The final meditation of the day experienced by newbie Fatima
‘Kundalini.’ Yet one more Sanskrit pebble pelted at me. I am used to English as taught by my very proper British teachers in school, and later its mutilated version as emitted by Indian mouths. Then comes my mother-tongue Urdu with its guttural Arabic jabs and nasal Persian drawls. Sanskrit is rare if ever in my ears.
Kundalini, as the voice explained, is a dormant sexual energy. Coiled as a snake and tucked up a few inches above our arse. We meditators have to move, shake, and convulse our bodies to wake the snake from its slumber. Then allow it benevolently to puncture our being and release the blocked energy. Care has to be taken to make the snake slither north to the last chakra in our head. And make buddhas out of us. If it slithers south we continue in our eternally animal, carnal state. Buddha Hall is indeed a bag of surprises. With a-surprise-an-hour menu dished out to its occupants. But now I am wiser by three meditations. And am not going to be fooled by this one. What if the snake misses its spiritual target and stings some tangible part of me! What if it turns out to be the deadly cobra or the rattle snake? Just a drop of whose venom would leave me permanently flat over Buddha Hall’s floor. And what if (Help!) it turns out to be an anaconda. Whose one giant hiss will transport me instantly to the Inner (not to my Inner but the anaconda’s!). Picture this. The snake is fully awake, has ruptured my being and pumped out its sexual energy to the last drop. Next shot. Me running after every swami in the ashram like a bitch in heat! The subsequent scenario will of course be unprintable.
No, no, stay asleep, dear Kundalini. Sweet dreams to you. Remember, dear serpent, you are the one responsible for Adam and Eve’s exit from Eden. How long will it take you to see to my exit from this ashram? You are an expulsion specialist. Don’t I know that. And you have the added tags of a great conniver, schemer, plotter attached to you. No adjective of cunning falls short of your description. And to top it all you are vindictive as well. If I don’t get into heat and do your bidding you will sussurate your way to the main office and hiss up a campaign of hate against me. And will not rest till I am thrown out of my Eden.
I will certainly go through those convulsions the owner of the hissing voice is demonstrating. How funny he looks! Like a string puppet monitored by some invisible hands. I am willing to look equally funny, even funnier. But will not disturb the snake’s nap. My every move, every convulsion will skirt its snooze.
But I have a question. Do we need the services of a reptile to lead us to our enlightenment? Can’t we, so called humans, do it on our own? Questions and questions. No answers.
“Look within for answers,” says Osho.
I dare not look within now and let the serpent catch sight of me.
“Let go completely. Enjoy the unwinding of your body. Don’t be stiff and stony. Flow, flow out,” insists the voice. The hall is now filled with string puppets, shaking, jerking, untying their knots to a strangely scintillating music. That sounds distant, as if the Moon or Mars was broadcasting it. After a few minutes the music stopped. Stage two was dancing with total abandon. I danced with half abandon keeping a close eye on the hisser within.
The third stage is to be silent and still, sitting or standing. After fifteen minutes came the last lap in which I flattened out and went to sleep. Utterly exhausted from a forty-five minute long vigil. This time three black fingers poked into my arm, “Wake up Ma, we have to clean up for the evening discourse,” said the rusted voice of a beautiful Caribbean Ma. Her face was black and shiny as a freshly polished night.
Never before was I so happy to be awake and alive! It was not easy to get the better of a slippery devil. Time now for a Belgian smile and Belgian wisdom.
The blonde Ma was on tap with an Osho quote.
“If you are doing the kundalini meditation, allow the shaking – don’t DO it! Stand silently, feel it coming, and when your body starts a little trembling, help it, but don’t DO it! Enjoy it, feel blissful about it, allow it, receive it, welcome it, but don’t WILL it.
If you force, it will become an exercise, a bodily physical exercise. Then the shaking will be there, but just on the surface. It will not penetrate you. You will remain solid, stonelike, rocklike within. You will remain the manipulator, the door, and the body will only be following. The body is not the question, YOU are the question…
…When I say shake, I mean your solidity, your rocklike being should shake to the very foundations, so it becomes liquid, fluid, melts, flows. And when the rocklike being becomes liquid your body will follow. Then there is no shaker, only shaking; then nobody is doing it, it is simply happening. Then the doer is not.”
Hsin Hsin Ming: The Book of Nothing, Ch 2
And I was the ever present doer! Solid, rocklike. A fortress protecting itself from reptilian attacks. I have missed. Sigh, pity, tears.
“There will be Kundalini tomorrow and the day after. Every day you are here. Plenty of opportunities for a total let go,” says the Belgian Ma.
“And the serpent?” I asked timidly.
“He has been sacked. He is no longer the Personal Adviser to God. To this day God is repentant for having expelled the first couple from his garden. Once they came down they made a mess of his world. Overpopulated it, polluted it, filled it with filth, sin and what not. The Almighty is still cursing his gullibility. And wondering how the Omnipotent, Omnipresent in him failed to see through the cunning of a crafty reptile.
“The serpent was last seen in a zoo in hell. You are safe,” came the Belgianly comforting assurance.
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