Jesus called me from the Tibetan ashram

Jesus was there, but He did not impose Himself on me. I saw His gaze, of infinite love, full of pain, resting upon me. With all His presence, He seemed to be saying: "My child, how much longer will you make Me wait?"

The story begins around 1968 when I was 20 years old. After finishing my studies, I began to delve into research in the field of nuclear chemistry.

In France, it was a very turbulent time of cultural revolution. It fuelled opposition against every institution, especially the Church. All the postmodernist philosophers were intensely attacking the Church and the Christian vision of humanity and the world. Every day, I faced criticism directed against my faith, and I found it increasingly difficult to defend myself. One of the slogans reiterated in 1968 was: "To be free, you must leave the Church and religious practice." For a while, I managed to resist it, but eventually, I gave in.
For me, however, it wasn’t just about religion but also about my living, personal faith. I had truly encountered Jesus and had been filled with His love. Yet, I broke the covenant with Him. I’m not proud of it, but the ideological pressure was so intense that I cracked. I distinctly remember that when I decided I would no longer go to Holy Mass, I felt terrible about that decision. Yet, it seemed to me at the time that this was the price I had to pay to live a truly authentic life. I threw myself into all the utopias of the era. However, I couldn’t find anything to replace what I had abandoned. A deep emptiness resided within me. I felt that everything I was engaging with lacked profound meaning.

After several months, I resumed spiritual searching. But I didn’t turn back towards Christianity. Returning to the Church felt impossible.

One of the slogans repeated in 1968 stated: "To be free, one must leave the Church and religious practice." For a time, I managed to resist this idea, but eventually, I gave in.

Guru Maharishi

It was the time when gurus from India were coming to Europe. One evening, I saw a large poster. On it was an elderly man with long hair, dressed in a white sari. His name was Maharishi Mahesh Yogi – the future guru of the Beatles. Maharishi was a teacher of Transcendental Meditation, so I began practising this Eastern meditation technique and very quickly reached quite peculiar results. Usually, it was said that one could meditate for 20 minutes twice a day, but as I wanted to know where this would lead me, I meditated for half an hour twice a day, then for an hour twice a day, and later three to four times a day for an hour each time.

After some time, I felt that I was in a strange state. It turned out that I was having difficulties managing the laboratory for which I was responsible. And since it was a nuclear physics laboratory, one had to be careful not to make any foolish mistakes. The professor I was working with at the time, knowing about my problems, kindly suggested that I take some time off. This was how I found myself close to Maharishi. I began my search along a new path. I thought it would lead me to God. I asked the guru if I could stay with him. He told me to first finish and defend my doctorate and then come to him.

The guru also surrounded himself with scientists to lend credibility to Transcendental Meditation. I did exactly as the guru instructed. When I returned, I asked Maharishi if I could become a Brahmachari. This is a Hindu order to which the guru belonged. After some consideration, the guru agreed for me to become his student. It must be noted that a guru has only one disciple. The student wakes up before the guru, goes to bed later, and organises everything around him. The guru entrusts the student with the most advanced techniques.

Accompanying Maharishi on all his travels, I circled the globe around three times, I believe. We were in Africa, North America, South America – everywhere. But it wasn’t tourism. Students are not interested in what’s happening around them. The aim of a student is to become entirely like their teacher.

In addition to travelling the world, over those three years I spent a lot of time in ashrams (Hindu monasteries) in the high Himalayas, on the border of Tibet, in places where one would hardly find any Europeans. There, the guru left pandits (Hindu scholars) at my disposal, whom I could ask questions. They were meant to introduce me to all the mysteries of Hinduism. In this way, I was able to study Hinduism and Buddhism simultaneously for long months. Above all, I also practised yoga techniques far more advanced than what is referred to as yoga in Europe.

Naturalistic Mysticism

What is naturalistic mysticism, the kind to which Hinduism or Buddhism leads? In the vision of the world it presents, there is no distinction between the Creator and creation. Hindus and Buddhists have not received the revelation of God as Creator, as the transcendent God. They have no concept of a personal God. In fact, one cannot speak of "God" in these religions but rather of "divinity." Divinity, in their understanding, is an impersonal energy that emanates from everything around us. For them, everything that exists in the world contains this element of divinity in its very nature. Nature exists because there is an element of divinity within it.

I bear witness to Jesus' love for each one of us, a love stronger than all our betrayals.

In this naturalistic mysticism, the notion of the person is not something real; we are all merely under the impression that we are separate individuals. When we say "I," it is considered an illusion. There is an analogy that explains this vision. On the ocean, when the wind blows, waves rise. Each wave is merely a part of the ocean that has lifted. There is no real distinction between the wave and the ocean. And even if a droplet of water is lifted by the wind above the ocean and, for a brief moment, has the illusion of an individual existence, it quickly falls back into the ocean and becomes part of the whole again.

The goal of all the practices I engaged in was to reconnect with the world. For, according to this belief, we are all like individual waves that must return to the ocean. And when we return to the ocean, we lose the illusion of the personal “self.”

The Technique of Returning to Unity

How, according to naturalistic mysticism, can one return to unity with the world? Let me use an analogy from the realm of physics. We know that between a negative and positive pole, it is possible to generate a certain tension, and this force can be the source of work. If these two poles are connected, they neutralise each other, and then nothing further can be achieved.

Imagine that within this divine energy, two poles can be distinguished: heavenly energy – like, for example, the sun – and earthly energy. Everything visible, the multiplicity of beings: stones, plants, animals, humans, emerges from the tension between these two energies. All it would take is to unite these two poles, and then the illusion would vanish. Human beings too would dissolve into the divine whole.

Standing on the ground, a person is in contact with the Earth's energy, while the crown of their head touches the energy of the heavens. The entire work of yoga therefore involves raising earthly energy through the body to the crown of the head. If earthly energy connects with heavenly energy, the illusion of individual personhood fades away.

Of course, there are various forms of yoga, but all share the same ultimate goal.

The technique and goal of yoga

In Hinduism, it is not about energy from the realm of physics, but rather energy from the realm of occultism. The word "occultism" refers to types of energy that cannot be measured or weighed. I became convinced of their existence through the effects I experienced. The earth's energy is called kundalini. It is depicted as a small serpent. Kundalini energy rises through occult channels, which do not belong to the physical body. There are three primary channels of occult energy flow, which intersect seven times. At each of these intersection points, there is a chakra. It functions like an energy pump that draws energy from below and raises it upward. There are seven chakras located along the spine. This is why hatha yoga suggests various ways of bending the spine to activate the energy pumps and move the energy from below upwards.

In addition to physical exercises, yoga also recommends breathing exercises known as pranayama. Their specific goal is the same: to elevate the energy upwards. For instance, breathing very rapidly, leading to hyperventilation, followed by abruptly stopping breathing, causing hypoventilation. This creates an inner void that facilitates the rising of energy. The third aspect of yoga involves concentration techniques. Mantras are repeated, which are specially chosen sounds designed to resonate with the chakras. Everything revolves around the chakras – body movements, breathing, as well as visual and auditory concentration.

For three years, I spent a significant amount of time in ashrams (Hindu monasteries) located deep in the high Himalayas, near the border of Tibet — places where one rarely encounters Europeans.

Renouncing Suffering and Love

In my pursuit of a deeper spiritual reality, I dedicated countless days and nights to mastering intricate techniques aimed at guiding the kundalini energy to the crown of my head – a state referred to variously as samadhi, nirvana, moksha, or satori, depending on the tradition. I had the privilege of experiencing this state multiple times, and yet I found it remarkably difficult to articulate its essence. Why? Because, in those moments, I was no longer present. The "me" – the personal, conscious observer – had simply vanished.

This state is defined by the disappearance of the personal self, the “I” that narrates my experiences here and now. To enter this realm of consciousness is, paradoxically, to become unified with everything while also ceasing to exist as a distinct individual. It is a peculiar paradox: a state without personal identity that paradoxically delivers a sense of wholeness and interconnectedness. Its allure lies in its promise of freedom, a relief from the burdens of suffering. After all, without an “I,” no one remains to bear the weight of pain.

When we wrestle with life’s hardships, we inevitably frame them in personal terms: “I am suffering,” “I have anxiety,” “I am depressed,” “I cannot bear this anymore.” But in this transcendence, where the “I” dissolves, suffering is rendered powerless; it ceases to exist, because the subject of suffering – the self – has been annihilated.

To help explain this further, I recall the teachings of the Buddha, who famously declared, “Life is suffering.” His solution? Identify the source of suffering as our insatiable desires, longings that inevitably remain unfulfilled. To free oneself from suffering, Buddha urged us to forsake desire. Yet this solution reveals a harsh reality: we cannot simply stop desiring, for desire is intricately woven into human existence. It lives at the core of who we are. Hence, Buddha offered an alternative – to extinguish the “I,” the self that desires, and thus be liberated from suffering altogether.

For a time, I did find a kind of exhilaration in this state of void and absence. It was intoxicating, even peaceful. But, like the distant toll of a bell, a longing began to stir within me. I recognised, with growing clarity, that the absence of the “I” meant not only the death of the self who suffers but also the death of the self who loves. Without a “me,” there was no one to reach out toward another; no self existed to give or receive love in its rich, human form.

I realised then that this naturalist path, while capable of delivering me from pain, demanded a steep price – my capacity for love. Achieving liberation from suffering came at the cost of renouncing the deepest and most beautiful relationship we can share as human beings. Love, after all, thrives in the dynamic interplay between “I” and “you,” in the opening of hearts to one another, in the reciprocal gift and reception of self. To choose a life without suffering was, in essence, to forsake the very essence of love – a price too heavy for me to accept.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, I arrived at a crossroads. I understood that one must choose: a life free from suffering, devoid of love, or a life rich with the capacity to love deeply, even at the price of enduring pain.

For me, love – true, sacrificial, and expansive love – was worth the cost. And so, I made my choice, stepping away from the path of detachment and embracing the vulnerability, hope, and joy of a life where love and suffering coexist. Through this decision, I found not just myself, but the One who called me to love, and to whom I yearn to give everything.

In the naturalistic mysticism of Hinduism, the individual is not considered to be a true reality. It is believed that we merely have the perception of being distinct individuals. When we say "I," it is regarded as an illusion.

Two Different Paths

Jesus proposes a completely different path. This path involves courageously going through life, carrying our cross, and knowing that He carries it with us. We believe that the final word will belong to love, that love is not an illusion, but on the contrary, it is the ultimate purpose of our life. The Christian path and the Buddhist path differ radically – they cannot be reconciled. On the path proposed by Buddha (which consists of around twelve steps), I was greatly surprised to discover that the fifth step involves moving beyond love. Buddha taught that both hatred and love perpetuate illusion. If I hate someone, I say, "I hate him," thereby sustaining the illusion that "I" truly exist. Similarly, when I love someone and declare, "I desire him to be with me," I am again sustaining that illusion. Hence, Buddha believed that love is an illusion and that it must be overcome.

In contrast, St John offers the only definition of God that we find in the Bible: "God is love" (1 John 4:8). On one hand, St John teaches that God is love, while on the other, Buddha claims that love is an illusion. St John proclaimed, "Whoever loves knows God" (1 John 4:7), but Buddha argued, "Whoever loves lives in illusion."

Between these two paths, we must make a choice.

The Death of Buddha and the Death of Jesus

During my journey of conversion, one particular image had a profound impact on me: the stark contrast between Buddha's death and Jesus' death. When Buddha was ill, he gathered his disciples, gave them final instructions, concentrated all his energy into one of his chakras, and passed away. He seemingly withdrew entirely into himself.

Jesus, on the other hand, during His death, was the complete opposite of focused on Himself. He was entirely "poured out," opened completely, in a manner so absolute that no greater surrender is possible. He said: "Come to Me, all you who are thirsty, and drink" (cf. Isaiah 55:1). "Streams of living water will flow from within him" (John 7:38) – referring to the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Love. Out of pure love, Jesus opened Himself to the point of total self-giving, to being "torn apart." That open source has never, and will never, cease to flow.

Returning to Christ

In the group surrounding the guru, there came a time when health issues arose among some members. The guru brought in doctors from various countries, among them a French doctor. This man was a Christian. While waiting to meet with the guru, the doctor struck up a conversation with me. I didn’t often get the opportunity to speak French, as most communication among those around the guru was in English.

During our conversation, he suddenly asked me if I was baptised. I confirmed that I was. Then he posed another question: "And today, who is Jesus for you?"

What happened next is incredibly difficult to put into words. I fell to my knees and knelt there for a long time, though I cannot say how long. When I opened my eyes, no one was around me, and night had fallen.

I felt with absolute certainty that Jesus was present. It was as if the words spoken by that man had rekindled a small spark within me. Jesus was there – the whole time – but He was never imposing.

I saw Jesus’ gaze of infinite love, filled with sorrow, resting upon me. His presence seemed to say with every fibre of His being: "My child, how much longer will you make Me wait?" I began to weep, for I felt with certainty that everything had been forgiven – even before I had asked for forgiveness. In that gaze, there was no trace of condemnation, only infinite love and infinite sorrow.

I wept tears of joy because I had found my Lord. I had found the One I had searched for at the ends of the earth – only to discover that He had been so close all along. I realised that He had never abandoned me. All the while, He had stayed discreetly in the background, simply because I had chosen to walk on my own. Just as a lover follows his beloved, He had waited for me.

I wept also because I understood that I had caused Love to suffer. I experienced deep sorrow. This conversion was entirely God’s doing, not my own.

Years have passed since then, yet I still live on the grace of that moment. In that instant, I understood that I was not where I belonged, in that ashram at the centre of Hinduism. I wanted to leave; however, it isn’t so simple to depart from an ashram, especially as the guru’s disciple. But the Lord opened all the doors for me, and within 24 hours, I left the ashram for good.

I found myself back in Europe with nothing but a small suitcase containing a few documents and some undergarments. Nothing more. Yet I had everything I had been searching for. I had the most important thing: I had found my faith; I had found my Lord.

Two Different Paths

Between these two paths, we must make a choice.

The Death of Buddha and the Death of Jesus

Return to Christ

It happened that within the group surrounding the guru, certain health problems arose. The guru then brought in doctors from various countries, among them a certain doctor from France. This man was a Christian. While waiting for a meeting with the guru, he spoke with me. It wasn’t every day that I had the chance to converse in French, as around the guru everyone spoke English. Suddenly, during the conversation, he asked me if I was baptised. I confirmed. And then he asked me the question: “And today, who is Jesus for you?”

What happened next is very difficult to describe in words. I fell to my knees and have no idea how long I remained there. When I opened my eyes, no one was beside me, and it was night. I felt with absolute certainty that Jesus was present. It was as if the words of that man ignited a spark. Jesus was there, but He didn’t impose Himself on me. I saw His gaze – an infinite gaze of love, full of sorrow – resting upon me. His entire presence seemed to be saying: “My child, how much longer will you keep me waiting?”

I began crying because I felt that everything had been forgiven, even before I asked for forgiveness. In His gaze, there was not a shadow of judgement; there was only infinite love and infinite suffering. I cried with joy because I had found my Lord. I found the One I had gone searching for at the ends of the earth, yet was so close all along. I discovered that He had never abandoned me. He had simply kept Himself discreetly nearby, because I had decided I wanted to go my own way – just like a lover quietly following his beloved.

I also cried because I realised I had caused pain to Love itself. I felt profound remorse. This conversion came from God, not from me. It’s been so many years, and I still live in the grace of that conversion. In that moment, I understood that I was not in the right place – this ashram, in the centre of Hinduism. I wanted to leave, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Usually, one doesn’t just abruptly leave an ashram and abandon a guru, especially when one is a disciple. However, God opened all the doors for me, and 24 hours later I definitively left the ashram.

I found myself in Europe. I only had a small suitcase with my documents and a bit of underwear. Nothing else. . . But I had everything I was searching for. I had that which was most important: I had rediscovered my faith, found my Lord.

The Trap of Esotericism

At that time, I was truly converted. I began by going to confession. I attended Holy Mass daily, spent time in Eucharistic Adoration, and prayed the Rosary. In short, I was a young man fully immersed in the life of the Church. Yet I had a problem: I didn’t know how to make sense of my experiences. I needed someone who would listen to me and help me process everything. But who could I share something like this with?

I didn’t have the courage to call my parish priest for this reason. I was afraid, and I made a mistake. One day, I met a group of interesting individuals. They were reading the Gospel and commenting on it very well, or so I thought at the time. Additionally, they spoke about occult energy, chakras, and many other things I had heard about in India. I thought I had found the right place. I didn’t realise I had entered a group from an esoteric school that referenced Christ but was not part of Christianity. It was one of many Rosicrucian schools, deeply steeped in occultism.

“Healing” Spirits

The people in this school knew I had returned from India and had practised many advanced techniques of Hinduism. They were aware that I had everything necessary to become a “magician.” But I wasn’t aware of this. What does it mean to be a “magician” or “wizard”? It means to be able to use occult energy to influence nature, events, or people.

These individuals quickly told me, “God has given you extraordinary gifts, and we’ll help you use them properly.” They asked me to diagnose illnesses with the help of a pendulum. I didn’t need it though; I could already see what was wrong with a patient. I didn’t see this physically with my eyes, but through clairvoyance. I was bewildered.

It was true: I had occult powers but had never previously used them. Hinduism hadn’t taught me to do so, as it involves great danger. But at the esoteric school I’d joined, nobody warned me. Instead, they encouraged me to engage in occult practices, framing them as “therapeutic.”

One day, while I was meditating with closed eyes, I heard a voice calling me. I opened my eyes, but no one was there. I shut my eyes again, and the same thing happened. I became uneasy because these are signs of schizophrenia. I approached the group leader and shared my concerns. He replied: “We didn’t tell you earlier, but given your unique powers, it’s natural that at some point you’d begin working with spirits. You must listen to them and communicate with them.”

Breaking Free from Esotericism

One day, while travelling near Paris, I found a place to attend Mass, as I did daily. During the Eucharist, at the moment the priest raised the Host and pronounced the words “Through Christ, with Christ, in Christ,” I heard the so-called “healing spirit,” supposedly an angel, blaspheming against Jesus’ presence. I was stunned. In that instant, I understood the entire situation.

I went to the sacristy and asked to speak with the priest who had celebrated Mass. I recounted what had happened. The priest told me he was not surprised, as he was a diocesan exorcist. This detail is significant: at the time, I attended daily Mass yet was simultaneously working with spirits. Why did they suddenly reveal themselves during this specific Eucharist? It was the grace and authority of the priest’s role as an exorcist that compelled the spirit to expose its true nature.

I knelt down and asked God for forgiveness for getting entangled in such a trap, albeit unwittingly. The path back was not easy. Severing ties with the spirits was a true battle. It was the most humiliating and darkest period of my life. However, when God freed me a second time and again allowed me to experience His mercy, I realised the importance of being vigilant and cautious.

Christ Calls

In the meantime, I felt a call to the priesthood. This calling had already been stirring within me for some time, though it had been buried deep. I had always had the “virus” of religious life within me. Although I chose the wrong monasteries – true – the vocation itself was real. Above all, I had chosen the wrong master; I had turned away from my true Master, Jesus. But He granted me a great grace: I was able to study philosophy and theology for nearly ten years and even earned a doctorate in philosophy.

I needed this time to organise everything I had experienced. Moreover, given my background, the Church asked me to continue addressing these topics and warn others through scholarly work. Initially, I refrained from sharing my personal testimony. But one day, my spiritual director said, “You can no longer stay silent. There are too many young people who go through experiences like yours and who don’t have the fortune you had. You must speak; you must bear witness to what God has done for you.”

Thus, today I testify to Christ’s love for each of us – a love stronger than all our betrayals. Nothing can separate us from the love of God as revealed in Christ. All of us who have been baptised are members of His Body. He poured out His blood for us, and He will never abandon us. Even if we fall to the lowest depths, one look toward Him is enough for Him to lean down, lift us up, and embrace us. He gives us the living water of His Spirit and nourishes us with the Bread of Life.

Father Joseph Marie Verlinde

Edited by Fr Anthony Wood