“The ‘dakini’ isn’t just a pretty girl on a thangka.” The strong, stable American voice cut through the afternoon hum of clinking glasses of whisky, wine, and beer. “She is emptiness. The very field of space itself. Think of Mother Teresa, or Mary Magdalene—they were vessels of that same energy. The dakini is the personification of that limitless field in human form.”
The voice belonged to one of my heroes, Laurence Brahm, director of The Dakini Code and the Lotus Born Master series.
The wind’s first whisper in a Beijing hutong
My pilgrimage did not begin in the Himalayas. I was actually in the heart of a narrow Beijing hutong, where lanterns hang suspended between Yuan, Ming, and Qing-era tradition and modern chaos. With my dakini sisters, my travel entourage, I waited outside a weathered courtyard house from the 1700s, our flowing red silk dresses fluttering like prayer flags in the breeze. We had prepared a ceremonial welcome for Brahm, anticipating a dignified arrival. The universe had other plans.
The first sign was the unmistakable squeal of rusty brakes. Then, he appeared—careening around the corner on a vintage Giant bicycle, its paint chipped from decades of adventure. He skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust, kicking up dried leaves that swirled around us. The wind, summoned by his chaotic entrance, gusted through the alley, carrying the scent of coal smoke and roasted sweet potatoes.
We greeted each other not with formal bows, but with the sharp salute of martial artists, a silent acknowledgment of the dance between discipline and spontaneity that would define my journey. It was one of those moments where the mundane brushes against the mystical, transforming an ordinary Beijing afternoon into a portal to something far greater.
Inside the dimly lit courtyard, surrounded by Bruce Lee’s nunchucks, Bhutanese Cham masks, and yellowed calligraphy scrolls, Laurence projected his film onto a TV. As flickering images of Himalayan caves and New York tunnels illuminated the ancient space, the wind rattled the wooden window frames. Between the squeak of the bike and the whisper of the wind, my true journey began.
Hong Kong: decoding the cosmic blueprint
Weeks later, tropical fury in the form of typhoon rain lashed against the windows of Hong Kong’s Foreign Correspondents’ Club. Inside, the air crackled with a different energy—the potent, elusive frequency of the dakini.
Across our table, Brahm leaned forward, his eyes reflecting the storm outside and a vibrant tempest of ideas within. “The dakini is the feminine energy field in a person who has enlightened ability,” he explained, his hands moving like a magician’s and drawing invisible mandalas in the air. “They connect to the sambhogakaya and ultimately the dharmakaya. Their physical body achieves realization through the no-mind state. Then, they can guide others to enlightenment.”
Brahm was speaking from experience, from his years exploring the sacred caves of Nepal and Bhutan, from receiving teachings from Tibetan masters, from experiencing moments when reality itself would seem to bend. “It is timelessness. It is boundlessness. There is no space. There is no time. It is the feminine aspect, the empty field from which all things come.”
His documentary, Return of the Lotus Born Master: Decrypting the Dakini Code (2019), is the sequel to his first film in the titular series, Searching for the Lotus Born Master: Eight Manifestations of Quantum Energy (2018) deploys the art of cinema and filmmaking as a modern-day mandala to transmit ancient wisdom.
The path of the dakini was unfolding. From Beijing’s windswept hutongs to Bhutan’s cliffside monasteries, the dakinis revealed themselves through the elements—each sacred site a portal to their wisdom.
Pharping, Nepal: the wind dakini’s swift current
At Nepal’s Vajrayogini Temple, the air vibrated with centuries of mantra chanting. This was where the journey truly began, at the feet of the Queen of Dakinis. Pilgrims offered red khatas while spinning prayer wheels, their rhythmic twirling blending with the mountain winds. In the inner sanctum, butter lamps flickered, dashed and licked by the wind.
Upstairs, a Newari high priest led me through intricate rituals, culminating in an initiation where a huge holy flask was lightly hitting my head. Then, my teacher said, “Let’s dance.” We performed the Vajrayogini dance in the main pavilion, surrounded by carved stone pillars. Suddenly, a huge, all-seeing light showered over me. A sense of euphoria overwhelmed my senses; I struggled to regain my gravity. My first meeting with the Queen of Bliss was not through emptiness, but simple, radiant happiness.
Taksang, Bhutan: the water dakini’s transformative blaze
The climb to Taksang, or Tiger’s Nest, was a trial by fire sent by the dakinis of the Padma Family. At dawn, the monastery’s golden roofs gleamed against the ancient cliff face. By midday, the thin air burned in my lungs as I navigated steps worn smooth by centuries of pilgrims. Inside the main cave temple, the heat was palpable—a psychic fire emanating from the presence of Yeshe Tsogyal, the Primordial Wisdom Ocean Queen. Butter lamps gave the impression of a river of fire. When I placed my palm against the cave wall, the rock pulsed with a heartbeat. I danced to the sacred rhythm of Padmasambhava’s consort, “the one who collected all his teachings from his Dakinis,” as Brahm put it.
Inflamed by the meditative fires of tummo, I gripped a coarse, weathered rope and leaned back into the void, descending into the earth’s silent embrace. Then, a deep roar echoed against the rock face, growing from a whisper to a thunderous hymn. I saw it: an ethereal waterfall, not of water, but of liquid light, its veil glistening with an impossible, golden aura. I caught my breath. There, in the shimmering mist, ancient Sanskrit characters flashed and swirled—woven from the light and spray. My heart hammered against my ribs. Was this vision it? The legendary Dakini Code?
I recalled Brahm’s words: “There’s an ionic water energy there, which is definitely a Yin energy.” The answer was yes.
Looking into the waterfall’s timeless stare, I experienced what Tibetan texts call “mind-stream transmission”—understanding flowing directly, like water finding its course. For three days afterward, I dreamed of rivers reversing direction, of rain falling upward into the sky. The Water Dakini, Chu Khandro, seemed to be purifying my inner landscape.
Paro’s White Cliff Cave: the earth dakini’s blessing
The hidden cave in Paro revealed itself through sound: the roaring wind rattling a hanging bridge guided me through a thick forest and perilous rockface. A red-clad yogini was sitting watch at the mouth of the cave. She said nothing, but her gaze held the depth of a blue crystal lake.
I crawled inside a tiny crevice that seemed fit only for a child, yet my entire body slipped into the space where a famous monk had attained enlightenment. A natural rock protrusion supported my head as I sat upon a ball-shaped pedestal. When I closed my eyes, I was no longer in a cave. I was levitating in a cosmic night sky, with no separation between my body and the ether. Just as Brahm had said: “It is the emptiness field.”
Bhutan Tenchen Choling Nunnery: the Space Dakini’s Mandala
Tenchen Choeling Nunnery shares a deep relationship to the Je Khenpos of Bhutan. It traces its origins back to the 14th century, when the revered Tibetan master Kacho Barawa first established this holy place. Years later, it was graced by the visit of Sherab Gyeltshen, the 25th Je Khenpo of Bhutan. Upon arriving, he was welcomed by five women, one of whom, when asked her name, revealed herself to be one of the Five Sister Dakinis, specifically Tseringma. Recognizing the sanctity of the moment, Je Khenpo Sherab Gyeltshen instructed to the nearby community to construct a temple dedicated to the dakini Meyo Langzama (Lozangma). This temple was then cared for by generations of laypeople, preserving its spiritual legacy. In 2010, the temple was officially handed over to the Central Monastic Body of Bhutan, under the leadership of His Holiness the 70th Je Khenpo, Trulku Jigme Choedra, and it became a monastic school for around 20 monks.
At that time, His Holiness also turned his compassionate attention to the nuns of Kila Goenpa, located near the Chelela Pass. The conditions there were extremely harsh, cold, cramped, and precariously perched on a cliffside. It was difficult for the nuns to live and study there. On 12 April 2019, a new chapter began when 32 nuns were relocated from Kila Goenpa to Tenchen Choeling, and the monks were reassigned to Paro Dzong. The abbot at that time, Khenpo Thinley, worked tirelessly to help the nuns establish a proper environment for spiritual practice and education. The nuns also worked hard, clearing the forest, building and cleaning the space doing work traditionally done by men or laypeople with great determination and faith. Now there are more than 80 nuns.
When I met the nuns, I shared with them an ancient incense meditation practice from the Tang dynasty (618–907). After all nuns chanted together, echos of Padmasambhava’s mantra filled the crisp mountain air. A young nun showed me up the stairs to a room where the dakini protector of the nunnery resided. She casually remarked, “The dakini isn’t in the smoke. She’s in the space between the smoke and your nose.”
In that moment, I understood the Space Dakini, or Namkha Khandro, was not “absence,” but rather the pregnant void from which all form emerges.
Calling a Hundred Thousand Dakinis: A Prayer by Machig Labdrön
KYAI MA
Those dakinis who generate perfect great bliss,
I beseech with power of fierce faith and aspiration!
Think of us with uninterrupted compassion
And grant blessing to male and female beings with merit
Descend as life-giving essence for those with faith! PHAT PHAT
(The Precious Garland of Activities of the Chöd Feast Gathering by Rangjung Dorjé)
The wind’s final whisper
It has been almost a year, but certain afternoons still carry that hutong quality when I first visited Brahm in Beijing . . . when sunlight slants at a particular angle, or when a rainstorm stirs fallen leaves. I’ve come to recognize these as the dakini’s calling cards.
Is one born a dakini or by practice? Brahm suggested: “Cognitive awareness, from a Buddhist perspective, depends on previous lives and karma. A person can be at different levels when they’re born. And ultimately, cognitive awareness depends on yoga practices, mind training protocols, and your own ability to log onto the energy fields.” He whispered in conclusion: “We all come from emptiness. We all return to the emptiness.”
Perhaps this is The Dakini Code’s deepest teaching: that enlightenment isn’t a distant summit, but the accumulated wisdom of every gust of wind that ever redirected you, every fire that transformed you, every stream that carried you, and every vast sky that reminded you of your true nature.
The adventure continues wherever the wind blows next.
Related features from BDG
The Role of the Dakini
Ani Choying Drolma: The Song of Dharma Meets Humanitarian Action
Mirrors of the Mind: Mysterious Home of the Dakini
