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Dance, Lalla, with nothing on but air.

Sing, Lalla, wearing the sky.

Look at this glowing day!

What clothes could be so beautiful, or more sacred?

Thus danced the rare female yogi, Lalla of Kashmir.

Imagine a 14^th century Indian woman becoming a wandering ascetic, much less going around naked and dancing in freezing mountains and orthodox villages! But with mystics, 'ordinary' or 'normal' is not the way—at least in the sense that we so-called ordinary or normal people understand it.

To Lalla, all outer fabrications bore no meaning—including the fabric that you clad around your body. Deeply delved in self-realization, everything of the outside world was just out-worldly for her. They were good to do away with. She was following the advice of her teacher when she sang:

My Master gave me just one rule:

Forget the outside, get to the inside of things.

I, Lalla, took that teaching to heart.

From that day, I’ve danced naked.

Lalla practiced Shaiva Tantra that flourished in the sacred valleys of Kashmir around the turn of the second millennium. She is one of the few mystics to have attained enlightenment in a female body. For the yogi she was, all customs and costumes were but unnecessary details: they had no utility on her path to liberation. So she leaves the social norms behind. She sheds her clothes to wear the sky—just like the Shiva, or digambara (a Sanskrit term meaning sky-clad)—and rejoices in her true inner self.

Lalla expresses the state of her deep realization through proverbs or short poems. She speaks in the local Kashmiri dialect, which had descended from corrupted Sanskrit and Prakrit languages. The Kashmiris have passed on the poems from generation to generation, together with the mystical stories surrounding her. She has quite an influence on the history and culture of the place, inasmuch as to inspire a saying: Kashmiris know of either Allah or Lalla. For common Kashmiris, she is Lal Ded (mother Lalla) or Lal Dyad (grandmother Lalla); for Hindus and yogis, she is Lallesvari or Lalla Yogini; and for Muslims, she is Lalla Arifa.

When the Sufi branch of Islam was entering the valley of Kashmir, her poems came to unify both Shaiva and Sufi thoughts. We also see a hint of Buddhism in her poems when she talks of emptiness. It was a time when Shaiva tantra drew from Mahayana Buddhist concept of śunyatā, or emptiness, which was already around for about a thousand years.

Perhaps what makes Lalla a rarity among woman mystics is that her path was not of bhakti (devotion), but of tantra yoga. She could cross the six astral centers of the body by taming the prana (life-force), and reach the highest state of realization that all yogis aspire to reach—the state of Shiva. In that state, she sings:

Crossing the six forests, came the Moon oozing,

The Prakriti was burnt out with the Prana

With the fire of Love, I roasted my heart,

And found Shiva!

When we talk of bhakti, or the path of devotion, nobody compares to Mira (Mirabai of Mewar). She surpasses even Radha—the famous consort of yogi Krishna—in perfecting bhakti. Radha met Krishna in physical body. She didn't have to cultivate devotion for him; she just got the charismatic teenager's best attention among the many gopinis, the cow-herder women of Brindaban in northern India. Many thousand years after Krishna's passing, Mira, in her sanctuary, could materialize him in physical form and love him. Could bhakti be perfected any better?

When Mira was about five, she saw a wedding procession and asked her mother if she too had a bridegroom. The mother simply told her that she could take Krishna as her groom. That was it—Mira became Krishna's. She started loving his idol as her husband. Later her father gave her in marriage to Bhoj Raj, the crown prince of Mewar in Rajasthan. Bhoj Raj respected Mira's Krishna love and became her protector. But he died and the regime went to his brother Rana Vikram Singh.

In the conservative patriarchal society of 16^th-century India, Rana couldn't tolerate the ecstatic singing and dancing of Mira—a bride of the royal family—in front of ordinary people in her temple. So he tried to kill her. He sent her a poisonous snake hidden inside a flower basket, but when Mira opened the basket, the snake turned into a garland. He then put poisoned nails beneath her bed and covered it with rose petals. When Mira lied down, all nails became rose petals. He then sent her a pot of the deadliest poison, stating that it was nectar. Mira drank the poison but remained unaffected. Hearing the power of Mira's devotional singing, Mughal emperor Akbar and his legendary musician Tansen visited her in disguise. Akbar became so enchanted that he touched her feet—an act unthinkable of the great Akbar who was not only a proud king but also an enemy of the Mewar royals.

These are not episodes of a fairy tale, but life events of a real human who walked on earth 500 years ago. But how can it be possible? How can a snake turn into a flower garland? How can one just gulp down the deadliest poison and not get harmed?

We may find it hard to conceive. But there is no confusion for a true devotee. In true devotion, you don't remain you. The duality vanishes and you become your God. And the miracles we imagine for God become a reality for the devotee. Is there any poison that can kill the God? Doesn't king cobra salute Shankar, the great yogi who is ever one with the ultimate, and adorn his neck as an ornament?

Mira's oneness with her God—Krishna—is as perfect as it can be. He comes in flesh and bones for her. He dances for her, talks to her, sings to her, and embraces her. We don't know much about Mira's end. But the legend goes: in her 50's, she went to Dwaraka, the seat of Krishna's kingdom in India's west coast. There, the heart of Krishna's idol opens, Mira jumps in and disappears.

Rabia of Basra, an eighth-century Sufi saint, was on her deathbed when Sufyan visited her. He asked if she needed any help. A peerless mystic, Rabia said she had given herself to God, so no help was necessary. He then asked if she desired anything. Rabia answered: “My desire is meaningless. I have given all my desires to God.”

Sufyan’s ego got a great jolt. The famed and powerful scholar of his time felt dwarf in front of a frail old woman. He fell to his knees, and said: “O God, forgive me! My devotion is not as strong as this woman’s.”

Rabia smiled, and remarked: “You don’t get the point. You are seeking forgiveness for yourself. Forgive God first, and you will be forgiven.”

Thus goes the story. Believing it or not is up to us. We can either draw valuable lessons from it or set it aside as a myth. A mind open to truth can find many gems of wisdom in this little story.

Perhaps the most obvious gem here is that of bhakti, or true devotion. Sufyan considered himself a man of God, but in front of the God-attuned saint, he saw his own meagerness. But still he couldn't get the point. What could be the point here?

Rabia told him to forgive God instead of seeking forgiveness for himself. For a true devotee, God is not different from yourself. When you consider yourself different from God, bhakti gets corrupted and trade begins. And the corrupted bhakta (devotee) pleads: "O God! Please do this for me. If you do this, I will visit your temple. I will make offerings to you."

For Rabia, God is not different from her. It's His desire that she desires, it's His plan that she is working out. If He has planned destitution and disease for her, why try to change? Since she has God with her, any outside help would be redundant. Why would God—the ultimate source of all help—need anybody else's help? If you have got the ultimate itself, what else would you desire?

Rabia's oneness with the ultimate is rare. And when you are in total unison with it, you know what works and what doesn't. You know the rules that govern this world. One such rule that Rabia was trying to tell Sufyan is that you leave aside your desires. You leave aside your selfish motives. You leave aside even the wish of forgiveness for yourself. Instead, you wish everything for God. When you are one with the ultimate and you wish something for it, you will find fulfillment for yourself, in higher degree, imbued with a higher potency. That happens with faultless devotion, or true bhakti, the way Rabia lived.

The energy of anger manifests when something we desire does not happen. Or something that we desire not, happens. But what do we desire? Peace, happiness, pleasantness, joy, bliss. Even the cruelest criminals desire happiness. It’s just that due to delusion and desperation, they take shortcuts to happiness, bringing suffering to themselves and others. But the desire for happiness is there, just like the majority of people who work with patience instead of taking shortcuts.

The desire for happiness is what guides us. And when this desire is trampled, we get angry. We know anger is negative energy. But when we look at anger from this angle—that it is an indication of our desire for happiness—it can turn things around.

If we recognize anger as a product of our deep desire for happiness, it can set us on the path of transformation. And if we have the right map and the right guide—the right perspective or samyag dristi as it is called in Buddhism—we can arrive at the state of happiness. That right map would put us on an inward journey so that we can 'arrive at' rather than 'achieve' or 'get' happiness.  

However, keeping tabs on our anger and using it to know ourselves seems impossible. It is one of the strongest emotions which, when active, totally engulfs us. We do things to harm ourselves and others. Modern science has proved that it generates toxins in our body and knots in our mind. When acted out, it kills or hurts others, and ultimately ourselves, in countless ways. Śāntideva, the eighth century Buddhist master, has rightly said: “There is no evil similar to anger. A single flash of it can destroy all the good works gathered in a thousand ages.”

But the good news is: there are ways of handling this evil. Buddhism offers a time-tested tool for handling our emotions: mindfulness. It is the tool with which we can turn the destructive energy of anger into constructive one. By being mindful of it in a welcoming, curious, and compassionate way, anger can be transformed into a good friend. It can help us know ourselves better, and get in touch with the inner source of happiness.

This transformation through mindfulness is not easy though. As with any other tool or method, one needs the skill. And the skill comes from learning and practicing. It's like using electricity to light a bulb. If we don't know how to handle electricity, it can kill us. But if we know electricity and are skilled in electric wiring, we can use it to light a bulb that illuminates the room. If we can get a good handle on anger, we can illuminate the inner depths of our mind. We can know ourselves better. If only we learned how to develop that skill.

Everybody wants happiness. And often we pursue it. But in our wanting and pursuing, we lose it. The very fact that we want and pursue happiness makes it elusive.

There is a psychological reason behind this. Let’s see it through an example. Many people in the world are single, and are unhappy about it. They tend to think, ‘When I find the perfect partner, I’ll be happy’. Years and decades pass by looking for the perfect girl or guy. But the pursuit doesn't end, it becomes a habit. Even if we have a partner or spouse, we are not satisfied. Nobody can easily fit in our definition of 'perfect'. We cannot be happy with what we have, because we are in the constant mode of wanting somebody perfect to come and make us happy.

Another example: Suppose we are doing a certain job, and are unhappy about it. For many of us, the current job sucks. Either the boss is too demanding, or the colleagues are too nagging. Or maybe the organization is not the best place to be in. Or the job doesn't fall in the definition of our so-called passion. We start thinking, ‘I'll be happy when I find the perfect job’.

But what happens when we find that perfect partner or job? For a while, we think we are happy, but then the mind starts finding faults. After all, we have trained our minds not to be satisfied. The mind works based on how it has been conditioned. We become conditioned or habituated to what we do repeatedly. So when we have spent a lot of time being dissatisfied with our job or in wanting a perfect person, it has already become our habit. So we start wanting something else. This habit of dissatisfaction spills over, making us unhappy with every other thing coming into our experience, not only the partner or job.

We set many such conditions for happiness: ‘I will be happy when I have a certain amount of bank balance’. Or, ‘I will be happy when I complete my project’. Basically we make our happiness hostage to some other thing or person or situation, either having them or not having them. Sometimes we outsource our happiness to absurd things. ‘When the king is gone and a president is put in place, I will be happy’. ‘Free market sucks, if we have a controlled social and economic order, I will be happy’. ‘If I have a Labrador instead of this Bulldog, I will be happy’.

But wanting and pursuing happiness isn't bad, is it? Everybody wants to be happy. So, why not pursue it?

The answer to that question lies in knowing our reality. To know the reality, we need a scientific approach. If we look deep within ourselves objectively, without making any judgements, we can see that the source of happiness is within us. We can see that it is our reality, our fundamental nature. Then wanting and pursuing ends.

How can we pursue something that is already within us, that is already our own fundamental nature? Have you ever noticed a one-year-old child? Do they need a gold medal in swimming or a posh house to be happy? Not at all. If their stomach is full, they are naturally jubilant and playful. They have not gotten the happy state by wanting or pursuing. Nor have they taken any crash course on happiness. Once their survival is ensured, they are blissful just like that. We were like that when we were kids.

Let’s say we are already in Kathmandu. Not knowing, we want to reach Kathmandu and we set out for it. We may even take a flight to Kathmandu. We can reach anywhere but Kathmandu! It's like that with happiness. Happiness is IN us, we were all born with it. But as we grow up, we obscure our minds by wrong views and habits and forget about this fundamental quality. So we take a flight away from ourselves. No wonder we end up wanting and pursuing happiness, never finding it.

What is it that makes you miserable? What binds you? What makes you suffer? How do you free yourself of your miseries? How do you bring yourself lasting happiness and freedom? The whole lot of philosophies, spiritual systems, and religions have evolved due to humans asking such questions.

The Buddha too dwelt on them. One straightforward explanation that he gave was: human misery came from three unwholesome roots—greed, hatred, and delusion. They are also called the three poisons in Buddhist traditions. Get rid of them, generate their antidotes, and be liberated. Easier said than done. So the Buddha had to work at great lengths to elaborate on them and encourage people to meditate so that they could learn the subtle art of overcoming these poisons.

In less technical terms, let’s call these poisons ‘likes’, ‘dislikes’, and ‘ignorance’. For what we like, we have greed. Some disturbing mental states sprout from this root: desire, longing, passion, lust, self-indulgence, running after money, power, fame, love, and what not. All these steal the peace of mind. They cripple our ability to see things clearly.

Likewise, for what we dislike, we have hatred. Again, there are disturbing mental states that emanate from this root: grudge, resentment, anger, wrath, vengeance, disgust, antagonism, and so on. These, too, steal the peace of mind and cripple our ability to see things clearly.

The third—ignorance—is our naive and distorted way of seeing things. It’s actually this root that gives rise to the other two. But the other two also reinforce it—they nourish in a backward flow. Our naivety and distorted views cause us to like and dislike things, people, food, situations, vacations, jobs, diseases, politicians, rock stars, and so on. We act accordingly, making our likes and dislikes stronger. This in turn blinds us and pushes us further from seeing things clearly, prodding us to react in a deluded way. It goes in a vicious circle—distorted mind magnifies our liking and disliking, which in turn further distorts our minds.

Actually, the first two, liking and disliking, are the two sides of the same coin. And the third, ignorance, does the flipping. When a coin is flipped, one of the two sides is bound to come up. When ignorance comes into play, liking or disliking is bound to happen. And conversely, as there are two sides, flipping becomes possible.

The more your mind is given to liking something, the more it is apt to disliking some other thing. We often love and hate the same person or thing. When your dog comes to sleep at your feet, you become happy and love it. One day, when it doesn’t do so, you become unhappy and hate it. You like your boss when she appreciates your work. The next day, you hate her because she appreciates somebody else’s work. The stronger you love something, the stronger your hate will be when things change slightly. This change, sometimes, can just be of your own mood!

So what’s the way out? How do we overcome these mental poisons? Well, it took 45 years for the Buddha, the fully enlightened one, to help people understand. Plenty for us to explore.

In the famous story Angulimala, the dreaded murderer, when he sees a very serene-looking sage walking toward his jungle hideout, yells: “Stop! You look like a good person. Don't come here to be killed.”

The Buddha replies: “I have stopped long back. Have you?”

That starts the saintly transformation of the startled Angulimala who had murdered 999 people and was waiting for one last person to complete his vow of killing 1,000.

The power of stopping is amazing. But we can’t do it because we don’t know how. All our life, we have known only to run. If you cannot run, then walk or at least crawl. But keep going. You need to own more land. You need to add more stories to your house. You need to sign a few more business deals. You need to have more of the feel-good time with your lover. You need to gulp down one more mouthful of your favorite wine. You need to watch one more match of your favorite football team.

Like a hungry ghost or a preta as it is called in Buddhism, the wanting for more never ends. The striving and searching never end. We are never satisfied, and we run for more. The more we get, the more we ‘need’. But for what?

We all want happiness in life. We want to live with ease, with a sense of pleasure and peace. And we think it all depends on things out there. A better situation, relationship, career, business, food, car and so on ‘need to be achieved’ for us to be happy.

Get it from out there and I will be happy—that’s the common approach. A space scientist would say: If only it goes well and my satellite brings back a few more pebbles from Mars, it would be so wonderful! And perhaps every night he sleeps on pills. When a one-billionaire takes his assets to two billions, it looks hollower. So he wants to fill that void with another billion, to be disappointed again.

When Angulimala was out there killing people and collecting their fingers to add to his garland (hence the name Angulimala, or finger garland), he had a similar want. He wanted to have a better life. The story says he was misguided by his previous teacher into killing people. But ultimately it was his own desire to attain something extraordinary that led him on the gruesome path. He too was looking for happiness out there. And he was on a mad race to get it.

In our life when we are all running after something or the other in want of happiness, if sometime, by any chance, just a question occurs to us: Is it really out there? Is it really worth it? Then stopping could happen. And there could be a change in course.

The Buddha’s first utterance after his enlightenment under the Bodhi tree was: “I have gone through countless births in the cycle of existence, seeking the builder of this house. To be born again and again is dukkha (suffering). Now I have seen you, O housebuilder! You shall not build a house again for me.”

In Bhagavad-Gita, Krishna tells Arjuna: “That which is born must die, and that which is dead must be born again. You and I have passed through many-many births. I can remember them all, you cannot.”

Attenuating one’s karma and stopping the endless cycle of rebirths is the central theme of Jainism. For Sikhs, human life is a unique opportunity to break the cycle of death and rebirth.

All major Indian philosophies talk of rebirth. For someone brought up in Western cultures, rebirth may be a topic difficult—or even absurd—to believe or understand. One may squarely say: “Why should I even care if I continue after death or not? I am not a religious person—not the least a follower of Indian religions.”

But rebirth does not have to be about religion. It can just be about ethics. It can be about following a few moral principles. Instead of going so far as having a new physical body, we can look at rebirth as the arising of a new state of mind. We all know our mind changes—or takes a new birth—all the time. We can view rebirth from that angle.

When the Indian traditions talk of rebirth, they do it in relation to karma. The bottom line: If you create healthy karma, it will lead to wholesome rebirth. Healthy karma is about taking actions that generate healthy states of mind. All traditions talk of refraining from actions that lead to misery. They talk of either extinguishing all forces of karma, or at least developing and keeping the helpful ones.

Healthy karma would lead to eradication of mental impurities. Mental impurities are mental residues of physical, verbal, or mental actions. So clearing the impurities will have to do with how we act, speak, and think. To do it in healthy ways, you don’t need a creator or a God or a religion—you can just have an intention to lead a happy life.

If you do morally wholesome acts, it will have wholesome effects on your mind. If you save a life, you will instantly feel love and peace in mind. If you speak the truth, you will never have to worry about guarding your lies. But if you steal money from the bank, you will definitely have sleepless nights. Whether you create nice karma for better physical rebirth or not, ethical action will reward you with peace of mind. 

Rebirth in terms of physical body may be distant. But in terms of mind, it is instant. Our wholesome acts lead to happy rebirths of the mind in real time, all the time.