Our own self-satisfied thinking tends to lead us astray.
It’s been days since I had what was known as a ‘Kundalini awakening’. Many sleepless nights have been spent awake in futile contemplation of my newfound existence. My head has been throbbing – and so has my arms, hands and feet. The nagging feeling that something is amiss just won’t go away. I toss and turn violently in bed in a crushed attempt to restore balance to my life. There has only been nothing other than silence in my introspective mind. Next to me, my grandmother is soundly asleep. I look upon her as though she were my source of identity and familiarisation in this uncertain world of ever-changing circumstances. My eyes shift to the gentle blanket of light that filters through my windows and a thought appears in my mind, “You are lost. You are afraid of the dark.”. Of course, I’ve always been afraid of the dark in the most literal sense possible. But now, to add to that, I am afraid of the darkness that engulfs my intangible, incomprehensible structure that lies inside of my head; I look down at my physical body resting on the bed and realise that I’ve been stripped of my connection to it. I am no longer a feeling human being. What is cloaking me in this dark shadow of uncertainty and illusory lostness that I never had to face in the past? I wonder, and wonder for half an hour more, before looking at the wall clock and realising that it’s almost 4am in the morning.
As my mind grows tired, I slowly ease into the cycle of sleep, consummating the long, endless day.
The next day passes the same as before: no spikes in enthusiasm and mood and a constant, levelling force of centred gravity that irks me. I am irked by it. I think the word to describe it would be ‘placid’. I am placid. I am placid and natural in all my senses. No abrupt shifts in concentration or emotions, and definitely a much warmer demeanour that doesn’t befit my usual self. I am generally anxious and easily overcome by my emotional surges – but today is different, I see with clearer vision and listen more attentively. I actually want to listen to what people have to say and try to understand more about their intentions. And naturally, as I decide to take the back seat in life, others come forward even more enthused with their own musings. There’s always a power struggle in life when competing with one another’s egos. But in the absence of one’s ego, another arises to fill the tentative void completely. The power struggle loses its original resolve and the whole situation turns in your favour. It’s okay not having to compete, even though that’s what we humans do best. We strive so as to be heard, not by ourselves, but by others in willing recognition of oneself. It’s no longer what you and I have to say but what you have to say. It’s no longer what I think but merely what you think and how I can then contribute to your assertions and see how they can be worked on. It’s very much akin to the interdependent relationships that can be found in the garden: the bee lands on a flower in order to extract its nectar and, in doing so, the pollen on the bee’s legs pollinate the flower. And this process is never-ending as the bee moves from one flower to the next, in search of more and more nectar which she can then bring back to the hive to make honey. Likewise, we build upon what each of us have to offer, choosing not to intrude into the personal creative and intellectual freedom of others so that we may become more knowledgeable and aware of one another’s emotions and pains as well as learn to appreciate their genuine attempts at being Earthly humans. It is through this that we can then develop mutual respect that goes beyond age, race, religion and familial and social positions.
After experiencing this ‘awakening’, I became severely obsessed with the know-how of spirituality and its esoteric practices. I wanted to grow more and more in ‘favour and stature with God and man’ and become attuned to this newfound presence that could only be found within me. I lost interest in almost everything else non-spiritual in nature; my intrinsic indulgences in eating and self-pity thinned to a meagre rigid pole that is now my physical container through which I readily experience worldly affairs. I grew complacent as I began realising that I was a little special and didn’t want to associate myself with others; I even thought, for a moment, that I was God. And that’s not a wrong thing to say, but I meant it in a way that boosted my own self-confidence, which inadvertently turned into a pitfall of egoism for myself. The line between reality (of this world) and that of God is very startling and has been redrawn multiple times with chalks of differing colours and thickness. Nonetheless, we must always remember that we were the ones who drew our own lines, not God.