Kundalini chronicles

A Journal of Kundalini Awakening

Category: Personal Expereince

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 Eight of the Chronicle

Day Eight of the Chronicle:

Support, guidance and recognition equals relief. But not for long (8 months ago)…

I’m feeling more grounded. Not as alone or isolated. The negative entity is gone. What remains is something I’m told is a positive thing. I need to surrender to it.

So I do, in all innocence.

What I didn’t understand is that it is dangerous to assume things will stay more or less the same. S. told me that the Kundalini has work to do. I didn’t quite grasp what that meant. What it means (I know now) is that the experience changes. It evolves. Once you manage to get ‘comfortable’ with how things are, something else rears up out the dark and slams into you.

If I recall correctly, it began on a Friday. Lying in bed that night, I started feeling pressure on my anus. And then penetration. Imagine a boa constrictor, not a small one. Say two inches in diameter. It pushes in, slides up, and up. Until it reaches just beneath the coccyx. And once there, it begins to spray something cool and tingling. In effect, it ejaculates.

It first arrives when I am lying on my side. In alarm and discomfort I quickly shift position, rolling onto my back. The motion broke the sensation, but as soon as I grow still (trying to go to sleep), it returns, beginning the penetration all over again. I roll onto my other side. It’s back. Onto my stomach – okay, excuse the pun but in hindsight that probably wasn’t the ideal option.

If there was ever an erotic element to this it was quickly lost, since I couldn’t stop it. In that sense, it was anal rape.

I began to imagine that maybe I’d gotten it wrong. Maybe this Kundalini wasn’t female. Maybe this wasn’t even Kundalini at all – maybe some new negative entity had arrived to sexually assault me every night.

I fought it, resisted, shifted positions constantly to interrupt its efforts. And eventually exhaustion took me into sleep.

It returned the next night and the next. By Sunday night I was trying to imagine a lifetime of this. For the first time in my life, I considered suicide. The depths of despair will do that.

On Monday I contacted S. and asked to meet up as soon as possible. We did. I explained what was happening and he nodded. ‘Yes, don’t worry. That’s still Kundalini. The energy is finding ways in to address internal blockages’ (well, yeah, I know all about blockages: three straight nights of this has me bunged up – constipated – which is odd given that the sensation of penetration has no physical corollary. To my touch down there, everything feels normal). ‘That spraying is energy sent into the blockages. You must surrender to this as well.’

You’re familiar with this phenomenon? Because I couldn’t find squat online.

He nods.

I sat back, baffled. How long will this be going on?

‘Until it’s done.’

It takes seven nights in total. On the final two nights, the internal pressure behind my coccyx manifests without the penetration. And then it’s gone.

Eight months later and it has never revisited that part of me. I don’t miss the attention.

All right, let’s look back at this and try to parse the nature of this Kundalini. It dwells in the body, at the base of the spine (around the coccyx, then). Only to then exit the body and poke, prod, caress, stroke and press down on the body it just left. Unsatisfied with that, it then decides to go back inside, via the anus, where it starts spraying cool tingling stuff that spreads through my hips and lower back, occasionally reaching all the way up to my shoulder-blades.

How does that make any sense? When it’s inside it wants to be outside. When it’s outside it wants to be inside. The only common denominator is me. It’s working on me, purpose unknown. Enlightenment? If so … wrong head. In all the history of mankind, I doubt the cock has ever led the way to Enlightenment, not even once. Even the Tantric stuff (of which I know very little) appears to be seeking spiritual union and making use of sex as a means of achieving that union. But hey, I’m all alone here. No partner involved. Well, not one from this plane of existence anyway. Can you have Tantric sex with an Other?

The only mentions of that in all the literature (that I’ve found) relates that notion to Black Magic and Satanic cults. A bunch of glassy-eyed Nazis on their hands and knees and offering up their naked backside (yeah, saw that pic online, some woman of the inner circle who disappeared after the war. I flinched upon seeing that photo).

Besides, if I can’t see or touch who I’m fucking, it won’t go very far.

The point being, if Enlightenment is the goal, better off ejaculating in my brain, don’t you think? I gather that the idea is to create in my body a free flow of energies, chi and whatnot. And that blockages need to be broken up in order to achieve that. But that seven days of anal penetration did not culminate in an energetic blast up and spine and into my brain. Should it have? Instead, it just went away. Job done.

After the seven days, the Kundalini returned her attention to my cock. As ridiculous as it may sound, what a relief.



Day Seven of the Chronicle

Day Seven of the Chronicle:


A blog is being set up (this one), with the assistance of someone who does this for a living (and who insists on not charging me for her time). I’ve been doing admin stuff in preparation of taking it public. Subdividing the master document and creating sub-files for each ‘day’ of the Chronicle. When it does go public, there will be six blog posts (six days of writing on the Chronicle) right off the bat. It seems like enough of a background to ground readers so they can decide if they want to keep on reading. The first day blog may be problematic (eight months in…) but it does contain a list of definitions and that seems useful to get out of the way right at the start. Kind of a plunge into the deep end.

When I italicize sections these indicate that what I’m discussing is probably tangential to my Kundalini experience, and yet relevant nonetheless. Context is important. That said, I’m leaving gaps that are highly relevant, but filling them would likely shatter the anonymity I want for this. If I mention a project I was working on during this Awakening, I’ll avoid details. Was it connected to the Kundalini Awakening? Yes, I think so. Intimately connected. But you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Will there eventually be enough pieces of the puzzle to out me? Probably (for what that’s worth). But if someone follows those bread-crumbs and then goes public with the outing, please do bear on thing in mind: they are not motivated out of service to the public. They’re doing it for their own egos, which, let’s face it, makes them little shits, basically. My career won’t end as a consequence. A few eyebrows might be raised, but that’s about it. So, like I said: ego, a little shit’s ego.

There are parallel narratives here which will always be italicized. Musings based on my readings of this, that and the other. I’ve had to plunge into the literature of the esoteric, which I read with an open mind. Lots of terms are used therein in addition to Awakening. There’s Ascension. The Law of One references. The Source. Sekret Machines. The Cabal. All fascinating, even from where I sit tottering on the fence.

My first rant related to that (day four in the Chronicle), following some looking around online. That rant highlights some of the issues I have with the subject of Other/ET/Paranormal contact and ongoing dialogues with the same. I’m no longer prepared to reject this stuff outright (how can I?), but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost the ability to discriminate.

Which leads me to a related subject I won’t elaborate on too much here (maybe later, as it deserves a whole essay), and that is the debunkers and self-avowed professional skeptics. You know the ones. They show up in the comments section of every UFO clip, every related video and discussion board. They list their scientific credentials and then let fly the invective and scorn and derision. Just a short message for those folks: yeah, I get it, but I don’t trust you either. You see, I’ve worked in a social science and saw for myself how entire careers are destroyed if findings don’t match the dogma, and guess what, there was nothing ‘scientific’ about it. Objectivity isn’t something you trot out only when it suits you. Same for the Scientific Method. There are way too many examples of evidence challenging the paradigm being discredited in an underhanded way, in a self-serving way (see the Clovis First crowd), for me to trust your self-proclaimed objectivity.

Will this blog’s comments section see its share of the naysayers? Who knows. If you don’t trust my veracity, it’s no skin off my back. But don’t waste your time with this site. Go get a life, or, to be kinder about it, go back to your life. I won’t miss you. Oh, and yes, I reserve the option to delete your comments and block you.

But if you have thoughts to share, similar experiences to relate, then please do comment; I’ll do my best to interact with each and every one of you (I’m expecting the readership for this blog to be modest, as I have nothing revelatory to say: I am simply recounting this experience as it plays out).



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.


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.


Still others describe floods of emotion, laughing or weeping.


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.



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

Day Five of the Chronicle

Day Five of the Chronicle:

On the Monday (eight months ago)…

Time to seek help…

It begins with a skype conversation with my wife.  She’s stunned, sympathetic and supportive.  And she says ‘call S.  Remember, he works as a spiritual advisor, and he’s a friend.’

He advises on this kind of stuff?

‘Who knows?  Find out.’

I promise to do so.  In the meantime, I have begun other avenues of potential help…

I had looked to local sources.  I had made some calls.  I had left an extended message with the local Diocese of the Catholic Church.  I had spoken with a spiritualist of the New Age variety.  In both instances, I said that I might be possessed.  The former didn’t return my call (until weeks later, when the Catholic Church was no longer relevant).  The latter said she can’t help me.  But she might know someone who can, someone who occasionally works out of a New Age shop in Chinatown.  I got the number and made a call, spoke to someone who promised to pass the message on to the person who deals with this kind of stuff.  I arranged to drop by when this person was in attendance.

My wife encourages me in all these things.  She’s rattled.  Understandably so.  But then, so am I.

I send a note to S. asking if we could meet up for coffee.  We arrange to do so at a café the following evening.  In the meantime, I head down to Chinatown and step into a store selling crystals and other paraphernalia.  And sitting in an armchair is a woman about my age.

We’ll call this person J.  When I walk in she sizes me up, smiles and says hello.  When I explain that I’m the one who called and left her a message, she’s surprised.  She tells me that I’m very centered, very grounded.  We retire to another room and have a conversation.  I describe what I’m going through.  She says ‘we can fix that.’  She’ll do a remote reading on my house, the bedroom, etc, looking for paranormal presences, and portals.  All she needs is my address.  She offers me a discount on this service.  By this point, if she’d said this’ll cost a thousand bucks, I would probably have agreed anyway.  Things are decidedly desperate.  But no, about a hundred bucks.  Okay, I say, and what else?

Homework.  For twenty-one days following the cleansing I am to invoke a ritual prayer every evening.  Miss a night and start all over.  Burn sweetgrass, read the invocation out loud.  And read it like you mean it.

Well, don’t worry about that.  Now, is this a succubus?

She shrugs.  A ‘negative energy’ suffices for her.

Is it in me?

Doesn’t look like it, but something might be attached to you.  It may want in.  Don’t invite it in.

She’s very reassuring, very relaxed, very calm and collected.  I actually like her.  I don’t see a wing-nut.  Nothing flakey.  We end up having a great conversation about all kinds of things.

Okay … I leave there with some measure of relief.  Next up, my café meeting with an old friend S. who just happens to hold a PhD in Religious Studies and works as a Spiritual Advisor.  The context of our friendship relates back to a writing workshop I ran about ten years ago, which he and his wife attended.  I was aware that S. practiced some form of either Buddhism or Hinduism, that he meditated up to four hours a day, and that I had always liked the guy.

My request to meet up gave no details.  Turns out he knew anyway.  He was happy enough with the term ‘negative energy,’ and he said ‘don’t worry, we’ll send her away.’  I told him about J. and the ritual and he quickly nodded and said, ‘Yes, absolutely.  Any and all help you can get.  People may come at this from different angles, different beliefs, but each one has something to offer.’

The ensuing conversation is a massive weight being lifted from my shoulders.  As with J. he continually tells me to not worry.  He also hints (I see now, in retrospect) that there’s more going on here than just some negative entity paying me nightly visits.  We arrange to meet up again in a few days.

In the light of day, I can feel better, more confident that this will get sorted.  I now have allies.  If in the past I would not have accorded such esoteric beliefs (as propounded by J. and by S.) much credibility, now I humbly acknowledge that I have no choice, that experience is telling me that the universe is not the placid, unidimensional, Cartesian/Newtonian reality we keep telling ourselves is the sum total of existence (and let’s face it, what a presumptuous, arrogant and self-centered notion that is).

But come the night, when I lie in bed alone and dealing with the presence of something other, things remain, shall we say, disconcerting.

S. advised that I fill up my bedroom with holy books of any and all creeds. That I do a clean-up, change the linen, wash everything.  He gave me a meditation exercise, a relatively simple mantra (in Japanese), and suggested prostration rituals.  He told me that names have power, so invoke them.  Jesus, Buddha, The Virgin Mother, Mary Magdalene, the Dalai Lama.  I’m on board with that.

But the visitations continue, although in the course of a couple nights, the dark patch and the chills stop coming.  I’m still experiencing all the rest.

J. contacts me a few days later to give me her report on the remote cleansing. A few minor poltergeists, a couple minor negative entities, and three portals in the house. She tells me she dismissed the entities and closed the portals.  She tells me that my soul is a Visitor, here in this world on sabbatical.  Not common but not unique either.  She says it’s now time to begin the ritual invocation.  Twenty-one days without break.

I do so.

My next meeting with S. is a bit of an eye-opener.  Apparently, my energy precedes me into the café, that something’s pouring off me.  It makes him very emotional to sit in my presence.  Then he tells me that he’s met the negative energy.  She’s beautiful, falsely apologetic for any harm she’s caused, treacherous and ‘sticky.’  S. also tells me he brought allies with him for the confrontation and subsequent dismissal, including Ganesh(!).  And finally, he smiles and says ‘she’s gone.  You can relax.  Just make sure to never invite her back.  While she’s weak outside of you, if she gets inside, she’s very strong.  Don’t let her back in.’

I won’t.

And here’s the thing.  She really is.  Gone.  No dark patches.  No chills.

And here’s the other thing.  Every night something arrives, sits on me, makes the bed and mattress shake, sends tingling through me, settles weight on me, brushes the back of my head, strokes my neck.  And every day something rolls in waves through my body, jumps around inside, lifts me and shoves me internally and just WON’T LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.


My Panicked Third Meeting with S….

S. is smiling. He seems to be enjoying this. He tells me this: ‘surrender.  Utterly.  What you are going through is an Awakening.  A Kundalini Awakening.  And you need to surrender because, guess what?  You can’t go back.  You.  Can’t.  Go.  Back.’

And this energy bouncing around inside me?

‘That is your chi.  It’s unleashed.  I can’t sit with you longer than an hour because I simply want to cry, there is so much love pouring off you.’

Huh, I’m making S. high.

So, what am I supposed to do with all this chi, with this Kundalini whatever?  And please, can I start paying you for these sessions?

‘No.  Not yet.  First exercise for you is this: be charitable and kind to people.  Random acts of kindness, that sort of thing.’

Well, sure, I often am anyways.  But now I’ll do it mindfully.  Not a problem.  What else?

‘Keep up the meditations and rituals and we’ll see.  Above all, relax.  Don’t fight it.  Don’t fear it.  It has work to do.’

The next day I am buying milk from a grocers near my house and take note of a small clinic nearby, offering acupuncture, cranial massage, etc.  On a spur I walk in.

Two people are sitting in chairs near the front window.  There might be a receptionist behind the desk at the other end of the room but if so I don’t recall her presence.  Anyway, in the chairs and looking relaxed, a man and a woman.  The woman, L. does acupuncture and cranial massage sessions.  The man, M., does … other stuff (I presume, as he doesn’t elaborate).

I sit down and explain to them everything that’s been going on.  Everything.  By this point I don’t really care what people think.  Well, both manage to keep a straight face, so right off the bat I am appreciative.  When I describe the energy jumping around inside, this chi, L. says that a session of acupuncture might well help.  When I mention Kundalini Awakening, the man, M., gives me the phone number to his old Tai Chi teacher.  M. no longer teaches Tai Chi.

I make an appointment with L.




Day Four of the Chronicle

Day Four of the Chronicle:

Interlude: a brief return to the present…

Well-meaning people (those whom I have come to trust) will often drop a name or contact – someone for me to check out, someone who might have comparable experiences.  Today I went online to track one down.  Big site, lots of followers, books written, webinars offered, retreats at $2500 a pop, a forum charging $120 a month just for a few freebies and a place to connect with people with similar interests or stories, and of course direct contact with the guru herself.  I wander around on the site, the links, the FB page which seems to be non-stop promotion of this, that and the other. 

Then I take note of a tangent link to someone else, and this someone calls herself an empath.  She charges nothing and did a remote reading on the aforementioned guru, and calls her ‘bad news.’  So I read up on this empath’s story, and come upon another name invoked as the genuine thing.  I google the name and start reading about Theta Healing, and then a well-publicized conviction for fraud.

Oh hell, here we go again.  I’ve had one face to face contact with a guru.  That experience will be described in detail later on.  Upshot was this: not a chance.  I’m not the follower type.  And this brief survey online simply reaffirms my sense of the confused quagmire out there, this Industry of Spiritualism.  Are there genuine participants out there?  I’m sure there are.  But to argue for the need for universal consciousness-raising among all of humanity makes the subsequent request for money suspect: as if the desire for peace, love and (in some form or other) salvation for humankind, requires a membership fee and card. 

I can somewhat appreciate the freebies not because I’m cheap – I can afford the other stuff no problem – but because at least there I can get a sense of sincerity, a less suspect motive (unless, of course, said generous soul is simply harvesting the hopes and aspirations of other people, but I would think that anyone doing that would be sure attach a price-tag, since why bother feeding on wounded souls without material gain?).

But I guess for most, money can’t help but be part of the equation.  With reason to be sure.  There’s the argument about people not taking something seriously unless they pay for it.  Yeah, I get that.  Sort of.  And, of course, we all need to make a living, right?  Or at least make enough to pay for expenses in time and effort and material, etc.  So how can one begrudge the ask. 

I don’t begrudge it.  I distrust it.  After all, isn’t universal ascension to a higher form of human consciousness its own reward?  In other words, ask for it, pray for it, meditate on it, encourage it, describe one’s own experiences in the name of inspiration and a sense of community, celebrate its possibility, all that – but don’t tell me I need to pay to be a member of the club.  Even the Catholic Church did away with indulges and the gold Amex path to heaven, for crying out loud.

And if you’re looking for anything similar from this chronicle, let’s get it out of the way here and now.  Here’s my sage advice on how to live: be nice to people.  Thus ends my ideological exhortation.

So please do take note: send me no links and make me no offers.  By all means share your experiences if there’s common ground to what you’re reading here.  Cogitate, theorize, argue, discuss, I’m on board for all that.  But gurus beware: I’m not buying.*

Have I paid for advice given to me?  I have.  With respect to my Kundalini experience, I have paid four people for help and advice.  One of them stepped forward and helped for some time before I insisted on paying for his time and effort.  One did a one-off ritual on my behalf and asked for nothing more.  One gave (and gives) me acupuncture treatments, a direct service.  And one initially offered advice for free and then offered to step out of retirement as a teacher of Chi Gon and Tai Chi, and now teaches me both in one-to-one sessions once a week, and I pay for that guidance.

I lucked out.  Got good people around me.  Collectively, they saved my skin and each one has gone about it with integrity.   

So here’s my take on this in a nutshell.  If universal consciousness is about to rise to something blissful/wonderful/magical, and you feel as if you’re already on that path, by all means send out the invite for others and celebrate what you’ve already achieved.  And if you simply want to follow, follow.  Find your inspiration, your hope, the possibility of your fervent wishes to come true.  But know this: no-one can buy you a ticket for the ride.  It just doesn’t work like that.  The spiritual needs no intermediaries.  When it wants to talk to you, it will.

What about mediums?  What about ‘delivering the message to humankind’ via this person, that person?  Well, I’ve looked into that.  I have even, years ago, been in conversation with an ‘entity’ via a friend who did automatic-writing, and it was fascinating.  So I’m not being dismissive of the phenomenon.  But I do have some questions for all those entities…

  1. How well has it worked so far, this use of mortal intermediaries?  Has the world of humanity taken you seriously?  Have the majority of people enthusiastically climbed on board in a relieved rush now that salvation is at hand?  If these questions sound facetious, I don’t mean them that way.  These are genuine questions.
  2. If it’s all about the freedom to choose, for each and every soul, do you not understand that the better option to using mediums would be a universal declaration identifying yourselves to everyone, to then present your position? At this point everyone, being informed of the situation, is free to choose and guide their life accordingly.
  3. If it’s about judgement, about karmic balances redressed with a day arriving at which time the litany of individual black marks is tallied up against the gold stars, then would not a universal announcement to everybody be the proper thing to do, assuming you want us all to behave better? Granted, churches used to do that, but let’s face it, their own efficacy kind of sucked, given how quickly the admin side of things got corrupted and obsessed with control. In other words, you keep dealing out a tainted deck, then wagging your finger when we lose track of the rules of the game.  Is this really how it is?  Or does it just look that way?
  4. If you’re all out there, poised to make contact and thereby uplift all of humanity, how much confusion and disenfranchisement do you really need to witness before you act? How much misery, suffering and environmental degradation do we need to experience before you get off your duffs?
  5. If you have made contact, via various officials of government, the militaries, secret cabals and sects and societies … well, I have to ask, have you all lost your minds? Your first contact is with them?  Why?  Why reaffirm the artificial and self-serving power-blocs of human civilization?  Why encourage this endless masturbatory obsession with secrecy?  Can you not see the infernal relationship between secrecy and power, between privilege and injustice?  Honestly, what the fuck were you thinking?
  6. If this is still about Free Will, I still have a problem here. The argument can be made that we inherently possess a moral core, a sense of ethics (barring sociopaths, of course).  But ethics are founded on a sense of what’s right and what’s wrong, and that is value-based and culturally relative in its manifestation.  For example, a person considers himself to be a good person, an ethical person.  He has worked hard and achieved a comfortable living for himself and his family.  He has been a loving husband and a loving father.  He is also a man working within a capitalist system, which is either amoral or immoral in its basic tenets of inequality and its arbitrary definition of wealth as being strictly material in nature.  In his job, under perfectly legal rules of commerce, he has made other people destitute; he has brought suffering to many and left others in abject poverty.  He has capitalized on their lack of acumen, their tardiness, their weaknesses, and profited thereby.  Question, is this man moral?  Ethical?  A good man?  Can morality be compartmentalized, applicable here but not there?  Capitalism is not about equality, it’s about privilege.  More specifically, it’s about buying privilege.  So, all you advising ETs out there, here’s my sixth question: If, as a result of your coyness and your unwillingness to reveal yourself and the Grand Plan to everyone, you have created a setting in which our knowledge is incomplete, then, based on that incomplete knowledge, how can we be held accountable to having made wrong or bad choices in our lives?  Our moral, good man, our proper provider, is trapped in an economic system that creates victims, that enforces a hierarchy of privilege and power, that engenders suffering for many even as it rewards others.  But he loves his children, he loves his wife, he goes to church every Sunday and gives to charities.  His blood-trail is once-removed, held at a distance, out of sight and therefore out of mind.  In his cultural context, he has done no wrong.  Furthermore, he is admired and respected.  But then there’s that systemic blood-trail….

 Should he have turned on and dropped out?  Joined a commune?  Should he have abandoned his family and retreated to a monastery to find himself?  Is he doomed to pay the piper come the day of judgement?

To conclude, I have my doubts.  What value confusing the message of salvation?  Free Will means nothing when we can only act from a place of ignorance.  In fact, it loses its moral context entirely.  If you’re out there, sound the trumpets.  And if there’s some kind of Prime Directive out there preventing that, well, don’t get me started on the Prime Directive and its explicit invitation to witnessing genocide (if I can pick holes in it, highlighting its core of pure evil, then sure as hell you should have done so a long time ago).

 Well, rant over.  Carry on.


* Not that a guru would ever make me a direct offer: they don’t work that way.  They get one of their acolytes to do the hard sell.  Or they don’t even need to do that: some acolytes volunteer, with shining eyes and unbridled, messianic enthusiasm.




Day Three of the Chronicle

Day Three of the Chronicle:

8 months ago…

Longing can be pernicious.  One seeks something one doesn’t have and probably will never get.  It hangs out there, like a window into an alternate future.  Find it and happiness arrives.  Or, find it and shit it’s not what I thought it would be.  Or, more typically, never find it at all.  From this can be born a life of dissatisfaction, of disaffection and occasionally of despair.  You wonder at the choices you made and didn’t make.  You wonder if you’ve done enough, and if this is all there is.  You wonder if you possess the courage to make the break and set off in search of what you spent too many years longing for.  But then experience kicks in, reminding you that even finding it could end up in crushing disappointment, or regret for what you left behind, because how often do we not value what we already have?

My wife was overseas, on an extended trip.  Left in December and not anticipating returning until April.  This was not an invitation to party-time.  I don’t do party-time.  I don’t do slovenly, either.  When you make a vow you keep it.  Besides, I was writing a book.  So, in effect, nothing of the routine had changed.

But imagination – that interior playground – well, it circles longing like a shark.  And so one (hesitating to use the next word here) conjures up images for private delectation, amusement, even sensual pleasure.  Don’t be shocked, all you young’uns.  Even eyeing sixty in a few years, the cock does not stay still for long.  And if the very idea creeps you out, well, wait till you get here.  Stay in shape and nothing seems much different from being thirty, or forty, or hell, eighteen.  The only things that diminishes is opportunity.

But we all know: imagination stays in the head.  Unless, of course, something’s gone dreadfully wrong with the internal wiring.  Then again, bad wiring sends out signals.  Symptoms.  Here in the West we have dominating schools of thought all operating under the same allopathic umbrella.  Psychology speaks of neuroses, psychoses, dissociative disorders, brain chemistry imbalances, and so on.  The Medical Establishment hunts for tumors in the brain; synesthesia with one or more of the senses in perceptual disarray.  Headaches, cluster headaches, vertigo, nausea.  Mini-strokes, neural damage, signs of past oxygen deprivation.  Slurred words, blurry vision, trembling of extremities, fits.  It’s a big checklist for bad wiring, and damned useful when something inside’s gone wrong.

I have past training in first aid.  I keep up on my reading.  I occasionally make use of details and symptoms in my writing.  I know the signs.


The First Three nights of the Experience…

Longing feeds the imagination; the imagination feeds desire, even arousal.  All kinds of this stuff can occur in the moments before sleep arrives.  As for dreams, let’s set those aside for the moment.  This man was awake when a presence arrived in the bedroom, a flashing blackness deeper than the natural gloom, sweeping in or descending to send a shiver through my body, head to toe and then back up again, sometimes a third and fourth time all in rapid succession.

Such shivers – the chill-to-the-bone kind – have attended me following a nasty nightmare.  They’ve hit me out of doors on a windless night.  In a half-mocking way, I might think of ghosts, spirits, whatever.  Or just the sheer efficacy of my imagination triggering this physical response to … nothing.  And there can be a visceral fear surrounding such responses, reactions, or manifestations.  Adrenaline kicking in and all that.  Especially after a nightmare.

But this was different.  My first moments of instinctive fear gave way to the lure of curiosity.  What the hell was this?  I mean, I don’t even believe in that shit.  This darker stain in the air, its flash across the room, its sudden overhead descent delivering those massive waves of icy cold – am I just imagining all of it?  Inducing it on the fuel of possibility?

By the second night, well, those waves of icy cold start feeling ecstatic.  I begin inviting them.  I strip the comforter back, lie spread-eagled like an offering and silently invoke come on, then, let’s see what you’ve got.

During the days I find myself eager for the night to arrive, eager to discover more of this strange, baffling thing.  But already something else is taking shape.  I’m going to bed much earlier, not to sleep, but to explore, and that exploration is becoming a fever.  And I’m getting less sleep, as I stay awake waiting for what’s next, and to be sure, this is evolving.  But it’s taking a lot out of me.

Imagine lying in bed, sexually aroused but not really doing much about it.  The ecstatic chill arrives, rolls through you, once, twice, three times.  The feeling is delicious but in dark way – a sense that this is not right.  That it is, in fact, dangerous.  This adds its own appeal of temptation and forbidden fruit.  Because, if it’s all really happening (and sure as hell it feels like it’s really happening), then the flat world of reality has just folded back, revealing another world.  Another realm of existence, and it’s populated, and passage between the two is possible.  Heady thoughts, as the chills pour through you.

And then the bed lurches.  As if nudged, shoved from the base.


It was a pointed pronouncement, and while I haven’t mentioned yet the audible ticking sounds I’ve been hearing, I might as well mention them now.  With the visitations, the room starts ticking, clicking, creaking.

For convenience let’s call it the third night.  Might have been the fourth, fifth or even sixth.  No matter.  The bed I’m in is a king-size, a heavy metal frame standing on four legs with a high upholstered headboard.  The king-size mattress is memory foam – an important detail, since memory foam has the quality of containing motion and weight – what goes on one side of the bed isn’t felt on the other.  It’s a mattress material that won’t carry waves of motion, in other words.  It depresses where you press it down and nowhere else.  It’s also very heavy.,

The lurch came with a loud creak of bolts from the frame.  I had been lying on my back, perfectly still (the next day I gave the bed-frame a shove from its foot.  It takes a fair amount to force to get a creak out of it, and when on the bed, my shifting weight does nothing).  And in the midst of this sudden jolt, the dark air felt charged, agitated, excited and, possibly, hungry.

I suppose that just like most men, arousal requires the tactile and the visual.  The tactile arrived sort of, via the chills, but it was nothing I could touch.  The visual was no more than patches of intense darkness.  Don’t know about the rest of you fellas out there, but those two just won’t cut it.  Believe me, I tried.

And in trying … wave sensations through the memory foam mattress under me; sudden depressions to either side of my hips (knees?); bulging of the mattress under my back and hips.  A cascade of juddering surrounding me.  And now movement in the memory foam pillow my head is resting on, and something like feathery touches of brushing fingertips on the back of my neck and the back of my head.

Holy crap.

Still, try finding sexual release in response to all that.  Sorry, darling, not happening.  Until I invoke the memory of a grown woman my thirteen year old self had a crush on, over forty years ago.  A woman now probably dead.  All at once, things get supercharged.

So, is she here?

 Is that you?

The mattress trembles, rolls under me as if I was lying on an air mattress on water, in a sheltered bay with gentle, lazy swells rolling beneath me.  The crotch-centered excitement burgeons.  The sense of ‘presence’ is crackling.  I’m not alone in this room.


The next week or two…

Insatiable.  Not me.  It.  She.  He.  Them.  But no, I do think ‘she’ is the right choice here.  And it may be that old crush come back to literally haunt me.  Or not.  Maybe that mental conjuring offered something else a free ride.  Maybe I just slapped a convenient face on a hungry stranger.  I’m not getting enough sleep.  Every night by ten I’m in bed (and for a night-owl like me that’s ridiculously early), but I’m not actually getting to sleep before three a.m., sometimes later.  She wants to fuck.  Yeah, I worked that out.  She wants to hump.  When I beg off and roll onto my side, seeking sleep, she arrives to stroke the back of my head and neck, to push down the pillow.  She does things that makes either me or the mattress shudder.

I’ve stopped invited the chills, the patches of darkness (that always seems to move furtively, quick as an animal in the forest at night).  In fact, I’m trying to pull out, back away.  And she’s not letting me.

I go online.  I hit You Tube.  Paranormal stuff.  I read about possession, visitations.  I watch grainy video clips.  I take note of one of the ‘warning signs of possession.’  Dry lips.  Well, yeah, at night, but not during the day.  So … maybe.  The rest?  No, not really.  But I’m not sure, and I have growing fears.

Because now, the experience can no longer be compartmentalized.  It’s now active in my body during the day.  A strange dissonance, like a photo impression laid over me, but slightly askew.  I’m internally jumpy.  My writing sessions are accompanied by sudden ‘lifts’ from below, as if I’m about to leave my chair.  Walking back from a day’s writing (and shit, the writing’s going very well indeed), I feel ‘pushes’ from behind and below, as if inviting me into a silly walk – but my walking pattern remains unchanged.  It’s all internal and, thankfully, not manifesting in any outward way.  I get these rushes of ‘activity’ in my midsection, as if something’s squirreling around in there.  These sensations make me feel high, like a drug kicking in with a body-stone.

Oh, and I’m smoking more.  Eight cigs a day is my norm but now it’s up to ten, eleven.  I assume it’s a response to stress.

But it’s all getting a bit scary.  I’m in over my head.  I just want a decent night’s sleep.  And despite the strange magic accompanying my writing, I’m exhausted.  And things at night are getting more frantic, more demanding, hungrier.  What she wants, well, hey I tried, but even with the old crush uppermost in my mind, I just can’t deliver it.  But she’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer.

Am I possessed?  Time to crack this wall of silence.  Time to seek help…




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.