John Selby has long been a voice in the kundalini community. Psychologist and author of Kundalini Awakening in Everyday Life; Seven Masters, One Path; Jesus for the Rest of Us; and Quiet Your Mind, he shares his overall experience of merging a postChristian meditative sense of life with the Hindu kundalini tradition. He reveals his discoveries in this grand experiment, as he encountered LSD, mescaline, and kriya yoga, and many different forms of mind and spirit adventures. He asks the provocative questions: How helpful are manipulative approaches to spirituality versus participatory approaches? Does enjoying the essence and divinity of our lives require regular disciplined time or many hours of cultivated meditation or drug use? When do we cross the line into a spiritual masturbation of sorts? Do we need a kundalini boost to be satisfied with ordinary reality? And what are the emerging new approaches to meditation and spiritual awakening?
It’s with pleasure and also a sense of perfect timing that I respond to the offer to write an essay for this book. Even after twenty years, I still regularly get e-mails from readers of my first meditation book, asking for special advice on kundalini meditation. This essay affords me the chance to state several rather startling insights that have come to me since writing my kundalini book, insights that have changed my approach to kundalini—and my approach to meditation and the spiritual path in general.
Since writing the original Kundalini Awakening in Everyday Life in the early eighties, I have experienced in my own meditations a clear shift in my understanding of how consciousness itself functions, and for myself, where the spiritual path truly leads. Even in the early days of that book’s initial success, I was considered a bit outside the traditional fold of kundalini aspirants because I attempted to merge my culture’s basic Christian meditative sense of life into the Hindu kundalini tradition. I now find myself almost completely outside both traditions.
I offer you these new insights into kundalini and meditation for what they are worth, while also honoring your perspective if you remain within traditional beliefs and practices.
As I type this, I notice that my new computer has underlined kundalini in red, indicating that the word doesn’t even exist in its spell-check memory. And indeed, is kundalini a real force in contemporary life?
Obviously a great many people over the centuries have experienced something commonly called the kundalini phenomenon, a great inner flow of what feels like energy moving powerfully through certain channels in the body, roughly congruent with the major neurological systems of our biological organism. In kundalini meditation as I understand it, the aim is to manage that flow, control it, and encourage it. There exists a vast tradition about what this energy flow is, how to understand it symbolically, and how to steadily increase it through the seven chakras, or energy centers, of the body. I’m sure that other essays in this book will explain all of this to you.
I first encountered this inner experience of the kundalini flow as a child spontaneously during ecstatic moments in nature, as short moments of supercharged bodily presence. Perhaps you had similar experiences. They came and went as they chose to, and I considered them just a natural part of life. They seemed to fall away in my teen years. Then, during college in the sixties, I worked at one of the seven LSD research centers the government sponsored. There, I encountered the kundalini flow like crazy during a mescaline experience—and from that day forward knew that there was something peculiar that could happen in the body that was both a great thrill and quite scary.
I spent four years in graduate school getting a degree in spiritual psychology, during which I studied kriya yoga intensely with teachers such as Kriyananda, and then with my primary master in that tradition, Thakan Kung. And yes, I learned how to manipulate this energy experience quite successfully. There is no doubt that the experience itself can be generated at will, and many people are attracted to the challenge of spending considerable time in their lives doing so. I myself did: I sat daily for at least an hour, practicing the visualization methods for moving the energy properly through my body and increasing it as well.
But do I still practice this part of kundalini meditation? No, not at all. I definitely still do the basic chakra balancing process I wrote about in my book, but that’s it.
When people write to me asking for inspiration regarding kundalini-energy meditation, I tell them the truth—that I have moved beyond a manipulative approach to meditation, preferring a participatory approach to my spiritual life. This question of participatory versus manipulative lies at the heart of my meditative practice these days, and I encourage you to take a close look at this theme as you advance on your own spiritual path. I am not judging in this regard, only looking carefully at the reality and allowing common horse sense to determine which path to follow.
I was lucky enough to grow up in Ojai, California, the same town where a truly great spiritual teacher named Krishnamurti spent his winters, and I was exposed to his voice teaching his particular path from the time I was two or three. One of his key teachings regarded how to look closely at something without judging it, to simply see it more and more clearly. Jesus, of course, taught the same practice, in his insistence that we “judge not.”
So what do we see when we look closely at the actual practice of kundalini? At first, in my twenties, I saw a pragmatic process for boosting a sensation inside my own body that felt just tremendous. I really couldn’t get enough of it. I’d sit there in my meditation closet with a beautiful wife upstairs awaiting me, and prefer the rush of kundalini to the rush of sexual pleasure (well, at least they were equal as pleasure thrills).
Kundalini energy meditation delivers pleasure. But as I grew older, I began to realize that, in my case at least, my addiction to my daily doses of kundalini pleasure was very much akin to what is called spiritual masturbation.
We live in an age when masturbation of a sexual nature is considered fine and healthy for people without a sexual partner. Giving ourselves pleasure and fulfillment is considered perfectly normal and is encouraged. There’s of course nothing inherently wrong with masturbation, but it does expend considerable energy as a purely self-contained experience, rather than sharing that energy and experience with others.
I admit that I became a bit addicted to the kundalini rush. Meditation was a place I could go and totally escape from the crazy world of Vietnam and all the rest. In my youthful spiritual seekings, I learned a tremendous amount about my own consciousness. And I very much valued the sense of being in charge of my own spiritual body, master of my own infinite potential. But as time went by, I began to feel a growing emptiness in fixating on that experience and found myself seeking a new approach to the spiritual path beyond my own self-stimulation, no matter how gratifying and insightful it was.
So here’s the first question in examining kundalini meditation: in the long run, is this the most effective way of working with and employing the life force within us, or is kundalini meditation akin to spiritual masturbation?
My life’s work as a “psychologist with a spiritual bent” has been to explore the phenomenon of meditation from both the inside-out (subjective internal) and scientific perspectives, and to identify the primary psychological process that underlies all the world’s meditative traditions. I’ve experienced the Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, Taoist, and Native American approaches to quieting the mind and entering into communion with the spiritual power, wisdom, and love that permeate the universe. This has been a large study.
In my first kundalini book, I did my best to advance the ancient Hindu tradition so that it fit seamlessly into our Western culture. Specifically, I broke with the Hindu tradition that the goal of kundalini meditation focused on raising the kundalini energy higher and higher up through the top of the head into total final transformation and enlightenment. Instead, I encouraged a meditation on the chakras that held the heart most important, and balancing of the chakras rather than hyperstimulation as the primary goal. I also offered a meditative process that was pretty much free from preconceived beliefs about the kundalini experience, so that one could explore one’s natural kundalini nature beyond all manipulation. (Manipulative techniques are those in which you are first taught a mental belief or concept, such as how energy flows through the kundalini paths, and then try to imagine this happening in your own body.)
I once worked for two years as a research hypnotist conducting National Institutes of Mental Health studies into the power of the human mind to convince itself that an imagined experience is real. People often hold beliefs that they cling to even though those beliefs fly in the face of reality itself. A great many religious beliefs are of this nature, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.
So the question naturally arises: how do we tell the difference between a real and an imagined experience of kundalini energy flow in our bodies? I can’t answer this question for you, but in my case, I have come to realize that I was at least partly imagining my experience, even though there seemed to be a deeper energetic and spiritual reality that inspired my imaginations. I challenge you to look in this direction yourself.
One of the big ways in which we seem to lead ourselves astray in meditation is this: we have a great meditative experience once, and then we try to have it again and again. In the process we begin to manipulate our experience and fool ourselves with imagination, thus losing the real thing. Genuine spiritual experience is always a unique, spontaneous, present-moment happening.
So no matter how great an inner experience you might have, I strongly recommend that you never try to repeat that experience. Why? Because the reality of spiritual life, in fact of all life, is that reality never repeats itself. We can never have the same experience twice, except in our imaginations.
This is why I began to shift away from meditations in which I was trying to make a concept in my head turn into an experience in my body. Instead, more and more I explored the Taoist and Zen methodologies in which I simply did my best each new moment to be aware of the air flowing in and out of my nose, the movements in my chest and belly as I breathed, and my wholebody participation in the present moment.
I shifted from a mental fixation on beliefs and ideas, expectations and anticipations about an inner experience I wanted, to a simple sensory focus on reality itself and my spontaneous involvement in that unfolding reality.
What I discovered was that, indeed, the kingdom of heaven is at hand. And every present moment offers the opportunity for spirit to act through us in the world—that’s where the real rush of life is found. This doesn’t mean that I now ignore the chakra practice that I taught in my kundalini book; it just means that I do that meditation in the context of continual present-moment awareness.
Another significant change that has come over my meditative practice has to do with how often I meditate and for how long. Often I’m asked this question: “How long do you meditate each day, John?” To which I answer, “Oh, three or four times a day, for three or four minutes. And also, all the time, nonstop, while I’m awake.”
I know tradition dictates that you’ve got to sit yourself down for at least half an hour at a time for anything to “happen” in a meditation session. But once again, notice that you hold in your mind the belief that something should “happen” when you meditate. You want some sort of meditative payoff, right? You make yourself do something for a certain amount of time, you expend a certain amount of concentration and discipline, and you want dividends. That’s how the meditation equation is set up: you pay the price, and you get the goodies.
There’s an underlying one-liner in this core attitude of many meditation traditions that’s questionable—the belief that plain old reality isn’t good enough, that you need a spiritual boost to be satisfied with life.
But do you really? My experience has been that boredom comes from fixating overmuch on my inner thoughts and future expectations rather than focusing on the actual event of the emerging present moment. I come alive when I shift from past-future thoughts to present-moment participation. It’s never boring, living on the edge of life!
In my psychological studies of the meditative experience, I found one theme running through all the world’s great traditions: meditation means quieting the flow of chronic thoughts through your mind and focusing instead on the emerging moment. And where meditation techniques really work, they succeed in quieting the stream of consciousness that tends to dominate our awareness.
Patanjali taught ways to quiet the flow of thoughts through the mind and so did Buddha and countless other masters over the centuries. But as you know, none of them are easy, quick, or predictable. From my studies, it seems that the priestly cult throughout history has always made the meditative path difficult—otherwise, the priests have no power over the populace—and all too often religion has ended up as a power game even when it’s selling enlightenment.
I say this because, when I approached meditation techniques as a psychologist, it took me only a few years to crack the “quiet your mind” challenge. I began to watch my own thoughts flowing through my mind, and I took note when they temporarily stopped. I encourage you to do this yourself; it’s a basic Buddhist meditation.
What I noticed was that certain perceptual experiences in and of themselves temporarily quieted my mind instantly, naturally, and with no effort at all. You’ve noticed this as well—viewing a sunset, for example, tends to quiet the mind and boost good feelings; so does gazing at the rippling of the surface of a lake or pond; so does tuning in to the breeze blowing on your face and the scent in the air; so does making love; so does a great meal or an engrossing concert; so, in fact, does any event that turns your attention toward two or more sensory experiences at the same time!
Wait a minute, I said to myself. I remember being on a team doing perceptual research way back in the early days of my career, when we found out that very same thing and noted it, not realizing what we’d found. For years I’d been walking around with the answer without knowing it. We’d been studying three Hindu yogic masters who could actually stop their hearts from beating at will, get cut with a razor and stop the bleeding, lower their blood pressure at will, and so on and so forth. We wired them to EEG machines and watched their brain waves during all this. And we noted that when they did one of their meditations of focusing on two or more sensory events at the same time (moving a toe and turning the head, for instance) their EEG indicated a sudden shift into alpha. We noted it, but were more fascinated by the bigger feats these guys could perform—and missed the insight.
Looking back, I realized the “quiet mind” insight and began purposefully putting together a meditation that applied the insight. I drew as much as I could from existing Hindu and Buddhist methodologies: they’d known for thousands of years, for instance, that the primary tool of meditation is focused awareness—the mind’s ability to consciously choose, in each new moment, where to aim its power of attention. That’s always the initial step, to remember to use that tool effectively.
And where to aim that attention? Toward the most important constant sensory event of the human experience: the sensation of the air flowing in and out of the nose. That’s basic Hindu and Buddhist meditation in a nutshell.
But here’s where the perceptual research added its insight: not to stop with breath awareness per se, but to expand the awareness another crucial notch to include, at the same time, another sensory event. I had found, for instance, that quite naturally, consciousness expands from breath awareness in the nose to also include the movements in the chest and belly while inhaling and exhaling.
It’s this second expansion of awareness that generates the inner shift in attention away from chronic thoughts to pure experience.
As I explored this utterly simple process, I found that something truly remarkable happens psychologically as the mind expands from being fixated on a point (thought after throught) to perceiving two or more sensations at the same time—awareness shifts from point-fixation into “seeing everything at once” mode. And it’s this cognitive shift that quiets the mind. Thoughts are linear; they flow through the mind one after another, word after word, phrase after phrase. The mind looks from one to the next (that’s how we think psychologically) through chronic point-fixation.
You can be aware of the air flowing in and out of your nose, and still think. That’s why the Buddhist meditation that challenges you to stay aware of the air flowing in and out of your nose, but offers no further guidance, drives most people up the wall—thoughts keep returning to dominate your mind. You can play that game for years, half an hour a day in meditation, and still be plagued by a chattery mind. But as soon as you expand your awareness to include, at the same time, the sensations of your breathing in your chest and belly—kapow! I’ll give you a dime if you can keep thinking.
Why does this work so effectively? Because of that cognitive shift from point-fixation to “seeing everything at once.” When you let go of point-fixation and see the whole at once (two or more sensations at the same time), you shift into that blessed present-moment condition in which your mind is quiet, and you’re tuned in to your deeper intuitive aesthetic brain function instead.
In the Hindu and Buddhist traditions, much emphasis is placed on attaining enlightenment: awakening permanently into a totally conscious state of mind. Is this what you want from meditation? Most people do. It’s a dandy idea.
Unfortunately though, this belief that the average person can meditate and somehow achieve total permanent enlightenment is simply not psychologically true—nor is it even really desired by most people deep down. I personally have thrown out the whole notion of enlightenment; it’s a belief that doesn’t quite fit reality. How many enlightened people do you know? Really?
And what do you get when you throw out that belief? You get the freedom to accept yourself just as you are, as perfect. Jesus said it: “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect.” Wow. That’s quite an order. And then he provided the same key to that perfection in everyday life that Buddha had centuries earlier—accept and love yourself just as you are.
Probably the most bothersome habit and indeed addiction of the New Age movement (an overcommercialized phase that is hopefully over and done with at this point) was the built-in one-liner that you’re not okay just as you are. It was the same old priestly mantra—that if only you dig in and “improve” yourself by doing this and that and buying this and that, then (at some point in the future) all will be well in your life. In other words, being just the way you are is not good enough. You must strive toward perfection.
But deep in the true teachings of all religions is the core belief that you are perfectly fine, whole, and acceptable, just as you are. You don’t need to improve yourself in order for God to love you.
Likewise with the emerging eternal moment. Sure, Barack is right, we need change in the world. We are an evolving society, and evolution is healthy because we steadily adapt our attitudes and behaviors to better match reality. But this moment right here and now, as the air comes flowing into your nose, just happens to be God’s perfect creation, and who are we to judge it as less than perfect? And that goes for our own selves as well. We are perfectly okay right here, right now, with zero change required for total love and acceptance.
My understanding is that what most people really want when they meditate is to enter into this feeling of everything being perfect just as it is. Sure, it can be a radical rush to experience kundalini energy flowing throughout your body in perfect channels. But ultimately that’s not going to bring that feeling of quiet peace and fulfillment, that sense of direct communion with God, that certainty of being one with your creator.
What process can we do regularly, even constantly, to stay tuned in to our inner wellsprings of peace, insight, and contentment? Here’s what works for me—just say the following focus phrases to yourself, often, every day:
If you pause for just one minute and say these focus phrases to yourself once an hour, you’ll transform your life. And once a day, remember to move through a basic chakra-balancing kundalini meditation. And of course, sit quietly for however long you like. There are also a few other focus phrases I’ve generated from the merger of cognitive psychology and meditative traditions, which will add to your experience. (For more information, go to iUplift.com.)
What especially concerns me these days is the quality of consciousness we maintain at work—and the spiritual connectedness we bring to important decisions. You probably spend at least eight hours a day at work, and I challenge you to remain aware of your breathing and your heart each moment of that day. Also, when you’re with family and lover, apply the same effort. Make breath awareness primary, and all else unfolds as a spiritually inspired and empowered experience. That’s what I consider good use of our kundalini charge!