Thursday, September 02, 2010
Several years ago, I wrote a piece called “The Loneliness of the Solitary Ecstatic.” What I wrote then is still true today. Those who contact me about their Kundalini journeys frequently say that they feel extremely isolated, for they lack anyone to confide in, Family and friends simply do not understand this mysterious process, and often the writer is disturbed by finding him/herself in some special category, seemingly set apart from the rest of the human race. A lucky few do have partners and friends, even therapists, who support them and give them encouragement. But on the whole, such support is rare.
Certainly, things have improved somewhat. As I have mentioned, there are literally hundreds of thousands of Kundalini sites on the internet today, some including talk sites and many with myriad references to other sources.
Yet, the sense of isolation persists. I am included in those who feel set apart, for my own process has become more and more rarified through the years. And although it seems that Kundalini awakenings are becoming more frequent, I know of no one who reports the same kind of delicate sensation, sometimes seeming to be produced outside rather than within the body. This exquisite refinement, produced by many years of “practice,” leads to indescribable feelings--but they are, like all subjective experience, not really describable.
Of course, I am profoundly grateful to be part of this mysterious process as it continues to unfold. It seems quite magical, as if directed from elsewhere and leading us to a goal not clear to us at this stage. One never knows when the infusion of bliss will occur--even this morning, when I was planning to go for a welcome walk, an inner voice told me to give at least fifteen minutes to “practice” (my part is to show up.) So I listened to a favorite CD (“Roads of Blessings” by Lama Gyurme and Jean-Philippe Rykiel) and even as I sat at my computer listening to this piece from my ITunes library, I was once more swept into the ocean of bliss, again incredibly delicate but truly rapturous. After some 45 minutes or so, I finally was able to pull away and go for a walk by Boulder Creek (also a delightful experience, though of a different sort.)
But it is indeed a lonely journey, in all its forms and manifestations, whether intense or subtle, thunder and lightning or gentle rain falling on the leaves, whether for the beginner or the practiced disciple.