The Secret Art of Boabom: Awaken Inner Power Through Defense-Meditation from Ancient TibetMeditation from Ancient Tibet

INTRODUCTION

THE ROOTS of Boabom are lost in time. Its origin is in ancient Tibet, several thousand years before the birth of the Buddha, before the Vedas were written, and before the Chinese Empire even thought to exist. Even though we cannot say about that era that nations or countries existed as we know nations and countries to exist today, we can say that the land of the Himalayas and the high plateau were always a flourishing field for encounters of different cultures and mixtures of races and clans. Among them was one that left a silent inheritance to us, and the time has now come to share it.

The teaching of Boabom is distinguished by its broadmindedness, its depth, and its positive way of looking at life, as well as the consubstantial harmonic relationship that must exist between body and mind, without the restriction and prejudice that religions would later dictate. As such, its Arts are not limited to a certain type of movement or to intricate metaphysical theories; instead their range is practical, from relaxation, breathing, and meditation to defense, dance, philosophy, and much more, with its sole objective to make this life an Art in itself.

I am certain that all of this must come as a surprise to many, mainly those who limit the existence of Tibet to the country of the Buddhist tradition, or to yoga, while relegating any exercise concerning relaxation or forms of defense exclusively to India, China, or the other Eastern countries. This is not so, and there is still much to be discovered and learned from the Land of Snows, despite those who will not be happy to recognize this fact.

Tibet’s valleys and secluded landscapes still hold surprises and stories yet untold. It was one of these surprises I met with many years ago: Boabom. This teaching has always been a pilgrim’s secret, and those who migrated to transmit this Way continued to prefer that secrecy over great publicity. What I was given as a consequence of this pilgrimage was given in silence; in that way it was developed and valued, in the quietness of privacy and in the productive and irreproducible dialogue between Guide and Apprentice. I could never even intend to transmit this experience fully, for it is something very personal, yet I do want this book to be a candle for many who search, as I did, for the elusive balance between the body and the mind, with its hidden abilities.

A few years ago, moved by unpredictable circumstances, I wrote the book The Secret Art of Seamm-Jasani, an introduction to a system corresponding to a kind of gentle Boabom. The warm reception that book received showed that there are many who seek something beyond what is trumpeted by the media. In the wake of its success, it was natural that I should show the other face of this teaching: developed here, in the work you now hold in your hands.

This book describes Boabom, considered an Art of Defense. However, in order to understand it, readers and students need feel the word defense not as such, but from a new perspective that goes beyond the everyday to relate to energy and self-awareness, and therefore to meditation and internal balance.

In order that this may be understood in the correct way, I have composed this book from three perspectives, which, in one way or another, are knitted together and will satisfy all readers at their own measure.

The First Step of this work is a tale that introduces the intellectual student to the transcendental ideas of this teaching, to its thoughts, its forms for seeing life, while at the same time it is a detailed explanation of Boabom itself. This story represents the Mind of the Art and is also linked to the book on Seamm-Jasani, as well as books to come in the future.

The Second Step describes Boabom itself. This point is made for the restless student who wants to experience the meditative-defensive technique in practice, to sweat and feel its benefits and effects, and through this to understand the story told in the first part. This Step can be seen as an introductory course for beginning students. In it you will see that everyone can learn this system, without any prior knowledge. This Step, as the development of the practical part or the method, represents the Art itself.

Finally, the Third Step is dedicated to the practical reader who likes knowing with certainty the ground on which she or he is stepping. This section deals with the School itself through its students, who speak of their own real and daily experience. It also includes the first scientific study made of Boabom, which details the practical results of this teaching from the perspective of both modern medicine and psychology. This last section represents the Body of the Art, our need to grow roots and walk with our feet on the ground in order to allow our internal vision to quietly contemplate the universe.

Today the Boabom Art continues its own life, as does its School, existing disconnected from any cultural or national attachment. Boabom lives in its students and its teachers, and in the energy of search and transmission that they will continue to generate in the dream of the future. May the stellar winds blow favorably to all of them, and especially to you!

Welcome to Boabom, the Art of the Great Plateau!

Asanaro In the year of the Emenise

First Step

THE WAY

Chapter 1

GUIDE AND APPRENTICE

Wisdom is not enlarged by the number. . . .

—Alsam, from The Secret Art of Seamm-Jasani

FIRE HAS THAT strange capacity of seduction, of dancing with the thoughts. . . .

With that subtle power it presented itself before a wandering group in the secluded mountain valleys . . . on the roof of the world or perhaps at the end of it—where is not important.

The flames flowed gently upward, plasma of movement, symbol of the ineffable dance of life and magic.

One of those passengers through the loneliness, one Apprentice in particular was sinking into a nighttime vision of his own, buoyed only by the resplendent flame reflected in the faces of all those who surrounded that light, watching in silence.

The night was plentiful with stars, silent guides, messengers of an indecipherable language. The sky showed the Great Way in all its splendor. Meanwhile the bonfire, protected by a measured, careful circle of stones, projected its volatile sparks like little seeds, thrown to the heights, seeking a fertile field in which to nestle and to turn, at the auspicious moment, into stars themselves, into bright stars that would drive the steps of the pilgrims who will come in the dream of the future.

The small group kept a respectful silence, waiting for the precious words of their Guide. He was the eldest among them, and he sat, strangely silent, within himself secretly recalling his own stories and time as an apprentice. He watched those who followed him and somehow saw himself, his own curiosities and mistakes, the longings and illusions of his youth. His eyes shone in the light of the bonfire, more so even than the eyes of those who wished to learn from him, who in those moments wanted to capture some of his vitality, catch his thoughts, uncover his secrets. The younger ones were watching him, wondering what it was that set him so apart from all rules, wondering where his eternal smile came from, or his inexhaustible energy, strength, and restlessness. What was his source? Was he born with it? Had he learned it somewhere? Is it born from cultivating the Arts of which they were students? Could they grab hold of the aura that surrounded him? Could they catch the ghost of strength that was always by his side?

The restless Apprentice continued to observe, from the fire to the eyes of his Guide. He had many questions within him, but he did not want to interrupt that moment. There are only a few moments like that one, and when they occur, the precise words or suitable questions that could dare to interrupt such silence are always hard to find. He preferred the silence anyway: after all, there had been a great activity since dawn.

It had been early when the small group of students awoke to their duties and lessons in the Gentle Art; more, even, for in the afternoon their lessons had continued. Just at dusk it had been time for Boabom, the Osseous Art, born with the stars, the mysterious, lonely mystic, the precious jewel in the hands of the wise man who knows how to value and polish it. After the lesson of the morning and the lesson that was born with the setting of the great star, all there deserved a great rest.

Despite the incongruousness of questions in that moment, one of the newest students in the group, staring, beardless and curious, dared to break the silence. With a tone of innocence, he asked a question.

Guide . . . He spoke with a bit of hesitation. I have been following your teaching and Art for a while now, but I’d like to ask you something. It may seem silly after all that I’ve learned, but . . . what really is the Boabom Art?

The thoughtful teacher kept his silence for a moment. Smiling, he touched his long beard, which was already showing one or two gray hairs, and without answering he addressed the restless Apprentice, who was sitting just beside the young man who had asked the question. He only said:

Tell me, Black Sheep . . . how would you answer that question?

He was a bit surprised to hear the Guide so directly inviting him to offer a solution to the younger one’s question. He was even more surprised that the Guide had called him thusly, for the Guide had only just begun to call him that in the morning. He wasn’t sure if he had been given that name as a positive symbol of his character in the Art or because of his way, a little irascible and rebellious. Yet once he had recovered from this surprise, he answered.

I do not know . . . I think you are the right person to answer that, and I would feel as if I were overstepping myself if I did.

The Guide replied very directly. You are the apprentice who has been with me the longest, who has begun teaching as well as learning, and if you feel ready for that, you probably have something to say.

Black Sheep did not know if the Guide’s words were a reproach or an approval. However, he now had to answer; for after all, it was true that he had begun helping out with the classes a while ago, and that he was already beginning to have his own students. Maybe with time he would want to teach many more than was normal in this Art, and these intentions knit in his mind had been easily read by his Guide; this seemed one of the reasons for his new nickname. The Apprentice tried to base his words on what he had heard from his mentor as well as on what he felt, himself, and after a few moments finally answered.

Well . . . it’s a simple, concrete question, ideal for a direct answer. The flames of the central fire grew as he continued, more confident in his explanation. All of us, when we begin, may have seen Boabom as an Art of Relaxation, or perhaps as a strange Art of Defense, but in some way or another it has surprised us all, for Boabom has a thousand ways, just as it has a thousand movements. Each of them is a thread that is woven into a great fabric, which seen up close reveals only individual threads. If we want to know its real shape, we must take some distance and gain a wider view that will allow us to discover its real features. He continued without pause, inspired by the bonfire, the loneliness of the mountains, and the stars above. To me, the Art is poetry, legend, life, and these transform it into a restless internal spark. I think of a phrase I have heard in my lessons: ‘The visible threads of Boabom are the shapes of its movements, but the reality can only be observed by each, in his own experience.

There was a pause, and the Guide spoke. Good, Black Sheep, and he added, addressing the rest of the students, Which one of you would like to add something to what he has said?

One of them, tall and thin, replied. Well, I would say that, just as our teaching has its relaxed, or gentle, face, Seamm-Jasani, it has the strong and fast face of Boabom. This one, more than just an Art of Defense, represents a channel of strength and energy that clears and feeds the mind in a direct, solid, uninhibited way. That is how I feel it myself.

The Guide took his time.

Watch the fire, apprentices. What in it is so appealing? What fascinates and at the same time calms us so?

Another of the young faces answered, trying the correct answer. Its heat?

Another followed. Its red and yellow colors that change?

Again the guide spoke. Each of these elements is correct, but what inevitably attracts us is its movement. Its movement, generating waves that trespass our senses and feed our mind, our interior world, reflecting and reacting continuously in movement. Boabom is a dance projected as a precise, unique, and extraordinary form of energy that to common eyes seems a defense as subtle as unexpected, yet which goes far beyond. Few will be able to see, for few are prepared to seriously deepen their paths and dare to discover the ultimate end: what is hidden within. Many can clamor to the door of the Art, which is crowded with enthusiasts, and yet so few reach its central chamber: there you will find but a few guests.

The students were becoming more enthusiastic, with the night and the words of their teacher, and little by little they dared to ask more questions.

One of them spoke quickly. But what is the ‘door of the Art’? And what is its ‘central chamber’?

The Guide, not wishing to answer, simply gazed sideways at Black Sheep, who answered in his stead.

I think, by your example, you mean that the ‘door’ is the external face of its teaching, what most people see and can relate quickly to what they already know, to all of their preconceived ideas. So I think that the door of the Art is when we see it as a form of defense, as simply another technique, and we are unable to venture into its depths. That is why its entrance is full of people. As with everything, no one wants or really cares about going deeper, to discover what is really there, for that requires sacrifice, effort, and discipline.

Good point, answered the Guide, as he opened up another question. But what would its ‘central chamber’ be?

The students were silent; no one dared to give a more assertive answer, not even the oldest apprentice.

One of them only said, And you, Guide, could you give us an answer, so we can understand that example?

Yes, I could, he answered as he began quietly to prod the fire. They all seemed to prick up their ears in expectation of an answer, but none came. After a moment, he added quietly, Or I could tell you a story, and you could come to your own conclusions.

No one said a word; they just looked at each other, all silently thinking that perhaps if they chose the story they would miss the answer, or that if they chose the answer he could choose simply not to answer and they would miss the story. After all, their Guide was everything but predictable and open about the teachings; there were only a few times like that night, when they could get at some of his knowledge. Besides, it was always after a huge effort, after showing a huge devotion to the Art that they were able to learn a lesson from him. After having known him for a while, it was clear to all of them that he felt that if none of them deserved it, he would rather die and take all the deepest secrets of his teachings to the grave and oblivion.

One of them finally broke the silence. Tell us the story, then. It is much better for each of us to find our own ideas in it. And they all looked at one another, seeming to approve of what the student was saying. The Black Sheep was silent.

The Guide continued his ministrations with the fire for a few moments. Then he added new logs, and the bonfire grew stronger. The air from the mountains has always been cold, even more so on clear nights such as this one, and the heat was welcome to the whole group. They could feel the heat on their faces, in contrast to the chilly breeze off the cliffs. They all remained silent, wanting the story to begin.

All right. Tonight seems to favor a good story: it will suit some of you. Pay attention to the details, and you will learn some more about the Art of which you are students.

Again they smiled at each other, surprised at the opportunity they were being given, for it was quite uncommon for their Guide to tell them a story about Boabom. They made themselves as comfortable as they could.

The night shone its finest stars, and in that moment each of the students anxiously awaited the words of their Guide, all trying to concentrate as best they could on what they were about to hear, and hopeful that if they were able to, they would understand the profound meaning of the Boabom Art, the depths of its movements and appearance.

They held a respectful silence, trying to forget their daily concerns, the towns and villages from which they came and the work that awaited them there.

Together with the silence from the skies and the gentle song of the breeze from the heights, the story began. . . .

Chapter 2

THE WANDERER

When the Apprentice is ready, the Guide will come.

—traditional proverb

WHAT I AM about to tell you can be traced back many centuries into the past, to ancient mountains and valleys filled with legends and hidden tales, hidden even more for those who are not able to see the details! In this time, long past, wars and battles were common amongst the villages. After smiling to himself, he continued. Well, that is something that has not changed so much. Let’s just say that it was a time when the conflicts were more audacious and less organized than they are today.

"In one of these faraway mountain villages lived the hero of our tale: a graceful young lady, daughter of a hardworking peasant family. Her parents had named her Tara, and for them life was their seven children, their land, their animals, and, of course, their gods.

"The childhood of our girl was quiet and without great beginnings, spent amongst playing and daily duties. As with every good young woman, she was prepared in the work allotted her gender: caring for her four older brothers, caring for her two younger sisters, while cooking, cleaning the house, and mending the family’s clothing. Of course, as she grew older, her mother used Tara’s spare time to teach her how to make herself pretty, and though the girl cared little for this, being perhaps a task too much belonging to her gender, in order to avoid any arguments with her mother and sisters, the girl learned, albeit with resignation.

"On the other side, her brothers were becoming experts in horseback riding, arrogantly displaying their skills before the town girls. From time to time, they would display their battlefield skills, something that the men of those villages were famous for. Tara only watched.

"Years passed, and little by little the girl became a woman. The problem was that somehow she did not fit in with what was around her. Young women her age spoke only about marriage and children, while she fantasized alone of faraway places and valleys she had never seen. And without telling anyone, she traveled in her dreams.

In those years a large conflict grew in the borderlands near their village. The storyteller paused as he continued to feed the fire that lit the faces of the curious apprentices. In that moment, the youngest of them again dared to interrupt the story.

But Guide, what country was it, and whom were they fighting against? Was it a big fight? Were the people from the village in the right?

All the rest gazed seriously at him, since none wanted to interrupt, yet many of them were asking themselves the very same questions.

The Guide answered: You must know that when it comes to a war—no matter where it comes from, no matter where it is produced, who effects it more or who benefits from it—war is always a looting in which, sooner or later, everyone is a victim, while a few are astute . . . well . . . executioners. So do not worry about the name of the country of this story. It is irrelevant.

Another of the students spoke right away and said, almost apologizing for the other student’s interruption: Please, continue. We want to know what happened.

The Guide became comfortable again and gazing still into the fire continued.

"Well, as I was saying, the war grew quickly, and the conflicts came to the village. Almost all of the men took their horses and went off to the fight with enthusiasm; they