The Spirit of Spain: Shaped by Saints

Dharmadevi and I began our pilgrimage to Spain with the European Kriyaban retreat in Ávila. What a perfect way to start, for the real pilgrimage is always within. As Paramhansa Yogananda said, "The spine and brain are the altars of God.” Kriya Yoga helps us realize that our true journey is a beautiful circle, returning us to our home in God.

We were reminded of this inner voyage by a beautiful saying of Anandamayi Ma. When a devotee traveled a great distance to see her, she responded: "You haven't gone anywhere. The world traveled around you." And one of my favorite reminders of this inner journey is from Nayaswami Ananta. When someone lamented to him how long the spiritual path was, he simply said, “The path isn’t long at all. It’s three feet from the base of the spine to the point between the eyebrows.”

During our Kriya retreat, Nayaswami Jyotish reminded us of the two kinds of breath. There is the outer, physical breath we use in Kriya, and on a deeper level, we practice Kriya through the inner breath, the movement of energy in the spine. Starting our pilgrimage with a focus on inner transformation was perfect. Like Sister Gyanamata, we turned our consciousness inward, praying, "Change not my circumstances, change me." With kriya yoga, this is more than a platitude. It is a divine practice and a science for uplifting our consciousness through divine action (kriya) and attunement to divine grace.

Before this trip, I couldn’t say I ever felt a deep connection to Spain or its culture. My Spanish is “no bueno,” though my Spanglish is fair. But I’m 100% fluent in body language, a gift from my Italian forefathers!  However, it did not take long to feel an inspired connection with the path of Self-realization and the great saints of Spain.

After the retreat, we visited some of the sacred sites of Ávila, where the vibrations of Saint Teresa are beautifully palpable. I was struck to remember that Paramhansa Yogananda compared Saint Teresa to his foremost woman disciple, Sister Gyanamata: "She is a great saint—a great spirit, and that is why she is with God… she has the same characteristics of Saint Teresa [of Ávila]."

Inside Saint Teresa’s convent, where she lived for many years, her phrase is on the wall: "Solo Dios, Basta." This is essentially the same mantra that Sister Gyanamata lived by: “God Alone.”

Our visit coincided with the annual "Medieval Festival," a celebration of the peaceful coexistence of Christians, Jews, and Muslims. The streets were filled with people in costumes, swords, skulls, and flowing robes, and hundreds of vendors selling food, art, and clothing. We walked through the beautiful walled city, and I was greeted by a man in costume with a sword who looked at me and said, “Está bien, no?” I smiled and used 90% of my Spanish to respond, “¡Muy bien!”

After an hour, surrounded by the lively crowd, I felt a bit overwhelmed. “Where is Saint Teresa amidst all this?” I wondered. Our sojourn ended at the chapel built right next to Saint Teresa’s birthplace. As we stepped into the cathedral and the smaller chapel, the air shifted. A complete and beautiful silence filled the space. Most visitors would simply take a picture or two and leave, but our small group was able to sit and meditate. What pure, sweet vibrations!

I was reminded of Swami Kriyananda's experience meditating in Assisi. Feeling the sweet vibrations of Saint Francis, he inwardly asked, "How is it possible to be so utterly sweet?" The answer that came to him was: "By never judging anyone; by being from one's heart a brother or a sister to all; by complete humility—but above all, by never judging." Similarly, while meditating on Saint Teresa, I felt her rare blend of sweetness and strength. How does one become so sweet and strong? I thought to myself. The answer came: through her purity and complete self-offering. In short, her purpose, purity, and power came from "Solo Dios, Basta"—or as Sister Gyanamata would say, “God alone!”

 

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The Path of Renunciation

Next, we visited Segovia, where Saint John of the Cross once led a monastery. His body is laid there, along with his cave, where he would commune with Christ and write his inspired works. For me, the most inspiring spot was his cave and the small chapel on the high hill overlooking the town. You could feel his consciousness and the beautiful, positive aspect of renunciation—joy, expansion of consciousness, and transcendence.

In the chapel above his cave, a painting of Christ on the cross reflects his own divine vision. There was also his famous drawing, "The Ascent of Mount Carmel." To Kriyabans, this drawing is a striking comparison to the nadis (nerve channels) of the astral spine, the ida channel on the left, the pingala on the right, and the central path as the sushumna.

Here is a beautiful description of the painting's symbolism:

"In this drawing, St. John of the Cross describes the paths as three routes up the mountain, each representing a different spiritual approach. He detailed these paths in his writings, particularly in The Ascent of Mount Carmel. The path on the left represents the way of worldly attachments and sensuality. This route is labeled "Nada," meaning "nothing," because it is a dead end—the path of trying to find fulfillment in worldly things leads to spiritual emptiness. The path on the right represents the way of spiritual attachments and seeking consolation. This route is also labeled "Nada," highlighting that seeking spiritual comfort and experiences for their own sake, rather than for God alone, is also a form of attachment that must be left behind.

The central path, however, is the way of unconditional detachment and perfect union with God. It is a demanding path of renunciation, of stripping away all things—both worldly and spiritual—to find God alone. This path is also labeled "Nada" because it is through the "nothingness," or the emptying of the self, that one reaches the "all" of God. This is the path of pure faith and love. The repetition of "Nada, nada" on all three paths emphasizes a core tenet of St. John's teaching: any attachment to created things, whether earthly or spiritual, must be abandoned to reach the summit of union with God.

At the summit of the central path, a quote encapsulates the ultimate goal of the journey. The words at the top of the mountain read: "En el Monte, ni nada, ni todo, sino solo Dios" (On the Mount, neither nothing, nor all, but only God). The drawing shows that by surrendering both "nothing" (worldly things) and "all" (spiritual consolations), the soul arrives at its final and only true destination: the presence of God alone."

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A Warrior King's Surrender

Our last stop on the pilgrimage was traveling south to Seville to visit its famous cathedral and castle. In the cathedral lie the bodies of San Fernando (King Ferdinand III of Spain) and his son, Alfonso X. Paramhansa Yogananda said he was a Spanish King, and it seems likely that he was King Ferdinand III. While we meditated outside the chapel where their bodies were laid, I felt an unexpected divine power. Like Christ you could feel him saying through his life, "Thy will, not mine, Lord." Harnessing human will to divine will. 

There is a moving mural in the castle next door that depicts the final moments of San Fernando’s life. He is kneeling, held up on either side by two monks with his arms in a cross and his head bowed. His robe, crown, and swords are laid down. The very last thing he did was take Holy Communion. Meditating by this image and his body, I felt that unexpected divine power. He was a warrior king who would take a Divine Mother statue with him into battle.

The legend of Our Lady of Antigua, a revered mural in Seville Cathedral, tells a remarkable story tied to the city's history. According to tradition, the painting of the Virgin Mary, known as "La Virgen de la Antigua," was a cherished image in a Christian church that was later converted into a mosque during the Moorish rule of Seville. To protect the sacred image from being desecrated, devout Christians carefully bricked it up and concealed it behind a wall. The mural remained hidden for centuries. Later, during the Reconquista, King Ferdinand III of Castile, a deeply pious monarch, received a vision of the Virgin Mary. Following his successful conquest of Seville in 1248, he entered the city's mosque and was miraculously guided to the very wall where the mural had been sealed. He ordered the wall to be taken down, revealing the perfectly preserved image of "Our Lady of Antigua," which became a symbol of the Christian reconquest and has been venerated in the cathedral ever since.

 

Another truly divine experience during our pilgrimage was a traditional flamenco performance featuring a guitarist, singer, and dancer. I was transfixed. The guitarist, the clapper/singer, and the dancer became one being, just as Yogananda says: "Knowing, knower, known as one." In this case, the guitarist, singer, and dancer were one. The melodies, rhythms, and dancing felt like a raga—a melody of divine longing for God. Interestingly, the flamenco guitar, singing, and dance have their roots in the Gypsies who came from India to Spain centuries ago.

I was not expecting to feel such a divine power and resonance in Spain, but the saints of Spain have woven their way into my heart. Here is a poem I wrote at the end of our pilgrimage:

Mi España!

Was it the clapper’s singing?
The flamenco dancer’s inimitable tapping rhythm?
No, it started in Ávila,
where the angel pierced your heart.
That’s where it all began,
throbless heart of the heart’s land.

Your spirit sang
Through the flamenco dancer’s song,
A raga longing for unity,
like Saint John of the cross’ secret intersection
from Swami’s final “anything”
to nada, nada…oh now, everything!

You have captured my heart,
Mi corazón beats to your invisible drum,
The clapper’s spirit sung!

Why?
Because our Kings lived here,
uniting us all to steer
our boat across the ocean of delusion’s roar.
Like San Fernando,
I shall cast off my robe, earthly crowns, swords, and self-definitions galore.
I kneel humbly at your feet:
“Receive me, O Lord!”
And like Alfonso the Wise,
I will expand my kingdom to embrace all lands.

Now I find the true Spain:
land of inner communion with Christ
Our King of all kings,
the final stronghold
Union untold!

So let us clap!
Let us dance!
Let’s sing like none have sung!
Oh, sweet Spain’s song:
No hablo español aquí,
No hablo inglés allí,
Solo Dios,
Solo Dios,
¡Solo Dios, basta, solo Dios!

 

Joy to you!

P.S. During the pilgrimage, it happened to be my birthday, and one of my presents was getting to play soccer (or as they say in Spain, "fútbol") at a local park in Ávila. I told the young boys at the park, "No hablo español. Pero, ¡hablo fútbol!" They smiled, and we had a fun game together.

P.P.S Here is an inspiring video Athul created from our pilgrimage.