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The Hindu Yogi Science of Breath: Magical Antiquarian, A Weiser Books Collection
The Hindu Yogi Science of Breath: Magical Antiquarian, A Weiser Books Collection
The Hindu Yogi Science of Breath: Magical Antiquarian, A Weiser Books Collection
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The Hindu Yogi Science of Breath: Magical Antiquarian, A Weiser Books Collection

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Master of modern occultism, Lon Milo DuQuette, (author of Enochian Vision Magick and The Magick of Aleister Crowley) introduces the newest Weiser Books Collection – The Magical Antiquarian Curiosity Shoppe. Culled from material long unavailable to the general public, DuQuette curates this essential new digital library with the eye of a scholar and the insight of an initiate.

"It's as natural as breathing." How many times have we heard that? The irony is that the way most of us breath is far from natural. In fact, our unnatural and labored breathing habits are often the source of other physical and mental unpleasantness. Over and above the health benefits that proper breathing practices can bring our lives, it can also be the key to magical powers and mystical ecstacies. Yogi Ramacharaka teaches the HIndu Yogi technique of breath.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 1, 2012
ISBN9781619400498
The Hindu Yogi Science of Breath: Magical Antiquarian, A Weiser Books Collection
Author

William Walker Atkinson

William Walker Atkinson (1862 – 1932) was a noted occultist and pioneer of the New Thought Movement. He wrote extensively throughout his lifetime, often using various psydonyms. He is widely credited with writing The Kybalion and was the founder of the Yogi Publication Society.

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    The Hindu Yogi Science of Breath - William Walker Atkinson

    Introduction

    KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL

    For mind and body alike there is no purgative like

    Pranayama, no purgative like Pranayama.

    For mind, for body, for mind and body alike-

    alike!-there is, there is, there is no purgative, no

    purgative like Pranayama-Pranayama!-Prana-

    yama! yea, for mind and body alike there is no

    purgative, no purgative, no purgative (for mind

    and body alike!) no purgative, purgative, purgative

    like Pranayama, no purgative for mind and body

    alike, like Pranayama, like Pranayama, like

    Prana-Prana-Prana-Prana-pranayama!

    -Pranayama!

    AMEN

    ALEISTER CROWLEY – THE BOOK OF LIES

    In 1966 I graduated from high school in Columbus, Nebraska, and immediately returned to Southern California, my birthplace and the place that had been my home for the first seven years of this incarnation. It was an exciting time to be young and alive. I was a fledging musician and songwriter, and the Los Angeles area (along with San Francisco) was at the time the mecca for political activism (the war in Vietnam was violently polarizing the country), music, and the revolution in human consciousness we now refer to as the psychedelic ‘60s.

    My brother, Marc, who is six years older than I, had also moved back from Nebraska and was busying himself with guns, motorcycles, marijuana, and cool music. I moved in for a few months with Marc and his wife in Costa Mesa while I sang illegally (I was underage) in saloons, involved myself in the shenanigans of the local Students for a Democratic Society, and pretended to study acting at Orange Coast College. It seemed life could not get more colorful, interesting, or hip.

    Throughout my high school years I had avoided completely the kegger parties and alcohol abuse that was enthusiastically embraced by my teenage and so-to-be-cannon-fodder peers. I thought drinking was unhealthy, dangerous, and stupid. But once back in California, I had no compunction whatsoever about experimenting with the various mind-expanding substances I had been reading so much about since the early ‘60s: marijuana, peyote, mushrooms, and LSD. I did not consider these to be recreational drugs, but rather true sacraments—mystic Eucharists—doors to altered states of consciousness such as those experienced by mystics, shamans, and holy people since the dawn of consciousness. In other words, I was serious about becoming a holy man.

    One dramatic result of my regular and systematic experimentation with psychedelic substances was a heightened sensitivity to the effects of light, sound, and taste. I became acutely aware of what I did to and what I put into my body. I would often fast for twelve hours or more before ingesting psilocybin mushrooms or LSD and nurse a cup of weak tea during the session. I recall after a lengthy and particularly profound trip my body told me in no uncertain terms, I'm now hungry! I made my way to a local hamburger joint and ordered my usual cheeseburger. I must have still been pretty high because when I bit into that pink and greasy slab of animal flesh, all my senses, indeed, every cell of my body, recoiled in horrified revulsion.

    It was shortly after the nightmare at Burgertown that Marc introduced me to two little books written at the turn of the twentieth century. The first was called The Hindu Yogi Practical Water Cure by Yogi Ramacharaka. It was a real eye-opener. As I wrote in the opening words of my book Angels, Demons, and Gods of the New Millennium,¹ after reading that tiny book I immediately turned vegetarian and embarked upon a frantic quest for a high colonic.

    The second book was The Hindu Yogi Science of Breath: A Complete Manual of the Oriental Breathing Philosophy of Physical, Mental, Psychic and Spiritual Development, a work that remains in my opinion one of the finest introductions to the practice of Pranayama (breath control) ever written.

    These two works introduced me to Yogi Ramacharaka, and in the next few years Yogi Ramacharaka would gently induct me into another world and another life. I was so taken with this man's avuncular wisdom and writing style that I read everything I could find by him. He wrote in such a casual and straightforward manner; so reasonable and logical; it was if I were merely relearning commonsense theories and techniques that should be common knowledge and conventional wisdom to everyone.

    As my studies evolved and I became familiar with the life and works of other great Yogis of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Paramahansa Yogananda, Sri Ramakrishna, and Swami Vivekananda, I searched in vain for clues as to the background and identity of my beloved Yogi Ramacharaka. On the bookstore shelves his works were nearly all surrounded by a body of small and similarly bound texts written by others of the New Thought movement of the early twentieth century: Theron Q. Dumont, Magus Incognito, Swami Bhakta Vishita, Theodore Sheldon, Swami Panchadasi, and William Walker Atkinson. As I would eventually discover, they were all William Walker Atkinson (1862–1932), a Pennsylvania (and later Chicago) attorney and pioneer of the New Thought movement.

    For whatever reasons Atkinson chose to publish his Oriental Occultism titles under pseudonyms, and his Yogi Ramacharaka titles are usually found in the form of sequential monographs along the lines of a correspondence course. This makes them eminently easy to digest and master, especially for a beginning student of the subject. They were my introduction to oriental occultism and gave me a firm foundation for what would be my life work and my enduring spiritual passion.

    I hope you will enjoy this Yogi Ramacharaka classic as much as I first did forty-five years ago and be edified and enriched by its wisdom, its wit, and its seamlessly readable introduction to the important subject of Pranayama—The Science of Breath.

    LON MILO DUQUETTE

    COSTA MESA, CA, 2012


    1 Lon Milo DuQuette. Angels Demons, & Gods of the New Millennium (York Beach, ME: Weiser Books, 1997).

    CHAPTER I

    SALAAM

    The Western student is apt to be somewhat confused in his ideas regarding the Yogis and their philosophy and practice. Travelers to India have written great tales about the hordes of fakirs, mendicants and mountebanks who infest the great roads of India and the streets of its cities, and who impudently claim the title Yogi. The Western student is scarcely to be blamed for thinking of the typical Yogi as an emaciated, fanatical, dirty, ignorant Hindu, who either sits in a fixed posture until his body becomes ossified, or else holds his arm up in the air until it becomes stiff and withered and forever after remains in that position, or perhaps clenches his fist and holds it tight until his fingernails grow through the palms of his hands. That these people exist is true, but their claim to the title Yogi seems as absurd to the true Yogi as does the claim to the title Doctor on the part of the man who pares one's corns seem to the eminent surgeon, or as does the title

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