Honestly, when I first heard people talk about kundalini I imagined fireworks in my spine and a sudden flood of bliss that would make me levitate. My own story turned out to be far less cinematic, more like a quiet ripple for me you barely notice until you look back.
It began with a series of odd dreams. In one I stood on a hill at sunrise, the sky a strange teal, and a soft hum rose from the top of my head. I woke feeling a little off‑balance, as if something had shifted inside me. The same hum returned in another dream, this time with a gentle tingling on my scalp. That night I lay in bed, focused on the sensation, and for a brief moment felt a faint vibration at the crown, like a tiny engine idling.
I didn’t see visions of deities, nor did I burst into tears of joy. The energy was subtle, almost shy, drifting downwards, pausing at the throat, slipping past the heart, and finally settling around the lower belly. I described it to a friend as “a warm current trying to find a new riverbed.” He smiled and said, “Sounds like the snake is waking up, but it’s taking the scenic route.”
A few weeks later, while meditating in a simple seated posture, I felt a sudden surge, like a static shock, traveling from the crown to my feet in a flash. It was electric, a little overwhelming, and for a moment I thought I might faint. I opened my eyes, breathed deeply, and realized I had just experienced a genuine kundalini lift, albeit without the dramatic glow some describe.
After that, things got chaotic. My sleep scrambled, I snapped at small things, and my appetite swung wildly. It felt as if the energy was rearranging my whole system while my mind tried to map the new terrain. I learned the hard way that forcing the process only amplifies the chaos. Instead I returned to gentle yoga, simple breath work, and a daily meditation that felt more like a quiet conversation than a performance.
Surrender became the secret ingredient. When I stopped trying to control the flow and simply allowed whatever rose to rise, the turbulence softened. I felt a subtle support, like an unseen hand guiding the current. It didn’t erase the challenges, but it gave me a sense that I wasn’t alone in the ride.
Looking back, I see my awakening as a series of small nudges, each building on the last. It taught me patience, humility, and the value of letting go. If you’re curious about kundalini, my advice is simple: don’t chase the fireworks. Keep a steady practice, stay open to what shows up, and trust that the energy will find its own rhythm. The journey may be quiet, but it is still profoundly transformative. 😊
