I like it when science and devotion find places of intersection. I found an article in The New York Times recently about a team of neurologists who had wired up a volunteer Tibetan monk for experimental brain- scanning. They wanted to see what happens to a transcendent mind, scientifically speaking, during moments of enlightenment. In the mind of a normal thinking person, an electrical storm of thoughts and impulses whirls constantly, registering on a brain scan as yellow and red flashes. The more angry or impassioned the subject becomes, the hotter and deeper those red flashes burn. But mystics across time and cultures have all described a stilling of the brain during meditation, and say that the ultimate union with God is a blue light which they can feel radiating from the center of their skulls. In Yogic tradition, this is called 'the blue pearl,' and it is the goal of every seeker to find it. Sure enough, this Tibetan monk, monitored during meditation, was able to quiet his mind so completely that no red or yellow flashes could be seen. In fact, all the neurological energy of this gentleman pooled and collected at last into the center of his brain-you could see it happening right there on the monitor-into a small, cool, blue pearl of light. Just like the Yogis have always described.
This is the destination of the kundalini shakti.
In mystical India, as in many shamanistic traditions, kundalini shakti is considered a dangerous force to play around with if you are unsupervised; the inexperienced Yogi could quite literally blow his mind with it. You need a teacher-a Guru-to guide you on this path, and ideally a safe place-an Ashram-from which to practice. It is said to be the Guru's touch (either literally in person, or through a more supernatural encounter, like a dream) which releases the bound kundalini energy from its coil at the base of the spine and allows it to begin journeying upward toward God. This moment of release is called shaktipat, divine initiation, and it is the greatest gift of an enlightened master. After that touch, the student might still labor for years toward enlightenment, but the journey has at least begun. The energy has been freed.
I received shaktipat initiation two years ago, when I met my Guru for the first time, back in New York. It was during a weekend retreat at her Ashram in the Catskills. To be honest, I felt nothing special afterward. I was kind of hoping for a dazzling encounter with God, maybe some blue lightning or a prophetic vision, but I searched my body for special effects and felt only vaguely hungry, as usual. I remember thinking that I probably didn't have enough faith to ever experience anything really wild like unleashed kundalini shakti. I remember thinking that I was too brainy, not intuitive enough, and that my devotional path was probably going to be more intellectual than esoteric. I would pray, I would read books, I would think interesting thoughts, but I would probably never ascend into the kind of divine meditative bliss Saint Teresa describes. But that was OK. I still loved devotional practice. It's just that kundalini shakti wasn't for me.
The next day, though, something interesting did happen. We were all gathered with the Guru once more. She led us into meditation, and in the middle of it all, I fell asleep (or whatever the state was) and had a dream. In this dream, I was on a beach, at the ocean. The waves were massive and terrifying and they were building fast. Suddenly, a man appeared beside me. It was my Guru's own master-a great charismatic Yogi I will refer to here only as 'Swamiji' (which is Sanskrit for 'beloved monk'). Swamiji had died in 1982. I knew him only from photographs around the Ashram. Even through these photographs-I must admit-I'd always found the guy to be a little too scary, a little too powerful, a little too much on fire for my taste. I'd been dodging the idea of him for a long time, and generally avoiding his gaze as it stared down at me from the walls. He seemed overwhelming. He wasn't my kind of Guru. I'd always preferred my lovely, compassionate, feminine living master to this deceased (but still fierce) character.
But now Swamiji was in my dream, standing beside me on the beach in all his power. I was terrified. He pointed to the approaching waves and said sternly, 'I want you to figure out a way to stop that from happening.' Panicked, I whipped out a notebook and tried to draw inventions that would stop the ocean waves from advancing. I drew massive seawalls and canals and dams. All my designs were so stupid and pointless, though. I knew I was way out of my league here (I'm not an engineer!) but I could feel Swamiji watching me, impatient and judgmental. Finally I gave up. None of my inventions were clever or strong enough to keep those waves from breaking.
That's when I heard Swamiji laugh. I looked up at this tiny Indian man in his orange robes, and he was veritably busting a gut in laughter, bent over double in delight, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes.
'Tell me, dear one,' he said, and he pointed out toward the colossal, powerful, endless, rocking ocean. 'Tell me, if you would be so kind-how exactly were you planning on stopping that?'
47
Two nights in a row now I've had dreams of a snake entering my room. I've read that this is spiritually auspicious (and not just in Eastern religions; Saint Ignatius had serpent visions all throughout his mystical experiences), but it doesn't make the snakes any less vivid or scary. I've been waking up sweating. Even worse, once I am awake, my mind has been two-timing me again, betraying me into a state of panic like I haven't felt since the worst of the divorce years. My thoughts keep flying back to my failed marriage, and to all the attendant shame and anger of that event. Worse, I'm again dwelling on David. I'm arguing with him in my mind, I'm mad and lonely and remembering every hurtful thing he ever said or did to me. Plus I can't stop thinking about all our happiness together, the thrilling delirium when times were good. It's all I can do not to jump out of this bed and call him from India in the middle of the night and just-I don't know what-just hang up on him, probably. Or beg him to love me again. Or read him such a ferocious indictment on all his character flaws.
Why is all this stuff coming up again now?
I know what they would say, all the old-timers at this Ashram. They would say this is perfectly normal, that everyone goes through this, that intense meditation brings everything up, that you're just clearing out all your residual demons… but I'm in such an emotional state I can't stand it and I don't want to hear anyone's hippie theories. I recognize that everything is coming up, thank you very much. Like vomit it's coming up.
Somehow I manage to fall asleep again, lucky me, and I have another dream. No snakes this time, but a rangy, evil dog who chases me and says, 'I will kill you. I will kill you and eat you!'
I wake up crying and shaking. I don't want to disturb my roommates, so I go hide in the bathroom. The bathroom, always the bathroom! Heaven help me, but there I am in a bathroom again, in the middle of the night again, weeping my heart out on the floor in loneliness. Oh, cold world-I have grown so weary of you and all your horrible bathrooms.
When the crying doesn't stop, I go get myself a notebook and a pen (last refuge of a scoundrel) and I sit once more beside the toilet. I open to a blank page and scrawl my now-familiar plea of desperation:
'I NEED YOUR HELP.'
Then a long exhale of relief comes as, in my own handwriting, my own constant friend (who is it?) commences loyally to my own rescue:
'I'm right here. It's OK. I love you. I will never leave you…'
48
The next morning's meditation is a disaster. Desperate, I beg my mind to please step aside and let me find God, but my mind stares at me with steely power and says, 'I will never let you pass me by.'
That whole next day, in fact, I'm so hateful and angry that I fear for the life of anyone who crosses my path. I snap at this poor German woman because she doesn't speak English well and she can't understand when I tell her where the bookstore is. I'm so ashamed of my rage that I go hide in (yet another!) bathroom and cry, and then I'm so mad at myself for crying as I remember my Guru's counsel not to fall apart all the time or else it becomes a habit… but what does she know about it? She's enlightened. She can't help me. She doesn't understand me.
I don't want anyone to talk to me. I can't tolerate anyone's face right now. I even manage to dodge Richard
