Can we practice the methods of channels, winds, and drops (nāḍī-prāṇa-bindhu)? In Tibetan regions, many monastics and some lay practitioners are still able to engage in these practices because they have access to qualified teachers, and their environment is very secluded and pure.
Tibetan regions are genuinely far more secluded and less distracting than Han Chinese areas or the United States. We often joke that over there, apart from yaks, there is only yak dung; apart from blue skies, there are white clouds and green grass. People are simple-hearted, and they do not spend every day scrolling through social media feeds, so the environment is very conducive to spiritual practice. Of course, things are changing now, as Tibetans have also begun using smartphones.
Channels-and-winds practices, such as visualizing the central channel, requires a great deal of time and strong meditative stability. Yet in Chinese Buddhist regions today, people spend their days glued to their phones, their minds constantly disturbed by endless affairs and activities, making it almost impossible to cultivate genuine meditative concentration.
Some people spend three years trying to visualize the central channel and still cannot form a clear image of it. Some do not even understand what “visualization” actually is or how it is to be specifically applied in practice. The reason is simply that they devote far too little time to contemplative meditative cultivation. Today they practice visualization for a few minutes, tomorrow for another few minutes; it appears as though they have practiced for three years, but in reality, the total time spent in actual visualization is very little. Far more time is wasted on trivial matters filled with discrimination and conceptual proliferation. Under such conditions, not only is it difficult to clearly visualize the central channel, it is even harder to guide the winds into the central channel.
Moreover, channel-and-wind practices can easily lead to serious problems. For example, when guiding the winds into the central channel, the heart chakra (also called the Dharma wheel) has eight subsidiary channels, and there are certain channels into which the winds must never enter. If the winds enter them, it is called “the wind entering the heart channels,” and in the end the person may go insane.
I once personally witnessed such a case. Someone went to see one of my teachers, saying that his chest pain was unbearable. He begged the teacher to drive a huge, sharp vajra into his heart.
These practices can very easily go wrong. Therefore, if one wishes to engage in such practices, one generally requires guidance from someone with genuine experience in these methods, and one’s foundations must be extremely solid. Those kind of practitioners must have completed the Five Preliminary Practices very well, and their discipline (śīla) must be very pure. Otherwise, the winds can easily move chaotically through the channels. If they enter heart channels they should not enter, the practitioner may become mentally unstable or even insane.
For us Han Chinese, who has the merit and good fortune to follow great masters all day long? Even living in Tibetan regions is very difficult, and most of us have been raised in comfort and cannot endure hardship at all. So it is not that we absolutely cannot practice such methods, but comparatively speaking, it is extremely difficult because the conditions are not favorable.
There are also many great Tibetan Buddhist masters in America and Europe, yet they rarely teach channel-and-wind practices. Most of them primarily teach the study and contemplation of Madhyamaka, methods related to Mahāmudrā experience, or direct entry into Dzogchen (Great Perfection). Therefore, for modern people, such practices carry certain difficulties. But this is not to say they cannot be practiced. If you have a qualified guru, genuine determination, favorable conditions, and freedom from worries about livelihood, then there is no problem.
Practicing channels and winds can bring tremendous bliss. Once one reaches a certain stage, the entire body feels filled with joy and delight, and various supernatural powers (siddhis) may also arise—something especially capable of astonishing people. In particular, there is the “Inner Heat” (tummo) practiced by the Venerable Milarepa, also known as the Mahāmudrā of Bliss and Emptiness.
To ordinary people, it appears that Milarepa practiced in the mountains under unbearable hardship, even to the point that green moss seemed to grow over his body. But in reality, he was not suffering at all. Once tummo reaches a certain level, the whole body becomes warm and blissful beyond description. By contrast, we spend our days rushing about in cities, worrying endlessly, struggling through all kinds of hardships in life, tormented by anger and desire until we scarcely resemble either humans or ghosts—that is the real suffering.
So when we look at Milarepa, we think he suffered greatly; when Milarepa looks at us, he would probably think we are the ones truly suffering. Certainly, one side must be genuinely miserable. In truth, Milarepa was not suffering at all. The Mahāmudrā of Bliss and Emptiness is extremely blissful and comfortable once practiced successfully. However, the threshold for this path is extraordinarily high. For ordinary modern practitioners, this method may simply be too difficult.
—Excerpted and compiled from The Relationship Between Buddhist Theory and Practice
This article is a preliminary translation draft and has not yet been reviewed or proofread by the speaker.
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