an important prerequisite for surrender is equanimity, where we take both pain and pleasure in stride. Sundari’s light of non-clinging enables Bhuvaneshwari’s light of surrender by facilitating the understanding that we are not the roles we play. To fully explore this, we need to step out of the play entirely and look at it from a different perspective. In Zen, this is called “the backward step.”
When we remain firmly planted in awareness, we break free from the power of thoughts to cause pleasure or pain, aversion or attachment. To see how this works, picture a train station. Trains pull in, stop, stay until passengers get off and on, and then leave again. Awareness is the train station, and thoughts are like trains—they arise, stay a while, and leave. No train stops permanently in a station, just as thoughts continually arise and subside in awareness.
In this analogy, getting on a train is like believing a thought: it can take you to a heaven filled with good feelings, like happiness and satisfaction, or it can take you to a hell with bad feelings, like anger, anxiety, and resentment. We ride some trains habitually, so they stop at the station more frequently and we travel those routes more often. But if we remain at the station and never get on those trains, the train lines would be eventually discontinued.
To remain on the platform is to take the backward step. This is a powerful technique to cultivate equanimity—we can remain still and watch the impulse to hop onto thought-trains. We can learn to watch thoughts nonjudgmentally as they arise and subside. We see clearly that all thoughts, emotions, and events arise, last for a while, and subside. Nothing is permanent. We also see that thoughts are harmless in themselves, and they can’t take us to heaven or hell unless we believe them.
When we cultivate equanimity through the habit of non-reaction, surrender becomes a way of life. We clearly see that it’s our resistance to what is that causes us to suffer. If I am ill but believe that I shouldn’t be, I am at odds with what is, which is divine will. When I question divine will, I display my arrogance that I know better than the Divine. On the other hand, when I question my thoughts, I realize that the only problem here is my belief that I shouldn’t be ill.
In this realization, all is well as it is. By questioning my thoughts, I take the backward step and surrender my will to divine will. I surrender my knowledge of what should be and open to Bhuvaneshwari’s light—the space of what is.
Jnana yoga is the yoga of knowledge, where secular knowledge is surrendered in favor of Self-knowledge. When we practice the backward step, constricted labels that we use to define ourselves, such as “I am a man” or “I am unworthy,” give way to what lies prior to the arising of thoughts, sensations, and emotions. Any label that arises is seen as just a train stopping at the station, and as we remain nonjudgmental and simply observe the label, it dissolves into awareness. We then become acquainted with awareness, our ground of being. By noticing that all phenomena are objects that temporarily arise and subside in awareness, we learn to discern the difference between them and awareness, the subject.
With discernment, our attention begins to shift from objects to the subject—what looks through these eyes, hears through these ears? Can I find the one that sees, hears, tastes, feels? We see that every time we look for the subject, it can’t be found. Anything we find in this exploration is still an object. We then realize that we cannot find the Self—we can only be the Self. To our amazement, we see that we have always been the Self but simply mistook the body-mind for it.
When we learn to abide as the Self, we open to a vast inner spaciousness that is the result of unlearning and discarding of secular knowledge. The highest form of surrender is to stay loyal to the Self. We don’t hold on to any bits of knowledge, no matter how sacred—the fanciest of trains is still only a train. We find that our most cherished beliefs arise and subside in the vast spaciousness of awareness. In this Self-abidance, Bhuvaneshwari’s shadow of constriction is transmuted into her light of surrender.
Exercise: Moving from Shadow to Light—Making Space
The purpose of this exercise is to discover the vast inner spaciousness, or akasha, in which all objects of experience arise. For this exercise, we will use the word poornam, which means “without lack” or “brimming with fullness.”
As you go about your day, see whether you can pay attention to the space in which thoughts, emotions, opinions, memories, hopes, and fears arise. Observe all experiences with curiosity, noticing any tendency to engage with them but not giving in to the temptation.
Continued inquiry will make you adept at observing experience without becoming entangled with it, preparing you for non-dual inquiry into space.
Exercise: Non-Dual Inquiry on Bhuvaneshwari’s Role in Creation—Space
In this exercise, we will examine the relationship between spacious awareness and objects arising in it. Choose an everyday object for contemplation, such as a book or dinner plate. Set aside fifteen to thirty minutes when you will not be disturbed. Begin with the Heart Opener (chapter 2).
In this inquiry, we see that in direct experience, the plate is nothing but color, and the color is not separate from seeing. The only way we could verify color is to see it. Further, seeing is not separate from awareness. When we see an object, we are aware of it through seeing.
Repeat this inquiry with other objects to test whether color is separate from seeing and whether seeing is separate from awareness. Next, repeat this inquiry for the other senses. Repeat the non-dual exercise in chapter 4 using the chime—is there sound without hearing? Is there hearing without awareness? Use an aromatic substance for smell, such as coffee beans or vanilla extract: Is there aroma without smelling? Is there smelling without awareness? Repeat the inquiry for taste and touch.
Repeat the inquiry using your roles and labels as objects. Are they separate from the awareness that they arise in?
Bhuvaneshwari’s light of surrender facilitates the non-dual inquiry through which we realize awareness as our true nature. The clarity of this understanding releases us from the bonds of knowledge—we see that the labels with which we define ourselves are objects that arise and subside in us, the subject. The end of knowledge marks the beginning of freedom from suffering.
When we learn to abide as awareness, or Self, we begin to relax and allow deep healing to occur. In this Self-abidance, we begin to gain freedom from slavery to our vasanas because we no longer jump on every train of desire. The constricting knowledge in the subtle body and desire-driven vasanas in the causal body begin to lose their grip, facilitating the radical transformation of the ordinary body-mind into an instrument for divine will and action, resulting in a sense of spaciousness.
This spaciousness originates in the chest area, the heart space, extending to our whole being and outward into the world. In this heart space, Kali stands still, Tara reveals herself as the primordial vibration of the Self, and Sundari reveals herself as the desire for liberation. Events of daily life fall into place in an effortless rhythm, while anxieties and fears melt away. What can we fear when we have absolute trust in the Divine’s intentions? Previously, we were identified as a character in the movie that played upon Bhuvaneshwari’s screen. Now we learn to disengage from the character and pay attention to the screen.