Mantra Soaps

Soap making is no longer some mysterious process known only to great-grandmothers and medieval alchemists. It is so simple, and recipes are so common that anyone capable of cooking oatmeal can make a batch of soap. Of course, if one intends to make a livelihood out of it, as I have done, one should also be willing to accept a life of relative poverty.

Since most Canadians over twelve are already qualified soap makers the challenge has become to create a distinctive soap. A product with personality, something special. For the Venables Valley Soap Co. this is accomplished by infusing our soaps with mantras and holy water. After all, a substance that touches the tenderest crevasses of the consumer’s body should offer more than just scented lather.

A typical soap making day begins with me slapping at the alarm clock, contorting my arm in order to reach and silence the beep-beeping. 3:30 a.m. is early, and my eyes sometimes feel like they have been sealed shut with crazy glue, but I need to use this pre-dawn period, the “brahma muhurta” for mantra infusion.

Brushing my teeth is the first job of the day. Venables Valley toothpowder is a luxury. If I didn’t make it myself I could never afford it. I would probably use wood ashes. After brushing I feel invincibly clean in the mouth.

I go to the altar where my japa mala beads hang in their fist sized pouch. I light a candle and some incense and slip my hand into the bag. Surrounded by the silence of early morning I finger the beads murmuring the ancient mantra. Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare. This is a two-hour meditation, a vow that I have maintained for thirty-four years. In an otherwise uneventful life I have at least succeeded in becoming a mantra multi-millionaire

Even though I have uttered the maha mantra more than twenty million times my mind still begins the ritual by wandering into the realm of meaningless concerns.  I may begin to wonder if the Vancouver Canucks won their game last night, even worse, visions of  teenage sexual encounters may cloud my thoughts. On a good day I go beyond the mundane. Trivia gives way to absorption in pure spiritual vibration. I slip into a new dimension. A parallel universe if you will. I become numb with devotion, the mantra begins vibrating in my blood cells. I am electrified with the names of God.

This moment of transcendence usually occurs just before my wife, emerging from slumber and walking like a mummy, shuffles past me on the way to the bathroom. She is followed by the twins, who refreshed by sleep, are ready to rip the house apart all anew, and by Janaki, the resident teenager and undisputed house commander, who smelling like her horse begins immediate preparation for her impassioned sunrise gallop through the valley. I postpone my ecstasy until the mayhem of breakfast and clean-up subsides.

By 10 a.m. I am alone in the kitchen ready to make soap. I turn on the bhajan music and melt the oils on the wood stove. The mantra from the Ipod  purifies and transforms the workplace. Again I slip into the parallel universe. I chant and sing as long as I stir. The mantra penetrates the mixture. When the soap thickens I add herbs, essential oils and the sanctified water from the source of the Ganges high in the Himalayas. It is not really water but a concentrated liquid of eternity, knowledge and bliss. A few drops can destroy an entire mountain of bad karmic reactions.

After a few more minutes of stirring I carry the soap pot to the loft and pour the pudding into the molds. It will cure there in the warm air. It is now more than soap, it is compacted spiritual suds which, when in contact with water, will spread joy to the inner heart of the bather.

I am satisfied with the process. In a few weeks it will be cut, labeled and set adrift to compete in the marketplace. Something common has just become something extraordinary.

Over the years many customers have confided in me, testifying that there is something "different" about venables valley soaps.  That something different is the experience of having the endless cycle of repeated birth death terminated.  How convenient that scrubbing ones back can be the beginning of spiritual emancipation.  This is the inner secret of Venables Valley soaps.