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| Chamundeshwari at the Kāmākhyā Devī temple in Assam. . She embodies the raw truth that life, death, impurity, and transcendence are all Hers, nothing is outside Her play. |
The Quiet Addiction of Being 'Advanced'
There is a strange ache that settles into the heart of some practitioners —
not in the beginning, but further down the road.
It doesn’t come when you're still clinging to rosaries or fumbling with mantra.
It comes after you’ve tasted something real. After the threshold has been crossed.
When you've seen behind the veil — and something in you knows what others only theorize.
And then… very quietly, another veil descends.
It whispers:
“You’re not like the others anymore.
You’ve gone deeper.
You’ve seen what they haven’t.”
At first, it feels like a calm truth. A private knowing.
But soon, it begins to flavor your thoughts,
color your perception,
shape your posture —
not your spine, but the posture of the soul.
You begin to notice the “less advanced” —
how bound they are, how rigid.
You listen with a subtle smirk as they debate purity, obedience, doctrine.
You start to enjoy being the one outside their world —
the outsider who is still pure.
The rebel mystic, unchained.
The one who can break taboos without breaking the truth.
It looks like humility on the surface.
But something inside is smiling with a sharp tooth.
Because you are secretly addicted — not to the Absolute,
but to the identity of the one who has seen It.
Not to truth —
but to the persona of the one who 'knows.'
And this… this is the moment when the most beautiful paths become the most subtle traps.
The Golden Mask of Kaula
Nowhere does this quiet addiction blossom more seductively than on the Kaula path.
At first, it feels like liberation.
A path that doesn’t shun the body.
That doesn’t fear the flesh.
That calls the world Śakti, not illusion.
That breaks the illusion of “pure” and “impure” and lets you taste the Divine in ash, in wine, in sweat, in semen, in blood.
And so, for the one who has walked through fire —
who has felt the inner cobra stir and rise —
Kaula is like coming home.
But soon, a second home is built — one made not of Śakti, but of subtle pride.
You begin to feel it:
“I am Kaula.”
“I walk the highest path.”
“I can do what others fear — and still remain holy.”
This is the first mask: the transgressive identity, built on breaking rules.
But there's another — softer, more elegant, and far more seductive.
It says:
“I understand them all.”
“I see the essence behind every tradition.”
“Others are still caught in form, but I… I am in essence.”
Because Kaula, at its highest, does allow for this vision.
It is the path of spiritual digestion —
where the teacher might send you into Vaiṣṇava bhakti,
or Buddhist śūnyatā,
or Sufi melting,
and it is all part of Her play.
You begin to read all scriptures —
and understand them from within.
You can mingle with any path, wear any robe, chant any name — and never be caught.
Because you know it is all Her.
You know it is all One.
And so another mask is born:
The one who is above all paths.
The one who smiles wisely while others debate.
The one who doesn’t need initiation anymore — because he is the current.
The one who no longer worships, but explains the essence of worship.
It is not arrogance. Not outwardly.
It’s something subtler — the sweet perfume of having transcended.
And again, just like with the rebel mask —
Her presence begins to fade.
Because now you're not looking at Her.
You're looking at the mirror of your own understanding.
And you’ve become the one who knows, not the one who burns.
She doesn’t mind that you read all paths.
She doesn’t mind that you know the inner keys.
But She wants to know:
“Are you still touched?”
“Can I still melt you?”
“Can you read the Quran or the Bhāgavata Purāṇa or the Prajñāpāramitā — and still cry?”
Because if not — you're no longer Kaula.
You are just another priest.
Only this time, the robe is made of understanding.
Abhinavagupta’s Hierarchy — A Real Map, Misused by Ego
Let us be clear.
Abhinavagupta did say it.
He did map out the world’s traditions and place Kaula at the summit — not out of arrogance, but with the steady precision of someone who had tasted them all.
In Tantrāloka 35.30–31, he writes:
eka evāgamas tasmāt tatra laukikaśāstrataḥ
prabhṛty āvaiṣṇavād bauddhāc chaivāt sarvaṃ hi niṣṭhitam ||
tasya yat tat paraṃ prāpyaṃ dhāma tat trikaśabditam |
sarvāvibhedānucchedāt tadeva kulam ucyate ||
“Therefore, ultimately there is one Agama; beginning from the worldly scriptures and then through the Vaiṣṇava, Buddhist, and Śaiva teachings, everything indeed is established in it. The supreme abode to be attained by that one Agama is called Trika, and due to the eradication of all duality, that is called Kula.”
He’s not being metaphorical here.
He’s speaking from realized vision.
In his sight, all paths — from exoteric laukika ritual, to the theistic depths of Vaiṣṇavism, to the abstract heights of Buddhism and the structured beauty of Śaiva Siddhānta — all point to the same summit.
And that summit is Kaula — not because it rejects the others, but because it embraces and dissolves their distinctions.
Kaula is not another path in the marketplace.
It is the consummation, the pūrṇa, the place where all dualities are resolved in the fire of direct, embodied non-dual Śakti.
So yes — it is true.
Kaula is the highest, not in status, but in scope.
Not because it excludes, but because it holds.
Not because it claims superiority, but because it dissolves the very framework of superiority itself.
But here is where the ego performs its most perverse theft:
It takes this sacred architecture
and builds a throne upon it.
Suddenly, the Kaula practitioner no longer walks in the open sky.
He begins to stand above.
He quotes Tantrāloka not to melt, but to validate his position.
He sees himself not as the one who has dissolved,
but as the one who knows better.
And the moment Kaula becomes a badge instead of a burning,
Her presence begins to evaporate.
Because She cannot rest in someone
who still needs to be someone.
The Mirror — Kaula Swagger vs. Orthodox Robes
It’s easy to mock the priest.
Easy to smirk at the man in the saffron robe or the one who guards the temple gate.
To say, “He clings to rules. I walk the real fire.”
To think, “He chants for merit — I dissolve in pure Śakti.”
To believe you have escaped the trap.
But often — you haven’t.
You’ve just swapped the flavor of the mask.
The orthodox wears a robe.
You wear ashes.
He builds fences of scripture.
You carry a skull-bowl full of irony.
He fears impurity.
You flaunt your impurity like a crown.
But both of you…
need to be seen.
Need to be someone.
One clings to the image of the pious.
The other clings to the image of the wild.
And neither is free.
This is the mirror you must be brave enough to face.
Because the ego doesn’t care what it identifies with —
as long as it still gets to exist as someone special.
And Kaula, in its rawest truth, was never meant to be a brand, a badge, or a backdrop for subtle swagger.
Kaula was meant to dissolve you.
To strip you beyond robes, beyond ashes, beyond even the knowledge that you're “on the highest path.”
It was not meant to be performed.
It was meant to be lived, from the marrow.
It was never about being “tantric.”
It was always about becoming nobody in the arms of the Goddess
Ramana’s Knife — “Who Am I That Thinks I Am a Kaula?”
There’s a moment when the spiral of identity becomes too tight to breathe in.
Not because it’s wrong —
but because even the truth, once clung to, becomes suffocating.
That’s when a different voice arrives.
Quiet. Unimpressed.
Fiercer than any mantra.
Softer than any mudrā.
Ramana’s voice.
Not preaching.
Just asking:
“Who is this ‘I’ that thinks he is a Kaula?”
Not “What is Kaula?”
Not “Is this tradition superior?”
Not “What does Abhinavagupta say?”
Just:
Who is this ‘I’ at the center of all of this?
The one quoting scriptures.
The one carrying ashes.
The one resisting, outperforming, integrating, knowing.
Who is he, really?
The moment this question is asked — not lightly, but from the ribcage —
everything starts to shake.
Because you suddenly realize:
There’s no such thing as “a Kaula.”
There is only this moment, raw and immediate, where Śakti either shines through you — or She doesn’t.
The identity collapses.
The hierarchy collapses.
The tradition itself — that beautiful scaffolding of fire and nectar — collapses.
And what’s left is not nothing.
What’s left is Her.
Silent. Undivided.
Before the mantra, before the path, before even the need to be free.
In that moment, you are not advanced.
You are not beyond.
You are not tantric, or spiritual, or wise.
You are just here.
And She is just present.
That is enough.
Closing: Offering Without Identity
What, then, do we do with this vision?
We do not abandon the name “Kaula.”
We do not pretend the sky is not the sky.
We do not flatten all paths into a bland sameness.
We say yes — this view holds everything.
This path embraces and transcends.
This ākula clarity allows one to study with the Sufi, walk with the Vaiṣṇava, chant with the Śākta,
and still remain undivided.
But we do not mistake this for superiority.
We do not let the clarity become a crown.
Because even Kaula can become a mask —
the most refined, radiant mask of all.
And Devi does not ask for your crown.
She asks for your skin.
You may know the maps.
You may know where this path culminates.
You may even know where others fall short.
But if what you speak does not rise from a tender heart,
it is not insight. It is just a sharp weapon.
A cold truth may win debates — but it cannot carry Her fragrance.
It cannot break open the heart.
There is no Kaula realization
without the shivering nakedness of love.
Not the mask of “one who sees all,”
but the tear-stripped honesty of one who was seen —
and lived.
Yes, the Kaula exegesis is the highest —
but not because it sits atop a mountain.
It is not the summit — it is the space in which all summits arise.
It does not lift you above. It simply frees you from needing to be above.
It gives you the breadth to see everything as Her play —
including those who are still climbing,
including those who chant in ways you no longer do,
including those who do not yet know the name Bhairava.
And in that seeing, there is no more outsider, no more elite.
There is only the living sky.
Let it be enough to be true.
Not superior. Not radical. Not pure. Just… true.
Use the name Kaula — if it helps.
Honor Abhinavagupta’s wisdom — if it guides.
Wear the mask — if it gives you form.
But don’t let it stick.
Because She never asked for your label.
She asked for your love.
Offer your clarity like a flower.
Offer your scars like ghee.
Offer your whole being —
not as a proof of attainment,
but as a prayer without signature.
And walk on.
Not as Kaula.
Not as advanced.
Just as one who burned.
And lived.
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