Kundalini chronicles

A Journal of Kundalini Awakening

Category: Chi

Day Ten of the Chronicle

Day Ten of the Chronicle:

We’re almost caught up…

 I’m not that great with meditation. S. had given me some basic ones to work with. Gathering the chi in one place, imagining it as a ball of energy, and then moving it around the body. Following that, try sending it skyward and then sending it down into the earth. And he offers some very useful advice: fake it until you make it.

I did a lot of faking it. Until one night, sitting up in bed and sending the energy downward (to the core of the Earth – why think in half-measures?), I am bodily pulled down, deeper into the mattress. Whoah. I had inadvertently related the mental exercise to my breath – on the exhale, down goes the energy. And if worked.

On the upward exercise, up into space, I may still be faking it even now, seven months later. I imagine pushing through the veil of star-scape into an unlit plane of absolute darkness. On occasion there’s a slight ‘lift’ but it’s brief and ephemeral. And even there, in that blackness, there’s nothing to see. Should I be thinking light not darkness? Most Near-Death-Experiences describe the tunnel and light at its far end. I’m in no hurry to go there. Instead, I envisage an unpopulated, unlit blank slate, and invite someone to show up. Anyone. Hell, anything. But … nada.

One other thing: turns out I can only do the exercises for a short time. Three brief forays upward and three downward. It seems to take a lot out of me (if you’ll excuse the expression). Moving the chi around in the body is much easier, and confirmation of my efficacy comes from an unexpected source.

During one of my acupuncture sessions with L., with me on my back and eyes closed, and with needles emplaced up the length of my torso, L. asks me to move my chi from the base of my spine to my head. I concentrate on doing so. When I believe I’ve reached my head with the energy and before I can speak I’m surprised by L.’s saying, ‘Nice. Good work.’

Hang on, how did you know?

‘The needles tilted in succession up your torso. I could track the chi as it moved.’

Wish I’d seen that.

I feel I’m getting a handle on this chi stuff. At around this time, L. tells me that M. will come out of retirement to teach me Chi Gon and Tai Chi, with one-to-one instruction once a week at the clinic. I readily accept the offer. The more I can learn about this stuff the better.

In the meantime, my wife has decided to cut her sojourn short and return home. I’m very happy about that but also somewhat nervous. What will the Kundalini do at night with my wife in bed beside me? Can K. get jealous if I split my attention, find sexual satisfaction in making love to my wife? Will my wife get jealous of K.? Will all these rampant energies affect her and if so, in what way?   Plenty of reasons for trepidation.

There’s another side. My wife has been doing yoga for decades. I’ve done nothing in that direction, nothing at all. So there might be some very understandable resentment there. She has been the seeker, not me. When I talk to M. about the various classes being taught around town, the Tai Chi ones, the yoga ones, he tells me that I might be walking into a lot more resentment, among instructors who’ve dreamed of Awakening for years, worked for it, longed for it, and have yet to find it. He tells me that most of the Tai Chi teachers in this city haven’t accessed the levels of chi that I have. To me, it all seems strangely backward. You’d think the high levels of chi and Awakening and so on would represent the reward for decades of spiritual and meditative investment. That only seems right to me. Instead, here I am with all these energies and shit and I’m having to take a crash course on Chi Gon, and M. wants me to get at least a series of exercises down before we start talking actual Tai Chi. I’m coming at this from the wrong end, and it wasn’t something I asked for at all.

Potential resentment? Yeah, I get it. It’s justified. Like never buying a lottery ticket, finding one lying on the street, and winning fifty million dollars. It’s just not right, is it?

 

Day Nine of the Chronicle

Day Nine of the Chronicle

Other Occurrences in that week (7 months ago):

I mentioned earlier about M. at the acupuncture clinic giving me the phone number to a popular teacher (guru) of Tai Chi. I called him. We’ll use F. as a name. In the call I described what I was going through. He said a few things I can’t remember now. My initial take-away from the call was that it was awkward, stilted. But we did arrange to meet for lunch (on me) at a Sushi place following his Tai Chi class. And he recommended a book (which I ordered from Amazon).

Although that first session of acupuncture released some of the chi in me, it didn’t take long for it to return. I wasn’t feeling the same dissonance, but the chi in my body no less active. And I was getting used to it. I was actually enjoying it, especially those ‘lifts’ that made me feel lighter, almost buoyant.

On the Saturday for the lunch meeting I got in my car to drive to the restaurant. On the way, everything inside shut down. Utterly. The chi was silent, inactive.

I meet F. We shake hands and get a table. He’s older than me but has that strangely smooth face that belies his age (apparently a product of Kundalini Awakening and the Tai Chi practice). We order lunch and over the course of the next ninety or so minutes he tells me about his many trips to Nepal, his stays at Ashrams, his many guru teachers all of whom are apparently famous.

Let’s take a brief step back here. When I meet with S. the chi inside me is going wild. Same for L. And certainly my brief meeting with M. did nothing to diminish everything going on inside me.

But this guy. I feel dead inside. Shuttered tight. There’s no connection here at all. As friendly as he is, as amicable as the lunch turns out to be, there’s no spark here. In the course of his tales he describes how he is able to put thoughts into the heads of other people, no matter the distance between them. Then he mentions his multiple divorces. And he describes his outdoor Tai Chi classes, attended exclusively by women.

After we depart, I find a place to go and have a cigarette. My first thought is this: holy shit, this guy is a psychic vampire. And then I wonder, did he just suck me dry?

[as an aside, when M. mentioned to L. at the clinic that I was meeting up with F. her first worry was: oh, I hope he doesn’t suck him dry.]

My second thought was a realization, and I think it’s an important one. Here it is. The gift of Spiritual Enlightenment does not automatically confer virtue. I stood there, imaging the hurt, damaged women this guy left in his wake. One of the things he had repeated many times over that lunch was my need for a guru. The book he recommended, when it arrived, exhorted the same thing (in it, the author describes the extent of his worship of his guru, including licking the guy’s plate after lunch and eating whatever scraps he’d left). Every part of me recoils at the thought of surrendering my life to a fellow human being (and being a human being, implicitly flawed). I cannot help but back away at the notion. Nobody on this earth deserves that kind of servile worship.

I will take guidance. I will take advice. But I will not worship the one offering either or both.

Anyway, now I was worried. Did this guy steal everything that was happening inside me? And how odd was it that as soon as I wondered if it was all gone, I should suddenly miss it? All the trauma, the distress and worry, all the weird shit going on every night. I wanted it back.

By the time I got home, the chi was stirring once more, and that night, the Kundalini was back. From that I was led to a new conclusion: Kundalini knew the risks of meeting this guy, knew it before I did, and therefore I was protected. Walled off. F. got nothing from me, not a wisp. Did he try? Who knows. But we haven’t been in contact since.

At this point you might be wondering what was M. thinking putting me in contact with this guy? Or that I’m now pissed off at M. I’m not pissed off, but I am curious. At the next acupuncture session (on the following Monday) I describe to L. the lunch meeting and my Kundalini/chi response to it. She recounts her worry but is glad to hear I was protected (S. tells me that again and again: ‘You are very protected’). Turns out F.’s reputation is somewhat known. M. later tells me he had believed that F. had reformed somewhat, being newly married (poor woman), so he was disappointed to discover otherwise, and apologetic to me. I told him to not apologize. I learned two crucial things with that encounter.

My Kundalini can protect us (her and me) just fine. And then there’s that thing about virtue. An Awakening is a traumatic experience. It leaves you lost, isolated, even frightened. The lure of a guru to take you under wing to explain everything is very real, and very seductive. You want answers and lo! Here’s someone with those answers!

In my writing career I have readers. Fans. I do book signings where some of those readers begin hyperventilating the closer they get to me. Or they clam up. Or begin crying. It’s emotional. And it’s heady. I can see how that can seduce the subject of such displays, feed the ego, swell the head. It’s a form of power, after all.

But anyone who uses that kind of worship as some kind of mirror of truth, is, well, already pretty fucked up. There’s nothing true about it.

I would imagine that the further along one gets on a path to spiritual enlightenment, the more modest and humble one gets (Dalai Lama), and the less judgmental they get. Force of personality is a mundane characteristic more often than not: nothing about it is intrinsically or implicitly holy. It’s secular and therefore, in this context, suspect.

And the great holy figures of history? Well, when I meet one, I’ll let you know if my views undergo a transformation. But I do have one related question: does not the choice to follow lead to a diminishment of one’s own free will? After all, even if the act of choosing to follow is an expression of free will, once you have done so, you have surrendered some of that free will. Of course, you can at some point choose to not follow any more, once more invoking free will. But why is that then almost always seen as a betrayal? To follow may have many rewards, but its currency is free will, for good and for ill. I guess I have issues with that.

Day Six of the Chronicle

Day Six of the Chronicle

The First Acupuncture Session with L.

There’s the usual questionnaire.  Health stuff, this and that.  She notes my tobacco habit and glances up and asks ‘are you smoking more now that this has happened?’  I think about and then nod.  A few more a day.  She says, ‘makes sense.  Tobacco is a grounding herb, which is how it was traditionally used.’  She tells me I’m dry inside, looks at my tongue, and then it’s time to head into the treatment room.  Shirt off, shoes and socks, too.  I am directed to lie on my back on the padded table.  There’s a head-rest off the table’s edge.

Needles go into my ankles.  My wrists.  Not painful.  A couple in each extremity.

Nothing.

Then she steps around to stand behind me.  Her hands move under my head to take its weight and she asks me to relax.  Eyes closed, I do just that.

The table starts shaking.  Back and forth, as if some underlying machine had been turned on.  But there’s no machine.  More to the point, L. is not pushing on the table – her stance is not even near it as she’s behind the head-rest.  Hmm.

This goes on for a bit and then I ask: uh, is this you or me?

‘It’s you.  I’m just holding up your head.’

Oh.  Okay.  Is this usual?  Have you seen this before?

‘I’ve heard about it, but no, it’s a first for me, and it seems I’m in your feedback loop.’

It lasts for about a minute, maybe less (I’m too bewildered at the moment to be counting seconds).  Finally, she sets my head back in the padded cradle.  How am I feeling?  Not sure, but something … ah, got it.  A growing sense of elation.

Elation?  Look, consider it this way.  Up until this point, all my experiences were utterly private.  No matter how sincere the goodwill of friends and loved ones, mine is a tale that can be received with benign forbearance, tempered acceptance, or concerns that I have become delusional.  There are no cameras catching the nightly visits, after all.  It’s just my word.

But here, so unexpectedly, there was external validation.  A witness, pretty much a stranger to me.  And there she was, standing there as this heavy treatment table shook as if in an earthquake.  More to the point, I could feel the energy rushing out of me.  When I asked ‘you or me’ I already knew the answer.

Since that first session, there have been a few with sporadic tremors, none as extended or sustained as the first one, and L. has even tried to induce them when holding my head up (slight pushing back and forth), without much effect.  But of later sessions, I’ll offer more detail when the time is right.

I recall standing in the outer room, feeling high as a kite, but also almost overwhelmed with relief.  This chi stuff.  I guess it’s real.  And the tap, having been opened wide back on that table, was now offering little more than a trickle.  For now.

I arrange weekly sessions with L.  She wants to work all the channels and make sure there’s no blockages in the flow of chi anywhere in my body.  She tells me to drink more water.

It’s all good.  I leave the place, step out into the sunshine, in a complete daze.

Okay.  Chi.  Our personal energy bodies, invisible but no less present or efficacious.  We have IR goggles to see infra-red.  We have thermal-imaging goggles to see heat.  If we had chi-goggles, we’d see chi.  If we had soul-goggles….

Kundalini.  The serpent coiled around the base of the spine.  An energy force, but not specifically chi.  If chi bubbles in the cauldron, Kundalini has both hands on the big wooden spoon, doing the stirring (M.’s analogy, a good one).  All these online and book definitions of Kundalini.  Sex, sensuality and the erotic seem to be occasional components to the description. Most describe the Awakening as a blast of energy, like a lightning bolt running up the spine and exploding out the top of the head.

That last bit confuses me.  I’ve had nothing like that.

Other Awakenings describe terrible back-pain or some other physical malady.

Nope.

Still others describe floods of emotion, laughing or weeping.

No.

The descriptions and definitions seem to insist that Kundalini is a natural force, a bioenergy repository, primal and formless except as metaphoric iconography (the serpent, the dragon).  It’s savage, relentless, reacting like a struck nerve.  They view it as pretty much autonomic.

Really?

Oh.

My K. shows up every night and wants to fuck.

Day Two of the Chronicle

Day Two of the Chronicle:

Introducing myself:

Granted, it’s strange to begin this chronicle eight months into an ongoing event, without any obvious explanation.  What’s even odder has been my disinclination to write about any of this.  I am a professional writer, successful enough to being doing it full-time.

Am I seeking anonymity with this account as a means of avoiding ridicule?  Possibly.  Veracity is a hard sell, especially with something posted online.  But there’s more to it than that.  I don’t feel my professional reputation is remotely relevant to my Kundalini experiences.  In fact, I can see it getting in the way.  Especially because there’s nothing I want to sell regarding those experiences.  Not here, not now and probably not ever.  Nor am I interested in readers coming here only to then chase down my books and start buying them.  That’s not what this is about.  Nor have I any interest in becoming a guru, or becoming someone who is ‘followed’.  I have nothing to offer.  As for stalkers, I’ve had a few and that’s no fun at all.

So, what is it about?  Well, to begin with, it’ll be a confession of sorts.  This happened to me and this is what’s still happening to me.  Go figure.  Beyond being a confession, this will also be an exploration of these strange, unexpected experiences, as I try to work things out (knowing beforehand and with a fair amount of certainty that I probably never will figure it out).  I’ll recount events and experiences as objectively as possible, and then follow on with my thoughts, theories and impressions.

I’ll keep personal details to a minimum.  I’m a male with North European ancestry, late fifties, married (for the moment, since, if no-one’s said this before, I will: a Kundalini Awakening is not nice to a relationship).  I hold three degrees.  My background is in the social sciences.  My religion was atheist tending in the last decade to agnosticism (oh and yes, I do think atheism is a faith, bound by the same stringent certitude you’ll find in any other faith).  Until my Kundalini Awakening, I had no experience with mystical or spiritual events, contacts, revelations or whatever you wish to call them (barring one episode I’ll get to later).  I knew next to nothing about Kundalini, chi, Yang and Yin energies, and the few times I’d tried having acupuncture it had done nothing for me.

Since this a chronicle it should have started at the beginning.  Instead, here’s my flashback.  I’m writing in linear fashion.  No cut and paste here.  It’s all coming out now, beginning yesterday when I typed ‘8 months in…’

It’s August, 2017.  Let’s go back to January, where in the course of ten harrowing days my whole world (and world-view) was overturned.

 

 

 

Day One of the Chronicle

8 months in…
Day One of the Chronicle:

Kundalini: who are you? What do you want?

I remain undecided on whether K’s nightly visits indicate agency or just an elaborate biofeedback to whatever arouses me: there seems to be direct response to particular thoughts or images I create in my mind – instances of excitement/agitation (which?) marked by a surge in energetic tells, including tingling, tapping, pressure, a sense of ‘sudden interest’ and pressing in (randomly) from the comforter and/or the pillow, and of course the locking of fingers.

All of these things have been going on now for eight full months, night after night. The only exceptions are where jetlag has me falling into deep sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow (but even then, I cannot be sure K. is having its/her way with me while I lie there totally oblivious). Am I any closer to understanding this? Not really.

For clarification, allow me to elaborate on these tells:

Tingling: a pleasant feeling of localized interest, usually in my crotch area. At times, the tingling rises up from the scrotum and to either side. At other times, it goes straight for the penis, and this is often accompanied by ecstatic ‘curlicue’ strokes or brushes near the top third of the penis. This tingling can also accompany the pressure or weight that settles on my midriff.

Tapping: this is a sporadic event, usually in conjunction with a sense of sudden excitement/agitation. It is akin to fingers tapping the flesh when the contact is direct, in random sequences. What I cannot always tell is whether the tapping is coming down from an external source or rising up from within (through charged muscle and skin). When tested (when there is tapping on my left knee) it does seem to be internally produced. However, there can also be tapping of an inanimate object resting on my belly or near my crotch area. This is undeniably external, as the tapping occurs on the uppermost surface of the object, away from any contact with my body. These events are short-lived and resist repetition no matter how I may seek to invite it (ie through repetition of the thought that triggered it in the first place, or repeating the preparation with said object).

Pressure: If I silently invoke ‘heavier’ as a thought, K. complies, and this heaviness is an expansive weight settling over my entire midriff, from just above the ribcage (often tingling travels up the sternum about halfway during this) down to my genital region, rarely on the thighs [and not at all lately]). At times, this pressure can become uncomfortably oppressive. I am reminded of medieval illustrations of a demon seated atop a woman who appears to be either sleeping or unconscious, or even fevered. I wonder then if K. is simply a cunning, deceptive succubus. Conversely, I wonder if those old illustrations were actually God-fearing demonizations of a Kundalini Awakening and subsequent nightly visitations. Could be either one. Occasionally, the pressure arrives elsewhere, including on my forehead, atop one hand, or either the upper arm or the forearm.

Sudden Interest: this is a fairly ephemeral experience. It can be localized in expression but more often it is marked by an increase in energetic attention (including tingling and tapping and pressure) that is accompanied by a jolt in the mattress (or my body, no way to tell which most of the time), a sudden jumpiness in all the other tells, and shuddering/juddering. These last one or two seconds at most and come in response to a thought, a nonvocalized statement, or a mental image I happen to conjure up. I often do just this in order to solicit a response, as I try to track what interests/motivates K. Sometimes, what interests/motivates K. is alarming and through my contextual point of view, immoral (but then, what is immoral in a realm potentially disembodied, immortal and insubstantial in nature? Given the intrusiveness and continued mystery of this force conveniently called K. what precisely is moral about what is to all outward appearances molestation? What exactly am I being invited to participate in here? This goes to the heart of my seeking to figure out what it wants and where this is all leading, and if I waver between on the one hand outright denial and rejection of what seems to excite K., and on the other with ever more determination in inviting what it wants if only to figure the damned thing out, I hope both responses are understandable).

Pressing in: this is undeniably from an external force, as it occurs while I am completely motionless and in locations I have no direct contact with (initially). When the comforter suddenly presses down on my body, on or alongside an arm or a leg, or seems to contract and sink down as if with a drawn breath (but not one I’m taking, as I hold my breath and go completely motionless as soon as it begins), I am being acted upon. I suppose it is possible that I’m somehow initiating some kind of telekinetic event (and is that less or more believable than any other option?), but these events always catch me by surprise. I cannot predict when or where they begin. Moreover, I cannot encourage more of the same through willpower, mental invitation, or any other means I have tried. In other words, when and where is not up to me, and seems to have no direct linkage to any particular thought or imagining going on in my head at the time.

Contact with the pillow, where it too presses down or pushes close, occurs without any movement from my head, and usually while my hands and indeed arms are nowhere near (under the comforter). If I am lying on my side, it presses from behind, as if bodily joining me in sharing the pillow – but never face to face. As nothing of my experience has included anything visual anyway, this seems a pointless example of coyness. Then again, maybe K. just likes to spoon. When I am lying on my back the movement/pressing down can come upon either side of the pillow. No rhyme or reason as to which side.

The pressing down that’s part of K.’s ‘weightiness’ or heaviness occasionally includes pressure on my head, specifically my forehead and therefore the pillow it’s resting on. That may well be a face-to-face event, not that I can see anything. Either with eyes open or in the landscape of eyes closed. Nor do I feel any specific points of contact with my face, though my lips invariably get dry (but this dryness, which should lead to chapped or dry lips during the day, simply doesn’t. In fact, I usually wake up and feel a moist waxiness to my lips. No chapping or sense of dryness. The dryness only occurs during the events).

Locking Fingers: this locking can be fierce, but is instantly dispersed by simply moving those fingers or the hand itself. It depends upon motionlessness to take effect, prefers a slight spreading of the fingers and a natural curl to them. If often concentrates more on one hand than the other, though not always and sometimes the attention oscillates depending on where I direct my concentration. It usually selects two fingers but sometimes only one. It ignores my thumbs entirely. This locking can become a kind of intense pressure, as if my fingers were indurating (turning to stone). Nor is the pressure consistent or steady. It throbs, pulses, intensifies and then wanes. Only to then repeat. At times, it is intense enough to be painful, as if my fingers were locked into a vise.