Kundalini chronicles

A Journal of Kundalini Awakening

Tag: beginning

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 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…