Kundalini Splendor

NOTE: I WILL BE OFF LINE FOR ABOUT TWO WEEKS BEGINNING TOMORROW.  HAPPY FALL, EVERYONE!  I AM OFF TO SAN FRANCISCO TO SEE OLD FRIENDS AND VISIT THE WINE COUNTRY AS WELL AS THE MONTEREY PENINSULA.


Fall Equinox

Once more the season turns,
time, the great river of light,
sweeping us along,
as if we were leaves
newly cast down
from trees abandoning
their own present
for an undefined future,
a new world,
fresh beginning,
body clothed anew
in as yet indescribable garments,
green of new birth to come,
old skin shed,
pealed back,
hidden flesh revealed
fresh and raw,
everything starting again
once more.

Dorothy Walters,
September 20-21, 2012

“White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field”

Coming down out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel, or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful, and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings - five feet apart -
and the grabbing thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what had been running
through the white valleys of the snow -
and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes
to lurk there, like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows -
so I thought:
maybe death isn't darkness, after all,
but so much light wrapping itself around us -
as soft as feathers -
that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking,
and shut our eyes, not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow,
that is nothing but light - scalding, aortal light -
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.

~ Mary Oliver

(image found on google)

Recently I posted a reflection as to whether the gods of Western myth and symbol were in fact aliens come to earth and operating among human kind.  This is not an original idea, and not necessarily one I believe, but I do think it is fun to play around with such theories from time to time.

My earlier post focused mainly on the gods of ancient Greece, the site generally recognized as one of the primary "birthplaces" of Western Civilization.

Recently, for several nights, I watched much of the PBS presentation of Richard Wagner's epic opera called "The Ring Cycle."  The narrative of this opera is derived from the ancient Norse sagas which have to do with the theft of a magic gold ring which will give the  possessor control over the entire world.  In these early narratives, the gods and goddesses play a very prominent role, as they do in Wagner's opera.  What interests me is the "magical" capacities these gods display and how these relate to certain abilities ascribed to aliens, even today.

These talents include:
The ability to take on the physical body and features of others, human and animal (shape shifting?)
The ability to become invisible.
Ability to move instantaneously from one place to another
Capacity to know what another is thinking
Ability to communicate telepathically with others

All of these various capacities are seen by humankind as forms of magic--gifts well outside the normal human range of activity.  (And such beings as shamans, wizards and others possess these talents as well).

Does the seeming correspondence between what these gods (as well as shamans, wizards, and such) can do and the supernormal talents ascribed to aliens prove that they--gods an aliens-- are one and the same?  I think not.  The idea that beings might possess such gifts more likely should be ascribed to human imagination, which seems infinite in its various manifestations.  But nonetheless, such notions do give us interesting materials for speculation.

At the same time, it is also true that Kundalini can bestow on us gifts well beyond our usual range of abilities.  Even the ability to "stroke the aura" from some distance away and feel the result as light blissful energy always strikes me as a form of magic, a talent most people know nothing of.  And certainly the extreme bliss bestowed by Kundalini in its full blown manifestation seems like something "out of this world."

So this line of thought leads to yet more questions.  If Kundalini is a natural capacity possessed by all, why do some bring it into consciousness and others not?  Why do we possess it (Kundalini energy) at all (even as a potential) if it is not destined to announce itself and become integrated into our systems?  Did aliens meddle with our DNA so that some of us were left more talented in terms of aptitude for Kundalini manifestation than others?  Why does Kundalini so often express itself during deep spiritual practice, when the practitioner feels a special closeness to the divine energies of the universe?

As always, we have more questions than answers.  Kundalini is indeed "the mystery of mysteries" as are such questions as who are we?  where do we come from?  why do we exist?

Yet when we are in the full flow of Kundalini rapture, none of these queries matter--we care only for the moment of bliss, the state of ultimate union with the Mystery itself.

(image found through google)  

One of the fundamental premises of Jungian therapy is that psychological/emotional problems often have as their root cause the repression of unwelcome materials into the subconscious mind (I have never been quite clear on the distinction between the unconscious and the subconscious).   Healing can occur once these materials awaken into consciousness.  Jung stresses the use of dreams, symbols, myth and such to achieve such awakening--and what arises may be in the form of repressed memories, feelings, or sensations--all of which need to be acknowledged and integrated to achieve psychological wholeness.

I believe that the "ultimate" subconscious realm is that revealed by Kundalini itself.  The awakening of this powerful force can catapult one into primordial bliss, where neither language nor image nor interpretation is needed.  One simply becomes "it", for "it" is who you are.  Probably this is the state in which one existed in the womb--perhaps it is the great sea of bliss in which the atoms float before they manifest as form.

Those of us who contact this state through such means as Kundalini are, I think, extremely fortunate.  During most of our mortal existence we repress such experience, for we are focused primarily on "outward" achievements--these are needed for us to engage in our "ego building" state which is essential to our human development.  We cannot simply float in the "sea of bliss" all the time if we are to become fully human.  Yet at some point, we let go, and let our attention turn inward rather than outward, and our true individuation begins.

For a New Beginning

In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the gray promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life's desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

~ John O'Donohue ~

(To Bless the Space Between Us)

John O'Donohue was one of the most moving and gifted voices among us.  Although he died an untimely death, his words continue to inspire and lead many.  Check his website for more information, and read his books to gain wisdom and enlightenment.

(Image found through google.  See also his website at

www.johnodonohue.com/   )

Does sunset sometimes look like the sun's coming up?
Do you know what a faithful love is like?

You're crying.  You say you've burned yourself.
Can you think of anyone who's not
hazy with smoke?

Rumi

Personally, I resonate strongly with the last question of this poem.  It seems as though more and more people are suffering various extreme blows in their lives.  Some have already left the planet, others have remained, often as victims of unknown and mysterious diseases that expose them to great suffering, and many undergo unexpected losses.

The international picture contributes to the overall sense of grief.  When such crises occur, it is as if the very atmosphere picks up the vibrations of chaos and confusion.  This state adds to the sense of personal loss.  Most of us are unclear, even bewildered, by the causes of such universal turmoil, but we all feel its effects.

I think this is the time to "batten down the hatches," and hold fast to those we love and to those aspects of our universe that we esteem.  True friends will not betray us.  Nature will endure, no matter what blows are inflicted by humankind upon her.  We may in fact be at a great turning point in history, when familiar power structures shift and collapse, when new dominant ruling powers take shape, when many losses occur and new configurations emerge.  We may be entering a new dark age, or perhaps we are on the verge of a bright transformation of universal social structures.

One thing is clear.  Obviously we all had ancestors who managed to survive--wars, plagues, famines--catastrophes of all kind.  If they had not been survivors, we ourselves would not be here now.  Further, there is good reason to believe that even during times of vast social upheaval, many have managed to live lives of  quiet personal fulfillment.

Kundalini itself is an invaluable source of reassurance in times of trouble.  To begin with, it costs nothing.  If properly experienced, it can reassure us that the positive principles of joy and affirmation continue, no matter what is going on in the turbulent world around us.  It can tell us that we are connected to what is most powerful and meaningful in the universe, for we are a part of the universal process of creation and destruction, the energies of life itself.

Creek Water

Tumbling and shouting
like clowns
being poured out of
a barrel,
the creek is in full riot gear,
with a sound track
like an orchestra
tuning up
for a big performance,
harmonious cacophony
of individual voices,
heedless
of whether
their own matches the others
or not,
unconcerned with what audience
 might be watching
or listening,
whether they are happy
or sad,
whether they notice
or are unmoved.

Underneath it all
the plunk, plunk
of the steady
bass, somehow holding
the ensemble
together.
like a conductor
beating time
with his baton.

Light streams over the surface,
pieces of broken glass
shifting in patterns
too quick to comprehend,
 a mobile artwork
that defies
interpretation
by its swift changes.

At times, you need to let go
of all your puzzlements
about the meanings of things,
what it is all about,
why things went askew
when they did,
who you might have loved
in your life
if you had met them
in time,
and just sink to the very
bottom
of this well of stillness,
endless quiet
of not asking,
with only the many throated
voices of the stream
leading you deeper,
into the untranslatable
silence
of this,
the  moment revealed
at last.

Dorothy Walters
September  12-13, 2012

The above are pictures from my recent walk in the park along the creek.  they include ducks, meditator, yet another kind of meditator (relaxing in hammock), and a rock formation that resembles a stone canoe (if there were such a thing).  After many very hot days, we finally had a day when the temperature was mild enough to go for a long walk, and for this I was very grateful.  Today we had a real cold snap--with temperatures in the fifties, so I am wearing my winter gear--sweat pants and sweat shirt--in order to stay warm.  And last night we actually had some measurable rain.  It was beginning to feel like Eliot's wasteland around here, with little or no rain for many weeks.

Your Kundalini craves contact with nature, where many lovely surprises await you, often when you least expect them.  Even a short visit in the outdoors can reward you with amazing balance and a sense of inner serenity.

In Blackwater Woods

by Mary Oliver

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

"In Blackwater Woods" by Mary Oliver, from American Primitive. © Back Bay Books, 1983.
(picture found on internet)

Note: This is one of Mary Oliver's most famous and beloved poems.  As beautiful as it is, and as profound the sentiment, I would add a further thought.  Yes, we must "love what is mortal," but, once Kundalini arrives, we find ourselves loving something "immortal" as well--that is, we love the spirit of the Other, which transcends the material realm, with all its temporality and ephemeral qualities.  If Kundalini is the essence of that which engenders and empowers  all that is, it is eternal, not evanescent.
I think that we are best served by loving both worlds, and, of course, letting go of such attachments "when the time comes."

The Street Siren

Dressed in her “tough kid” outfit”
her fingerless wrist gloves
and tattoos,
her ancient jeans
and holding a half empty
bottle of beer,
she peers forth
from her innocent,
baby wide eyes,
as if she hadn’t beenthere
donethat maybe wantsto
go for it again,
standing up against
the brick wall
of a vacant lot,
amidst the grit
and garbage,
or the leaning boards
of an abandoned
beach shack
her mouth already open
to take in
whatever is offered,
whatever comes by,
her abundant hair in tumult
already writhing in delight,
snakes of Medusa,
voice of Janis
or Cybele.

Dorothy Walters
September 6, 2012

(Note:  Cybele was one of the fertility goddesses of ancient Greece.  Her rites were often quite riotous, even orgiastic.  Some of her statues were, like those of Diana of Ephesus, covered with breasts, perhaps derived from the shapes of fruits and other growing things, not unlike those in the picture above.  Try as they might, the more conservative authorities could never completely wipe out these rituals, which appealed to the most primal instincts of the celebrants.
Sounds like Kundalini in its most unrepressed expression, I think.)

For Desire

Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;
and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal
surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,
or cherries, the rich spurt in the back
of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.
Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I'm drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and begin their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.
To hell with the saints, with martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.
I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I'm nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it. I want to go
staggering and flailing my way
through the bars and back rooms,
through the gleaming hotels and weedy
lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks
where dogs are let off their leashes
in spite of the signs, where they sniff each
other and roll together in the grass, I want to
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again
and put on that little black dress and wait
for you, yes you, to come over here
and get down on your knees and tell me
just how fucking good I look

    - Kim Addonizio

Note: This poem came in on Larry Robinson's poem a day site.  I was a bit surprised to find it there (because of the strong content) and  you may likewise be surprised to find it here.  It is quite different from the poems that usually appear on this site, but it is a remarkably well constructed poem (she knows how to write!) and it expresses the "other side of the coin," the side that deals not with transcendence but immanence, the boundless joy of one who revels in "the things of this world," even as expressed in topics often considered off bounds in polite circles.  Kim is not trying to be polite.  She is insisting on meeting life on her own terms, whether "society" (the church and its dogmas) approve or not.  It is, on one level, a poem about God as contained in everything, even areas we normally consider "not nice."  It is a poem of passion.

It is also a poem about "breaking loose," becoming who we are whether others may approve or not.  Poems like this take courage.  They are "no holds barred" expressions of the free spirit expressing itself.  I think reading it also frees up some part of ourselves that we may normally repress (not that we are going to do the things described in the poem)--but all of us like to think shocking thoughts from time to time, maybe even do shocking things.

Kim has the gift of the true poet--the ability to express extremely passionate material without resorting to vulgarity or obscenity, as many younger poets today like to do.  She broadens our horizons without offending.  Hers is "the God of all that is," though of course she never uses that term.

(picture found on Google--from Wordpress)

Today is a red letter day for me.  The "author's copy" of 'Penelope's Web" arrived today. Copies for purchase on Amazon should be ready in a few weeks (I'll let you know.)  It is, of course, possible to order earlier from XLibris, the publisher: Orders@XLibris.com

I had a curious experience last night.  I turned off my lights in my living room and was making my way in the dark to my bedroom, feeling along the walls as I went, and hoping I would not stumble and fall.  At that point I saw an indistinct image on my "inner eye" and I realized it was an eye--the eye then became the eye of Horus, and I knew that this sacred spirit was guiding me safely through the dark.

(image found at google, the Eye of Horus, alibaba.com)

Advice To A Young Writer

My mother said,
“Eat well and get plenty of rest.”
I say, “Remember your dreams,
For these night visitors carry the secrets of
The imaginal world.”

Keep notes on your life,
The good the bad and the ugly.
They all have their place in the chronicle
That comes to rest on the thin blue line.

Make sure you eavesdrop often,
For in those words on the wind
You will unfold characters beyond
Your wildest dreams,
And what you might mistake for weeds
Could be a meadow of wild irises.

Pay attention to the details of your life—
The way you prefer milk in your coffee
Or the feel of your lover’s hand as it touches your face.
These will be the juice that fuels your writing tank.
These will be the moments that fill your reservoir to overflowing.

Remember always the days, weeks and months
When writing seems an empty wasteland,
For this, too, will be a story.
It will keep you less than arrogant and a little more than humble.
It will keep your raft afloat through the turbulent rapids of your mind.

Grow accustomed to the taste of sacrifice,
The way it slices over the tongue
And tears at the soft places of the heart,
For the path of the writer is littered with fragments
Dropped along the way.

Do not compare yourself to other writers
Even when the urge to do so is mighty and strong,
For this will pull you away from the stories of your life
And will plunge you into a well of loneliness,
A well so deep that your exit could be doomed,
For you know in the seeds of your heart
That if you do not write, you will drown.

Always remember aloneness.
It is the handmaiden of the muse
And will be the candlelight that points you
To your jewels, your secret cave of demons and diamonds.

And write, no matter what the winds of history whisper in your ear.
Your story cannot be forsaken.
You are the only one to tell it,
And your ancestors are waiting for you to remember them,
To write the stories they could not tell themselves.

— Margaret Caminsky-Shapiro

Note: The above selection is a poem which I found on my computer this morning in the daily selection from Larry Robinson.

Yes,  this poem/essay is addressed specifically to writers and aspiring writers, but I think its message applies as well to spiritual practitioners, including those going through Kundalini awakening.  Why?  Because we too must pay attention to the details in our lives, and we should by all means keep a journal, one in which we record not only the details of our present experience but also the recollections of our past history, for everything will be meaningful at this time.  This is the time for life review, for revisiting major and minor incidents of our earlier life--everything will be relevant and memories will come up in a most forceful and dramatic way.

Further, let us not forget, that Kundalini itself seems to play a major role in the creative process--many think that certain creative geniuses such as Mozart and Van Gogh were driven by the intense energies of Kundalini to produce their masterworks.  We do not ourselves have to be creative geniuses to participate in this process--we simply have to open our hearts, pick up our pencils (or brushes if we are visual artists or instruments if we are musicians) and let the juices flow.  Our lives themselves become our creations, and our reflections on them our works of art.

I think the passages (above) about the "dry periods," when nothing seems to be happening in our transformation process, as well as the observations about loneliness are especially relevant to us all.  The life of someone undergoing deep spiritual transformation, like that of the creative artist, is a very solitary one--no one else can fully understand the process--only we ourselves can make the journey and the passage can be challenging and sometimes seem overwhelming, because what is happening is unique to ourselves.

Dear Friends,
I am happy to announce that I am finally back on my blog after an absence of several days.  During this time, I was unable to access my blog (computer problems), but finally a knowledgable friend came over and fixed the problem for me.  I am immensely grateful and relieved.
I will start regular posts again tomorrow.
Love to all,
Dorothy