In l981 at the age of fifty-three, Dorothy Walters experienced intense and spontaneous kundalini awakening, and the subsequent unfolding has been the center of her life ever since. With little preparation and with no external guide or mentor to lead her, she followed the promptings of her “inner guru,” or what she calls “Kundalini consciousness,” which led her safely through the many challenges she faced, including episodes of extreme bliss as well as pain. She describes her awakening experience, along with reflections on the kundalini process, in her book Unmasking the Rose: A Record of a Kundalini Initiation.
Now, amazed by how rapidly kundalini awareness and awakening are occurring throughout the world, Dorothy strongly believes that we are in the midst of planetary initiation into a new level of consciousness, with kundalini as the primary engine for this evolutionary leap. A retired professor and author of Marrow of Flame: Poems of the Spiritual Journey and A Cloth of Fine Gold: Poems of the Inner Journey, she shares her experience in the following essay, which begins and ends with two of her poems. Here, Dorothy introduces such questions as: Does kundalini’s activation of bliss and awareness, doubt and pain prepare us for another level of conscious development? Do we all have the ability to experience kundalini?
The year was l981. I was sitting in my living room on an el-mlined street in Kansas, reading a book that made passing reference to a phenomenon I had heard of but knew almost nothing about. The phenomenon was named Kundalini, said to be a “snake” that resided at the base of the spine and whose journey upward—instigated through the practice of ancient yogic techniques—would lead, ultimately, to the opening of the crown and even enlightenment. I decided to give it a try. I was in a time of personal crisis, but something inside said that I could raise these energies, even though I had never practiced yoga or meditated or, for that matter, even had a massage. Indeed, I did not even know anyone who engaged in such esoteric pursuits. As a university professor of English and women’s studies, I had lived primarily in my head, with virtually no awareness of the inner energies and the life of the spirit they engaged.
I sat quietly in my chair and breathed deeply, focusing on an image of the god and goddess in union in the volume I had been reading. Suddenly I felt a ball of rapturous energy in my lower abdomen. And then, within seconds it seemed, these energies rushed upward into my head.
I felt an influx of ecstatic energy streaming into my skull while my very brain was infused with rapture. As my crown opened, it felt like “a thousand petals unfolding,” just as the ancient texts describe. The experience lasted for several minutes, and, as long as I did not think about what was happening, it continued. Suddenly I realized that I was not, in fact, a separate, autonomous, self-individuated being, but merely a tiny spark in a great, indescribable, inscrutable force, the unnamed source of all that is, that which animates and powers the universe in overwhelming love. I was a fiction I told to myself, a myth I had invented. Finally, I decided to end my “experiment,” since I really was not sure what was actually happening to me.
But this was not the end of the experience at all. Rather, it marked the beginnings of a long journey, which was sometimes daunting and at other times filled with rapture, one which would take me into realms I had not dreamed of and whose ends I could not foresee.
What had occurred to me on that now-distant day was “spontaneous Kundalini awakening,” prompted primarily by the stress of my immediate psychological crisis and a curious convergence of circumstances. I had been catapulted into a new level of awareness, transformed in a quantum leap of staggering proportions. In Katherine Anne Porter’s phrase, it was truly “the moment that changes everything.”
In the days that followed, I seemed to be led forward by a consciousness beyond my own. I experienced inner visions of initiatory rites, both Tibetan Buddhist and yogic in nature, though I had no real background in either of these traditions. I held the vajra and the bell (the text I had been reading mentioned these sacred implements, which were unfamiliar to me—I found a reasonable facsimile of the former in the house and then a tiny bell, the only one I had). When I stood before a mirror, I saw the light around my body and saw my lips move as I heard (internally) my new name, a Sanskrit word that I did not then know but which I later interpreted to mean “truth speaker.” At the same moment, I was also told that an additional part of my life’s purpose was to be a healer. Kundalini itself seemed to lead me forward. But what was Kundalini?
Even now, there are few universally agreed-upon definitions or descriptions of this mysterious power. Kundalini arrives in various kinds of packaging and affects each person in a highly individual way. For each, it carries its own scent and brings its own signature. However, a few observations may be made with some confidence. Those most informed on the subject hold Kundalini to be the bioelectrical energy of the physical body (and the creative energy of the universe as a whole). It also operates as a connecting force in the various layers of the subtle energy fields that enfold the physical body. For most people, this energy typically operates by itself, well below the threshold of consciousness. It is the elemental life force, what keeps us going for as long as we are alive.
Once the Kundalini “awakens,” bodily sensations and impulses come into awareness in a way not experienced before. We become incredibly sensitive to both pleasure and pain, as if the cells themselves are firing in awareness as small (or large) explosions of joy or discomfort. Generally, it is believed that pain results when there are “blockages,” that is, constrictions in mind, body, emotions, or psyche. People with major unresolved psychological issues, as well as those with serious physical challenges, may be especially at risk. As the Kundalini works through the system, it flushes out these hidden blockages, and presses on until they are cleared.
This process can be difficult and troublesome, even for the most seemingly balanced and normal person. There may be episodes of intense bliss alternating with periods of severe pain. Saints are said to sustain near constant bliss, but even these exalted ones undergo episodes of suffering. For almost all of us, the two states mingle and intermix. It all depends on the subject herself. It is almost as if the Kundalini has an intelligence of its own as it presses forward—its promptings may be strong or weak at various times, but it generally continues until the task is completed.
But Kundalini is much more than an ongoing series of novel sensations. For the committed aspirant, it awakens a deep sense of connection with the divine essence, the ultimate mystery of creation itself. Often, especially during the bliss states, we feel as though these visitations come from a heavenly source, almost as if the angels have descended and enfolded us in boundless love. As one observer remarked, “Kundalini is God moving through your body.” During this time, we may feel as though the Beloved Within is a real lover, who awakens each part of the self to sensuous, tender rapture or even ecstasy. We may feel hugely blessed, even though no one can say for certain what is actually taking place or where the process will lead.
As I was carried day after day into such blissful states, I had no spiritual teacher or guide to direct me or to explain what was happening. At that time, Kundalini was virtually unknown in the West, and certainly no qualified teacher or guru was to be found in the part of the country where I lived. In fact, I knew no one who had had such an experience or, for that matter, had even heard of Kundalini. I had one book on the subject, the famous work in which Gopi Krishna describes his own experience. As far as I knew, he and I were the only people on the planet who had undergone Kundalini awakening. I was on my own.
For me, this unforeseen event (in a process that continued to unfold day by day) was the holiest of holies, the most sacred of all possible human experiences. It told me that the divine was all, and that I was but a minute particle in an ongoing and unfathomable process of an unknown vastness, ultimate love itself pouring through and maintaining the entire structure of the cosmos.
Though I had no human mentor, I soon realized that I was being led by a special awareness within, an “inner guru” who utilized my own intuition and the consciousness of Kundalini itself to lead me on my way. I seemed to know instinctively what to do, how to construct a personal devotional practice, how to move, how to feel. Everything seemed right. I let myself be led by this unnamed reality into experiences that were untried yet strangely familiar. It was as though I had at last, after years of struggle and effort, finally come home.
In ancient India, yogis prepared for years for the ultimate experience of “enlightenment.” They followed strict ascetic disciplines, ate a carefully controlled diet, performed obscure rituals of cleansing and purification, and mastered extreme yogic techniques. By these rigorous means, they hoped, eventually, to enter “nirvana,” release from the wheel of human suffering and pain. Kundalini, carefully cultivated and controlled, was the driving force behind these efforts.
I knew nothing of such practices. Initially, I felt that I had no real preparation for the dramatic shift that had erupted in my life. But after much reflection, I realized that my life path had in fact laid a foundation for such an expansion of consciousness.
Certainly, I had been on the “seeker’s path” for many years, reading such writers as Joseph Campbell (The Hero’s Journey), Carl Jung, Mircea Eliade, T.S. Eliot, W.B. Yeats, and others who explored the fundamental questions in a serious way. And like many other spiritual explorers in that era (the sixties and seventies), I had investigated certain metaphysical and esoteric areas, such as tarot, caballa, extrasensory perception, precognition, telepathy, astrology, and even ouija work. I knew the writings of Carlos Castaneda and Jane Roberts (the Seth books) and had drenched myself in the lore of the Western goddess and felt her influence strongly in my life. I had contemplated Taoism, the connection of yin and yang, male and female, intuitive and receptive, wave and particle, the various opposites whose union is central to many initiations. (Such information is now commonplace, but in l981 these were still fresh areas of discovery.)
So from one point of view, I had in fact prepared for this major transformation in my life on the mental and psychological levels.
And, though I did not have an outer guide to lead me, I did have one book that proved invaluable: Evelyn Underhill’s classic work entitled Mysticism. In it, she outlines in meticulous detail the journey of the Western mystic, a description based primarily on the experience of the devoutly religious of the Christian tradition. This is not an easy book to read. It is like a reference book one returns to again and again, each time grasping a bit more of her erudite message. But this book became my guide even though she makes scant reference to Kundalini as such, for the broad stages of the mystical journey are much the same for initiates of various traditions, and the patterns of the saint are often reflected in the less celebrated ventures of the humble seeker.
Traditionally, the Western mystic path is divided into three primary stages: purgation, illumination, and union. But Underhill offers five principal stages in the mystic progression, adding awakening or conversion as the first stage, and surrender or the “Dark Night” as the next to last:
Each section in her text offers invaluable insight and understanding, but she emphasizes that the stages do not always follow one another in a neat, linear progression, instead frequently overlapping or oscillating back and forth in a pattern unique to each aspirant. For modern seekers, especially those destined to follow the Kundalini path, I believe a somewhat different terminology and arrangement will be more helpful.
Anyone beginning a journey must first possess the desire for such an undertaking. The Sufis call this initial stage “yearning.” Spiritual yearning is indeed the sign of the serious student, one who acknowledges that something is lacking in her or his life and wishes to discover what this may be. The desire may not be pointed directly toward Kundalini arousal as such; nonetheless it is an important step in the overall process if Kundalini is to be more than a fleeting bodily sensation.
I have already described the kinds of incidental “preparation” I followed before my own key experience. Today, workshops and spiritual teachers, meditation instruction, even classes called “Kundalini Yoga” abound, so that the eager student can find many ways to expand consciousness. Practices once considered esoteric are now commonplace. Information formerly confined to a select few is now readily available, often rewritten in transparent language for the ordinary reader. And, though some of the current efforts are somewhat superficial or blatantly commercial, some see this current wave of interest as leading toward worldwide expansion of consciousness and planetary initiation.
Whatever the preliminaries, the moment of deep awakening into fuller awareness, whether that of the Christian convert or the Kundalini initiate, entails an abrupt shift in worldview and sense of self. This is the time of “unselfing,” the swallowing up of the limited sense of identity into the larger awareness of an Absolute that knows no limits. We realize that this ineffable source, this indefinable reality that has so swiftly torn down all defenses and poured into our very selves, is, in fact, all that is, for we are mere indiscernible atoms in this immeasurable process, and we are humbled by this knowledge. For some, this is not welcome information—they resist giving up the ego’s claim to selfhood. For others, this is the time to revel in the new sense of beauty, of Oneness, of the splendor of all that makes up our perceived reality. We are in a very literal sense reborn, made new, and we emerge from our encounter wearing new garments in which to greet the world. At last, our being is complete. Finally, we know who we are.
This blissful opening may persist as a state of unbroken joy and exultation for weeks or months, with ecstatic energies bringing daily rapture to the engaged practitioner. This is the time when the senses may become eerily acute, and new capacities such as long-distance sight and hearing may occur. The disciple may sense wondrous odors or hear beautiful music within. Everything seems fresh and new. The world has been remade, and we reside in a newfound Garden of Eden, the original paradise of mythology. These are universal symptoms of the awakened mystic.
If the Kundalini is flowing, the daily love-play with the inner paramour tells us that the Beloved Within in not merely a symbol or myth, but a reality experienced as fully as if a human lover were involved. Merely lifting an arm or breathing in a certain pattern can stimulate remarkably sensuous delight. Music may convey sensations of rapture beyond the power of description. This, then, is heaven on earth.
It is during this time that the initiates of many traditions may recapitulate the ancient themes of the divine lover come to pursue the human partner on earth. Myth and archetypes from across the world tell a universal story of gods and goddesses descending to lure and seduce the human below. We think of Zeus and his wanton escapades, Krishna and the maidens, the goddesses East and West who enrapture their human partners. The most familiar of these narratives is that of the Virgin, impregnated by the Holy Spirit in order to bear the Divine Child. Even nuns are said to be brides of Christ.
Likewise, when we are in the throes of intense Kundalini arousal we may, in our imaginations, become love partners of various divine beings, from angels to assorted goddess/god figures to Christ himself. This state resembles (and for the aspirant is) the mystic marriage, the ultimate union of human and divine such as that described by St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross.
As the system adjusts to the new frequencies now at play within, there are often oscillations between times of pleasure and episodes of suffering. Periods of ecstatic love-play may be abruptly interrupted by sessions of discomfort or distress such as massive headaches, digestive problems, eyestrain, seeming heart irregularities, dizziness, anxiety, and other disorders for which no physical basis can be found. The distress may occur now here, now there, moving from organ to organ, system to system, as if the Kundalini were indeed clearing the overall organism, purging and releasing in search of a stable point of balance. Underhill points out that even the high saints may undergo such trials.
Many have noted that when the suffering becomes too intense, at the moment when they think they can bear no further stress, the Kundalini-begotten pressures will withdraw and allow a period of rest before the next challenge appears. It is as if the Kundalini is conscious of our limits and knows when to back away and when to resume.
For the committed mystic of the traditional path, this period of “purgation” is often a time of deep introspection, of examination of the soul to root out all its imperfections and weaknesses. Extreme ascetics of both East and West sometimes resort to rites of mortification, or severe regimens of fasting and prayer, to bring the soul into a state of perfection. Sins are brought to light and rituals of penance imposed.
However, for the modern aspirant, it is often psychological issues or lifestyle practices that call for attention. Now is the time to seek meaningful psychological help for all the lingering wounds of childhood or societally imposed traumas, to deal with what has been repressed in order to survive in an often unkind world. Those who are self-rejecting need to learn to accept and love themselves as worthy and lovable beings, for it is said that self-deprecation can be as great an obstacle to realization as is ego inflation.
Also, many now realize that the diet needs adjustment, that harmful habits of excess of various kinds (such as addictions), unresolved conflicts, and other destructive patterns of behavior all need to be confronted.
For the latent issues will come up and demand to be dealt with, and emotions may run strong. It has often been noted that meditation itself can bring into consciousness painful past issues still awaiting attention, much to the surprise of those expecting to enter unbroken bliss in the new state. Likewise, Kundalini acts as a “teacher to the soul,” pointing out in unmistakable ways those areas needing to be healed.
Although the initial awakening may have been preceded by a time of grief and despair, Underhill asserts that the most trying dark night of the soul comes at a later stage. After the bliss, after the many convolutions and returns, there is, suddenly, a seeming withdrawal of divine favor. Bliss, which may have become a regular feature of one’s life, suddenly departs, and one is left to ponder what has gone wrong. For the Christian disciple, the feeling is often one of profound despair, as if God has simply turned his face away from an unworthy subject. And, for those on the Kundalini path, the effect is much the same.
We feel that somehow, we did not measure up, or we failed the final test, and now we are left to dwell in the perpetual awareness of acute loss. According to Underhill, this grief is greater than any experienced earlier, because we have now “tasted God,” known the deep splendor of divine acceptance.
The Christian saint thrown into this abyss of despair must make final surrender, acknowledge and repent all sins and weakness, and allow herself to be guided by divine authority into favor once more. The lesson is much the same for the Kundalini novice—we discover (again) that the journey is not under our control, that it is directed by some still-mysterious force seemingly both within and outside the self. We must release all attempts to guide or force a return to the earlier state, and simply stand still and wait in patience and humility for the renewal of connection.
Some ask why it is that once we have sampled “paradise” on this plane, it is then so often snatched away from us, and pain and forms of “dis-ease” ensue. Why can we not continue in this elevated state in which all was bathed in the bliss of limitless love and our bodies and souls seemed to exist (finally) in total accord?
To begin with, we have to remember that when Kundalini is awakened into consciousness, we are (if we are among the lucky ones) more or less removed from this world into an inner Eden. We exist and feel in ways we have never experienced before. We are like babes enjoying the total attention and devotion of mothers who dote on us and give us constant love and support.
And then, suddenly, our Edenic world fades, and we become aware of the pressures of the outside world. The mother-force vanishes (or diminishes radically), and we are on our own in a disturbed, sometimes uncaring, sometimes threatening world. We realize we have to do more than sit and sigh in rapture, that we have to earn a living, care for the urgent needs of friends and families (who may be facing major challenges in their own lives), and attend to our own health, which may appear to falter. Old psychological wounds may again surface and demand attention, and old physical scars may ache once more.
The first period is the honeymoon time of Kundalini. It can last for days or weeks or possibly even years, but at some point (at least for most of us) it will take a different turn. The honeymoon is now over, and we must deal with some very urgent issues before we are ready to go forward to the next stage. What we have experienced thus far is a massive leap into another level of existence. That part was easy. Now the real work begins.
So we must go back yet again, deal with all the remaining unfinished business in our lives, learn new ways of coping with the world and its stressors, and find new methods to maintain balance. This is our time of deep purification, of making ourselves ready to sustain these new energies and this new way of life in a more consistent way.
And then, in the midst of our struggle, the blissful energies return, and all is in harmony once more. We know we are on the right course. We are in alignment with source and so move ahead. Even now, though we make discernable progress, we suffer setbacks and returns, shifts and oscillations, as we continue our struggle on this uneven and unpredictable path. The rewards are many, but the cost may be extreme.
Now our responses may become more sensitive than ever, bringing alternately bliss and pain. Coming into the presence of a highly evolved spiritual teacher or group may evoke sensuous energies of delight. Sacred places, sacred objects, and works of art, literature, or music may serve as triggers for stirring the sweet vibrations within. Bowing before a representation of Buddha may send streams of ineffable delight into the head. A passing stranger may bring a sudden opening of the heart chakra. The possibilities seem endless, each encounter bringing a shift in tone and feeling.
Likewise, unpleasant encounters with disturbing persons, witnessing unexpected conflicts in the street, even harsh noises such as a car backfiring may send flashes of pain through the system.
As the process continues, our energies become ever more delicate, ever more refined. What once arrived as a great storm of thunder and lightning now comes quietly, resembling soft rain falling on the trees in the forest. At first, we may have practiced the strenuous asanas of yoga to send the exquisite energies streaming, but now a bit of music, a gentle turning of wrist or hand may be sufficient to stir the familiar bliss flows.
Each initiate undergoes a different experience, even a different sequence of events. Some may never experience the bliss despite years of devoted practice. Some may discover suffering rather than joy. What I am describing is the pattern I am most familiar with, and which resembles in certain ways that of some others. There are, indeed, many paths up the mountain, and Kundalini selects its own course.
Kundalini is at once the most personal and the most universal experience we can have. It strikes at the very heart of the self, touches and transforms it in every imaginable way, and leaves it in a state of unending change and adjustment. Although there are some common features, each person undergoes the initiation process in a unique way. The beginning circumstances, the unfolding, the mental and psychological responses are decidedly our own, unlike those of any other.
Often, the seeker’s experience is framed in terms already familiar: Taoist alchemy, tantric yoga, Native American spirituality, goddess lore, Buddhism, Sufism, Christianity—whatever has captured the seeker’s imagination in the past or is now thrust into consciousness may become the template for this overwhelming life event. And the discoveries (whether mental or emotional) that manifest during this critical juncture come as radically new insights, holy mysteries revealed for the first time.
These revelations are precious, for they carry the initiate into the heart of the sacred, a world one has longed for but never before clearly discerned. The initiation is unique, a gift to be treasured and revered.
At the same time, deep spiritual transformation is itself a universal human experience, one with a very long history across time and space. Whether it is the journey of the Christian mystic into divine union or the Sufi seeker yearning for the Beloved, the story of the soul’s encounter with inner reality carries certain features common to a great many traditions and lineages. Kundalini operates as the basis for all such entries into transcendence, and it will emerge into consciousness for many on the path, whatever their orientation, for it is the vibration of the ultimate mystery that constantly calls us to awakening.
In addition to the traditional stages of the mystic path that Underhill and others have discussed, there are also certain recurrent motifs or themes that seem to run through many personal accounts of spontaneous inner transformation. Here are some that come readily to mind:
The goal of the mystical journey is, for the religious, permanent union with the higher being, total surrender of self—annihilation into God. St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross in the Western tradition are examples, as are the many holy men and women of the East who often abandon all involvement with the things of this world and retreat into remote caves or forests in order to maintain their state of connection with this ineffable reality.
But most of us do not commit our lives to such demanding paths. Rather, we continue on our course of balancing and discovery, moving always to new levels of stability as we learn to live “in the world and out of it.” We are like the hero who, at the end of his journey, does not turn away from the world but seeks a way to “bring the treasure back home.” We know that at this critical time the planet needs all the help it can get from whatever quarter. Some become healers; some share the wisdom they have gained through speaking or writing, music, or the visionary arts (becoming technicians of the sacred); some accept humble occupations of service. In the East, this is called the way of the bodhisattva, one who foregoes personal enlightenment to help others as they progress.
Kundalini is the goddess force, the ultimate creative energy, the dynamism that keeps the world alive. It is the power resting at the heart of every entity and being in the universe. It lies for most of us in quiescent form, a sleeping serpent ready to rise within and lift us to unimaginable levels of ecstatic union with ultimate reality. It is then that we know that It and we ourselves are One, that this inscrutable source not only defines but comprises who we are, for we in ourselves are nothing but pulsating atoms within this infinite consciousness.
In the midst of chaos, planetary awakening is occurring, at times arriving in unexpected places and manifesting in unlikely circumstances. Sometimes a result of laborious preparation and discipline, sometimes as pure gift, it is, I believe, the path to the new consciousness and the means of our survival as we transition into the next stage of species evolution.