Emptiness: Mantra Philosophy

1 month ago By Yogi Anoop

Origination from Emptiness: The Philosophy of Mantra, Heartbeat, and Rest

Whether it is a mantra or the heartbeat—both of their journeys begin from emptiness. Here, emptiness does not mean absolute nothingness or absence; rather, it means rest. It is that space where movement pauses before taking birth. Consider the heartbeat itself—if, on average, it beats seventy-two times in a minute, then the same number of times it also rests. Between each beat there is a subtle rest, an extremely momentary pause, where the heart rebalances itself. If that stopping were not there, the beating would not be possible at all. Seen from this perspective, the birth of the heartbeat itself arises from rest—first resting, then pulsation.

The same principle functions in mantra as well. If one observes the one hundred and eight beads of a mala carefully, an equal number of empty spaces are also present there. As many beads, so many emptinesses (empty spaces). But the attention of the mantra practitioner usually remains fixed on the beads alone; emptiness and rest remain unseen. Whereas, in reality, the practice of mantra matures not through words, but through the silence and pause between words.

When a practitioner uses the mala with the fingers during mantra-japa, the pronunciation of the mantra occurs in an extremely brief moment, but the stopping of the fingers—the pause near that bead—takes more time. That stopping, that pause, that space alone is the real center of the practice. Words are merely indicators; rest is their soul.

To understand this with a simple example—suppose the seed mantra “Ram” is one bead. The empty space between two beads is the rest of the mind. After the pronunciation of the word “Ram,” where the mind stops, that itself is emptiness. That very place is ‘nyāsa.’ The mind connects the word to the bead, and as soon as the word ends, it threads the peace that arises into the emptiness between two beads. In this way, the practitioner’s mind experiences movement once—“Ram”—and rest, that is comfort, once—emptiness, voidness.

This process is not merely mantra recitation; it is making the mind aware of both movement and rest. If the mind remains entangled only in the word, it becomes tired; if it descends into the wordless state after the word, it also experiences rest. This should be the very foundation of the mantra principle—greater importance to emptiness than to the word, greater value to silence than to sound, so that in memory the experience of the wordless after words also remains.

Generally, the mind keeps itself bound through words, and through those same words it continues to extract emotional flavors. It tries to remain pleased within that. It begins to feel that this itself is the fundamental source of happiness, but to experience a wordless state seems almost unimaginable to it.

When in reality the core purpose of mantra is not to bind the mind in words, but to introduce it to rest while using words. When it experiences rest, then abandoning words becomes very simple. Whereas an ordinary person tries throughout life to stop the mind but does not succeed, because the mind cannot be taught to be stopped—since in stopping, energy is unnecessarily expended. What has to be taught is rest to the mind. Through this, the mind attains peace in two ways: one, through words it receives emotions; second, through the wordless and soundless medium, it experiences a state free of emotion.

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