Kundalini Awakening

My own Kundalini Awakening occurred the first time I incorporated tantric meditation into my usual yoga routine – the first time I practiced Tantra Yoga.

Although other people certainly seem to have experienced more powerful and obvious awakenings my own experience was intense enough for me to record it at the time – I was worried the effects would be temporary and wanted to write it down so that I didn’t doubt my own memory in the months and years to come. I didn’t need to worry though, because my personal transformation has continued ever since that moment.

Not everything has changed; maybe not even most things: I still live in the same house, I still do the same job, I still have the same circle of friends and the same relationships. For most people who have known me over a number of years they probably would not notice too many differences at all. Maybe I’m a little more tolerant; a little nicer; a little happier. In short – a calmer more peaceful version of myself. But the things that have changed the most are the things that I have perhaps hidden from the people closest to me, or they have changed so gradually that it is only with retrospect that they are even noticeable. Before considering what exactly has changed though, it might be worth simply describing my experience.

I’d been practicing yoga for some time – as a means of stretching my muscles and maintaining flexibility – but I always struggled with meditation. Rather than simply dismissing meditation as an unnecessary bolt-on though, I decided to research different techniques. When I learnt that yoga had evolved from Tantra I began to read more about Tantric meditation. Now, I must confess, most of my sources were pop-Tantra websites and articles, but in fairness, I have later found that most of the recommended techniques derived from original texts (perhaps with a bit of over-sexualisation added in!).

What I did discover is that tantric meditation uses the body and breath as a means of self-unification and actualisation, and that traditional yoga is used to prepare the body and mind for meditation. This focus on the body and sensuality probably prompted the first noticeable change – mid-way through my routine I found my shorts and t-shirt to be an unwanted distraction, so I got undressed and started again. Nudity has been an increasing feature of my life ever since.

But even with the sexual emphasis of the pop-Tantra articles I’d taken as my foundation, this wasn’t sexual nudity. It was liberating, relaxing and pleasant, but not sexual. And the same can be said for the meditation at the end of my routine. I definitely felt as though I had meditated, but I didn’t feel transformed, enlightened or awakened. That came later.

I showered, went to bed, lay there a while, and then noticed it. The energy! So much energy fizzing through my body. My limbs were shaking, my stomach was churning, my back tingled with what felt like an electric current, and I was massively aroused. And it lasted for three days! The energy ebbed and waned – enough for me to continue in some semblance of normality – as did the arousal. But every so often I’d be overwhelmed by a wave of energy rippling through my soul.

It had the potential to be debilitating. I barely slept, was often distracted and was painfully self-conscious in public. But it was also intensely pleasurable. So much so that I didn’t want it to end. In fact, my greatest concern was that it would end! But I needn’t have worried. The energy didn’t dissipate, it only grew. It centred and spread throughout my core. Now, when I lay and focused on it my stomach would cramp, my back arch, my toes curl and I’d orgasm. But not a shallow, short term, ejaculatory orgasm; this was a surging, cyclical, multiple orgasm, and the only ejaculation was internal – the wave of energy that seized me in a crescendo before receding back to the pit of my stomach, only to return moments later.

The experience was ecstatic. In my journal I recorded how I felt: “It’s as though something, some force, has taken control of my body and is using it to make love to itself”. Later I realised that this was a very Tantric observation to make. I felt as though I had connected to something primordial and eternal deep within the core of my soul. Something that I had done nothing to cultivate or empower, something that had always simply been there. An untapped well of liberating energy that could never be exhausted. Something that was more me than I had ever realised. What I felt was a sense of conjugal unification to myself.

Over time – and with meditation – I learnt to focus my attention on this internal energy. Not to control it, but to feel it spread and energise my soul. And this was the first major change that I noticed. I now began to practice every day – yoga and meditation, at least once a day, often more. It’s a change that has empowered and enlivened me. But it’s also evolved. I started reading about Tantra, trying to understand what had happened to me. I was euphoric. I felt as though there was some lost ancient wisdom that most in the modern world had barely glimpsed, and I wanted to mine that wisdom, to make it my own. Everything I read in the ancient texts and scholarly summaries seemed to re-affirm my own experiences. It was a secret that longed to be shared.

But this in itself presented me with a conflict. To share your experiences in any meaningful way you have to share them authentically, and the practice I had developed was a little bit … weird. You see, whilst I practiced Tantra yoga every day in my own home, and still felt the liberating surge of energy, I seemed to get the greatest benefit, to feel the greatest sense of union with both myself and my environment (which from a Tantric perspective is all part of the same Self), when I was outdoors – and naked. This isn’t exactly mainstream Tantra yoga, and for most members of modern society burdened with negative stereotypes of both Tantra and nudity, “weird” was probably the politest way of describing my practice. For a long time, this conflict prevented me from sharing my experiences.

These concerns derived from ego though. An attachment to my own constructed sense of identity which is reflected in how I want to be perceived. Ultimately, this is not my true self. My true self is an authentic expression of the universal Self that infuses me and all that surrounds me. I recognise this at an intellectual and spiritual level – but the walls of social constructs are built over many years and are difficult to dismantle. It’s an ongoing journey. But this blog is a step along the way.

The next major change that I noticed was a sexual one. Overnight I went from using porn 2-3 times a week to never using it again. This wasn’t the result of developing some kind of moral outrage. Everyone has their own journey and everyone needs to find their own ways of making progress. But – I think (upon reflection) – it was a fundamental change in what I understood as arousal, or what I now found arousing. I now realised that arousing pleasure was something that existed internally. It was not external and did not require any kind of external source. I had also come to see the human body differently – it was a container of something beautiful and universal, something divine. More than that, the body was also a means of accessing and knowing that divinity – something that should not be objectified and exploited for shallow gratification.

The same process had a more profound effect though – although this took longer to manifest. Over time I gradually stopped masturbating. Again, this was not a conscious decision. Rather, I found that I enjoyed more satisfaction from meditation than masturbation. Given the choice, I preferred to meditate. For a while my body still seemed to crave the sensation of release that came from ejaculation, but over time this diminished to the extent that one day I just realised that I hadn’t masturbated for a long time! Similarly, I no longer craved sex. Before, sex gave the illusion of unification; now I have experienced true unification, and continue to experience it on a daily basis in a variety of otherwise mundane situations. Sex is driven by lust, desire, objectification and attachment. These things are not completely absent in me, but I feel them less. They have less power over me than they perhaps once did.

The third noticeable change – which only really became apparent long after my Kundalini experience – is to do with my mood and my mental health. For as long as I can remember I would suffer moments of mental and physical paralysis approximately every 3-4 months. This would begin with a period, usually about a week, where my mood would be low. I’d be depressed. And then I’d be overcome – self-loathing and self-doubt would overwhelm me; I’d collapse to the floor and curl up into a sobbing ball, unable to move, unable to pick myself up.

In many ways, I benefited from this experience. I had no choice but to mentally re-centre myself, to find something real and tangible to focus my thoughts on, something present and compelling that needed me to move. Eventually I’d come back into myself, pick myself up and carry on. It was good training for the kind of Tantric meditation I now practice on a daily basis. Maybe it’s unsurprising then that since I experienced a Kundalini awakening I haven’t suffered from this cycle of depression.

What’s important to recognise is that nothing in the Tantras suggests that a Kundalini awakening is the end of the spiritual path, rather it is the beginning. It is a peek behind the curtain, a glimpse of the power you possess and can access through dedicated practice and meditation. I believe that the more you can incorporate the learning of such an experience into your daily routine the more connected you will feel, to yourself, others and your environment. Overtime it is perhaps possible to realise that all are connected and to nurture these connections as an expression of self-love.