Review of Aghora: At the left hand of God

Aghora at the left hand of God

The book I’m currently reading is titled Aghora at the left hand of God by Robert E Svoboda.  The book journeys through the life and times of the spiritual master Vimlananda as he explores the ancient discipline of Aghora.  Aghora is a theme and subject that strikes fear and repulsion in many hearts, Aghora is a spiritual discipline which dives deep in the darkness of the universe through many rituals which are socially taboo to put it mildly.  In an attempt to find moksha or liberation a true Aghori does nerve wrecking sadhna to escape from the mesh of Samsara. This book is not for the weak of heart, and surely  dismisses any adherence to societal standards or puritan morality as any true work of art must. However for a spiritual seeker and those who are brave enough to understand vamacharya  Tantra or the left hand path this book is a mystical illuminating treatise on life, death and everything in between. The book is highly philosophical, esoteric and is definitely not a light read. Not the kind you read relaxing on a hammock on a lazy sunny day.

To encapsulate the theme of Aghora and review Vimlananda’s life is a Herculean task , for Aghora is a unique vision and a system of thought which studies the nature of  matter and spirit and everything that fills up the ether. It attempts to study the known, unkown and unknowable.

Vimlananda like his master practiced in shamshan or the cremation ground because death is the central fact of this fleeting existence, through meandering discourses, anecdotes, visions, and high brow philosophy he shows us the real nature of the human condition and what must be done to escape the cycle of birth and death and perpetual suffering.

Firstly he attempts to explain what Shiva and Shakti are. Shakti is the creative force of nature which is forever playing at her own free will and she is responsible for the play of exisitence, Shiva on the other hand is the immovable force of existence, if you will he is the axis on which the universe revolves. By comparing the forces of Yin and Yang, the masculine and feminine, light and darkness, death and life, the author tries the impossible  task of unifying the dualities which constantly play with human lives like a pendulum. To describe the nature of the universe is like trying to clutch mercury , it always slips away. But through Vimlananda’s erudition and anecdotes the reader slowly understands the nature of duality and its myriad features and hopefully makes an effort to reach the state of non duality.

In the chapters that follow he explains why death is the nucleus of life and why Shiva is called the lord of death, through the grim realities and horrific and grotesque rituals practiced by Vimlanada, the reader is always made to remember the central fact of his or her own life which is death. In understanding death, one finds life, by looking sternly unflinchingly at the pale face of ghastly reality of death, the reader is made to understand the inevitable ending of all things.

Aghora is infamous for cannibalism, black magic, occult sciences, and deviant sexual behavior. By going through the rituals of shame and filth the Aghori kills his individual self of ego and layers of fear and repulsion conditioned by society. As the reader journeys on he/she finds the line between pure and impure blurring.

This book is the first part of a trilogy. Next Vimlananda explores the theme of ranubandhana or primal debt. He throws light on the law of Karma and the Newtonian theme of causality. Each act is followed by a consequence and according to the author all our lives and the events that fill it are nothing but an attempt to neutralize our karmic debts or what he calls ranubandhana. Vimlananda through the metaphor of horse races, gambling against the back drop of Mumbai city shows how life is nothing but a self perpetuating snake of karmic action and reaction. The book is written in first person narrative and though it is highly philosophical and full of esoteric wisdom, it has an undercurrent of compassion, humanity and a personal touch. Through his own trials and tribulations and emotional narrative the author tries to make even such a topic humane, personal and universal.

Vimlananda doesn’t speak from above, from a point of authority; rather he accepts his ordinariness and tries to inspire hope and loving compassion in the hearts of readers. He is a messiah, a magus and a visionary.

The book is full of obscure terminology and keeps nodding to ancient hindu terms, and is steeped in the rich tradition of Guru Shishya Parampara or master disciple relationship.

Robert E Svoboda was Vimlanandas disciple and stayed many long years with him, this book is a memory of his luminous and ethereal guru who rose from a mortal and drank the nectar of gods. To be a true Aghori means to die while still being alive, he has no personal desires left, he surrenders his ego at the feet of shamshan kali and sings “Yours are the fires of deliverance which shall bring me bliss, yours is the cruel sword that shall set my spirit free”.

In the many chapters that follow he explores the nature of man woman relationship, the magic of Tantric Sex, ghosts , spirits, ghouls, intoxicants, the restrictions and the dangers of left hand path and what it means to be a true Aghori.

All in all this book raises as many questions as it solves, gives us a peek into the baffling lives of Aghoris and tries to dispel the misconceptions which surround this great and ancient liberating practice and school of thought. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book and would suggest it to anyone who has a strong stomach and a heart burning with spiritual quest.

 

A Surrealist Poem for Ritamvara

All the times I’ve tried to write love my pen has leaked bleeding a thousand sonatas of christian hymns. We descended on steps, those green hyacinth covered steps of water . All men are Jesus cause only love can walk on water.
Remember that year Van Gogh cut his ear? I too have paced in his asylum. Those electric fumes we stored in bottles in the basement, those years we never looked at the calender not to be burdened by time.
A black charcoal in the hands of of an urchin always scribbling sins on old walls as the protozoa in your heart grows. The citidels of the town of luminous goddess call men to march on blood soaked war grounds.
Each strand of Black Dahlia’s hair dripped with unsolved crime of passion. We skipped stones on water in the year of the blue magician who turned little dead children into hope’s fireflies. The rain drops fell pitter patter on the ink of my mind smudging my memory of pain.
The rising fumes over your coffee cup only remind you of hollow autumn mornings. Why did you leave me alone in the subway tunnel of quantum mechanical strangeness of this world?
All flights to Frankfurt have left with our hope but the backyard has some new lilies Aunt Martha says. You know that eccentric old Irish lady who lives by the sea of denial.
Three zen monks circle my home, we will never understand what life is, maybe Thomas Merton has some answers.
Lastly I will tell you the white light of love in near death experience is real.
Akash Sinha.
27/12/2015