Into the depths

Sat down with a very traditional Brahmin yesterday to talk about Ayurveda, the venerable Southasian medical system, literally 'knowledge of life.' I had a list of questions including one on the politics surrounding Ayurveda in Nepal (the traditional family practitioners butting heads with the more academic, certified ones). But as soon I met this humble, smiling, soft-spoken man, I changed my tack. He was disarmingly open, saying not a word as we seated ourselves and made noises of introduction, but smiling a slight toothy smile that an impatient New Yorker would dismiss as idiotic. But here was a man rich with inner resources cultivated over a lifetime of religious observances, fasting, meditation, and puja (worship). When he did speak it was clear that, like my teacher Dr. Vasant Lad at the Ayurvedic Institute in New Mexico, Dr. Kashi Raj Subhedi embodied Ayurveda. A container molded through long use to fit perfectly its content.
Dinesh had contributed a couple of questions to our list, and was eager for me to ask guru-ji (as he called Dr. Subhedi) about the fundamentals of Ayurveda. I was reluctant, knowing what an enormous topic this is, and feeling that I had at least a passing acquaintance with the philosophical roots of this healing tradition. But Dinesh opened with this question. I struggled to comprehend the Brahmin's softly-garbled, old-fashioned Nepali, but caught the gist of his beautiful and succinct answer. Asked what the fundamental principle of Ayurved is--the root of all knowledge about life, essentially--he spoke of the oneness of inner and outer worlds, the old doctrine of "As above, so below." Just as the wind blows, pushing clouds and carrying scents, so does the wind within the body (Vayu) initate movement and carry signals of communication. Outside, the Sun, representative of fire, provides the heat and light energy that all life needs. Likewise, our fire within (Agni) allows for transformation of one substance into another, as matter into energy when we digest, and governs our metabolism. Too much solar energy in the outside world and we have drying, burning, a desert. Internally, a hyperactive metabolism dries up the juices of life, scorches our delicate membranes with acidic secretions, burns up our lifespan like a candle lit from both ends. This solar/fiery force is counterbalanced by cool, moistening, lunar energy, the earth's watery majority. Water nourishes, soothes, buffers a landscape against high winds and scorching sun. In the microcosm, water (Jal) performs the same role, irrigating our tissues with nourishment. But this force too can be destructive, floodwaters suffocating and overwhelming the capacity of the land to absorb them. Too much water in the body leads to stagnation; water needs air to keep it moving and fire to warm it up and keep it in check.
The Brahmin's message, from what I understood, was not just that such a correspondence exists, but that these worlds are coterminous. There can be no disturbance to the outer world without an effect on the body; conversely, the way we live our individual lives impacts our surroundings, our 'environment.'
The promise of Ayurved is to bring balance and thus health to both outer and inner worlds, but first we must remember that we are but an encapsulation of the world, it a reflection of us. The rest of Ayurveda, the six tastes and seven dhatus, the three doshas and three malas and 20 gunas, all this is simply a set of tools to implement this balancing.

I was fascinated with the guru's lucid grasp of Ayurvedic cosmology, and my thoughts turned to another esoteric branch of this great tree, the preparation and use of mineral preparations, bhasmas. Dr. Subhedi talked of the arduous preparation of these potent medicines, using alchemical terms like 'slaying' the metal and 'cleansing' it. Indeed, bhasmas fall under the alchemical tradition which merged with Ayurveda centuries ago in common pursuit of longevity and self-realization. This is a controversial topic, as rasa shastra (Vedic alchemy) makes use of certain forms of mercury, which is revered as the Semen of Shiva. Potent and dangerous in and of itself, this glistening quicksilver needs stabilization in the form of union with the Ovum of Parvati, sulphur. Alchemical processing involves various samskaras whose upshot is to fuse the two, Mercury and Sulphur, into a stable form (Mercury sulfide, chemically speaking). This black powder, called Kajjali, is chemically inert and hence non-toxic, if correctly prepared, and it is considered a vehicle for carrying other medicines deep into the body and a means of potentizing them.
Dr. Subhedi didn't get into all of this; he just made reference to it en route to discussing the properties of various of the bhasmas. He spoke of Suvarna Bhasma, finely powdered gold; Moti bhasma, oxidized pearl; Tamra Bhasma, copper ash; Krisna Abhrak Bhasma, a preparation of black mica; and others. As he explained, all these elements are present in our bodies as in the earth; bhasmas are powerful because work directly on the level of our elemental composition. Gold bhasma is like a concentrated form of solar energy: hot, stimulating, nourishing in the right quantity. It supports immunity and strengthens the heart. Pearl bhasma is like the moon, or like milk, sweet and cool and nourishing. It counters inflammation and aids in anabolic growth. Tamra, copper, is hot and sharp, with a scraping action. It is used in inflammation/enlargement of the liver, amongst other disorders. And abhrak, mica, a renknowned tonic for the respiratory system, considered beneficial in any disease when mixed with the right herbs.

After a couple hours Dr. Subhedi got up to do his nightly puja, a 2 hour affair. Dinesh and I lingered for a while over cups of tea and then slipped out into a surprisingly peaceful night in a quiet corner of Kathmandu. We stopped at a momo shop for a snack, talking of our next step: to find the few remaining alchemists in Nepal, and learn what we can of that strange art, that beautiful science.