Some truths arrive late, not because we’re not ready, but because they ripen slowly, like fruit in quiet sun. I realized this only after nearly a decade had passed since my Kundalini awakening — what I now understand was the peak of Savikalpa Samadhi.
At the time, I didn’t label it. No guru told me what it was. No book explained it with certainty. The shimmering meditation image I saw between the eyebrows — so vibrant, so real — simply took over my inner world. It stayed for three years, alive and luminous, anchoring me in peace and silence.
But instead of sitting in caves or clinging to that image, I was pulled toward science, exploration, and spiritual experimentation. My mind became sharp, investigative, playful. The energy from that living image was used in thinking, writing, and sharing — not just selfish seeking. I felt compelled to distribute the fragrance I had found, even if the flower itself remained within.
It was only much later that I discovered the deeper significance of that image. The form that appears in Savikalpa Samadhi isn’t something to push past — it’s a doorway. But back then, I didn’t know. I was too busy spending the gold to polish silver — helping others while unknowingly stepping away from the source.
Even so, there was no regret. Those years of reflection and giving weren’t wasted. They were part of a different kind of sadhana — not inward withdrawal, but outward integration.
Still, the image faded. Slowly. Almost painfully. Like a friend moving to the background of a dream. I kept working. Kept serving. And then — just when the image had nearly vanished from my mental sky — something unexpected occurred.
For the first time, I experienced Keval Kumbhak — the breathless silence. Not forced, not imagined. It just happened. Not while meditating with an image. Not while reading. Just… happened. There was no breath, but no panic either. Just dead-still awareness. No object, no mantra, no concept.
And I began to understand.
The meditation image, though now dim, had prepared the path. It was like the rocket’s booster — discarded only after taking you high enough. Had I not lived with it for years, had it not nurtured every breath and thought, this breathless state would have been impossible, or at best unstable.
Now I see — Savikalpa was not a lower step. It was the womb. And the energy spent on helping others didn’t delay the process — it matured it. The mind had learned how to be quiet even while engaged. The ego had softened through giving. The ground was fertile.
Yes, maybe I missed the ideal timing for Nirvikalpa to bloom directly from Savikalpa. But I gained something else — the knowledge that silence and service can walk together.
Now, as Keval Kumbhak comes uninvited, I don’t seek, I don’t resist. I just stay open. The shimmering image may be faint, but its impression is eternal. It’s not about the picture anymore — it’s about the space it left behind.
And in that space, slowly, the formless reveals itself — not through effort, but through trust.
Demystifying Kundalini 