samadhi – Demystifying Kundalini

Hanuman Ansh: The Hidden Spiritual Symbolism Behind Neem Karoli Baba’s Miracles

Watching Hanuman Ansh Through a Spiritual Lens

Friends, I went today to the theatre to see the blockbuster movie Hanuman Ansh. The emotions in the movie are powerful, but what interested me even more was how many of the apparently miraculous events can also be understood as symbolic expressions of inner spiritual experiences. I do not feel that every event has to be forced into either a literal miracle or a fictional story. Some may have been experienced as extraordinary events, while at the same time carrying a deeper psychological and yogic meaning.

One scene that particularly affected me was the freedom fighter eating halwa-puri. On the surface it is only a simple meal, but emotionally it becomes almost an ultimate expression of hunger and satiety. Hunger is one of the most basic limitations of the body, and the satisfaction that comes from food can communicate relief, dignity and joy without requiring elaborate words. The simplicity of the scene is precisely what gives it such emotional strength.

Baba Standing in Cold Water and the Symbolism of Kundalini

Another scene showed Baba standing in water and remaining in samadhi for an extended period. My own feeling while watching it was that the cold water could symbolically represent a powerful stimulus to the body, with the resulting inward movement being portrayed through yogic language as energy rising from Muladhara through Sushumna. In the traditional Kundalini understanding, the awakening and upward movement of Shakti is associated with the transformation of consciousness and deeper states of meditation.

Of course, this should be understood as a yogic interpretation rather than as an established physiological explanation. Cold water produces strong bodily and autonomic responses, whereas science has not demonstrated that such responses are literally Kundalini moving through Sushumna. Still, as a symbolic reading of the scene, the connection is meaningful: the body is exposed to an intense experience while awareness appears to become increasingly inward and absorbed.

The Prison Lock as Liberation From Limited Identification

The events that appear miraculous in Baba’s life can similarly be understood as symbolic. When the prison lock opens by itself and Baba wanders outside, I see something more than simply a miraculous opening of a physical lock. The prison can represent the limited identification of consciousness with the body, personality and circumstances. The opening of the lock can therefore symbolize the breaking of that limitation.

Baba walking out of the prison becomes an image of consciousness moving beyond confinement into something much vaster. If this is connected with samadhi, the symbolism becomes even deeper: the body may remain in the world, but awareness is no longer experienced as confined to the ordinary boundaries of individual identity. The movement is from prison, to locked identity, to the opening of the lock, to freedom and finally to the vastness of existence.

The Serpents Around Baba and Awakened Kundalini Shakti

I also remembered the account in which a devotee saw Neem Karoli Baba covered with hooded snakes while he was in samadhi. To me, this too can be understood as a powerful representation of awakened Kundalini Shakti. The serpent is one of the oldest symbols associated with Kundalini in Indian yoga. Therefore, seeing serpents surrounding a yogi absorbed in samadhi can naturally be interpreted as the devotee perceiving the immense Shakti associated with his spiritual state.

We cannot know from such an account whether actual snakes were physically present, whether the devotee experienced a visionary perception, or whether the experience was influenced by familiar spiritual symbolism. But the symbolic meaning remains striking: serpent, Kundalini Shakti, awakening, ascent of consciousness and samadhi all come together in a single image.

The Train That Would Not Move and the Power of Guilt

Another event has an equally interesting psychological interpretation. Baba was pushed out of a train, but afterward the train would not start. This can be seen symbolically as the train of life itself stopping after an innocent person has been wronged. The person may have thought that he had simply removed an unwanted passenger, but suddenly the entire movement of the train comes to a halt.

It resembles the way guilt can stop the inner movement of a person. An innocent person is hurt, conscience becomes disturbed, guilt arises, and the normal momentum of life is interrupted until there is recognition and remorse. In this sense, what we reject or hurt outwardly can become an obstruction within ourselves. The story is therefore not merely about punishment; it can also represent the power of innocence, compassion and spiritual presence to interrupt the unconscious momentum of the ego.

Miracles, Telepathy and the Traditional Yogic View of Siddhis

There may also be other events in Baba’s life that appear telepathic or clairvoyant. I do not think we should automatically dismiss such accounts. In the traditional yogic framework, extraordinary perceptions and abilities, called siddhis, are described as possibilities arising from profound concentration and samadhi. Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, particularly the Vibhuti Pada, discusses such capacities.

At the same time, not being disproved is not the same as being scientifically established. Modern science has not established telepathy, teleportation or clairvoyance as reliable supernatural abilities, and individual stories can have different explanations. So I would leave the question open rather than making an absolute claim. A spiritual account may be interpreted literally by a devotee, symbolically by a contemplative, psychologically by a modern reader, or perhaps, in some cases, as an extraordinary phenomenon that we do not yet understand.

The important point in yoga is also that siddhis are not themselves liberation. Even when such abilities arise, attachment to them can become another distraction from samadhi and realization. The purpose of spiritual practice remains freedom, not the acquisition of extraordinary powers.

The Child Who Wanted to Reach God

Perhaps the most touching part for me is the story of how Baba’s spiritual search was inspired in childhood. When people told him that his deceased mother had gone to God, he apparently took the statement with the directness of a child. If his mother had gone to God, then he too wanted to go there. This desire became strong enough that he eventually left home in search of yoga and the means of reaching that state.

There is something profound in this simplicity. He did not begin with complicated theories about chakras, Kundalini or enlightenment. He began with longing: if there is a place called God, I want to reach it. From that simple question came the search for yoga, renunciation, spiritual practice and eventually samadhi. It reminds me that the deepest spiritual journey may begin not with philosophy but with an intense longing to know what lies beyond ordinary existence. I still remember my childhood, when my family tried to console me after my elder sister was gone, telling me that she had gone to God. As a child, I accepted those words with a simple heart, imagining that she had only gone somewhere beyond my reach.

The Essence of Tantra in a Few Words

Another thing that struck me was the simplicity of the instruction given to the child Baba by his guru: to leave dhyana at the Ajna chakra and place it at the Muladhara chakra. The deeper implication is that this can establish strong dhyana at the Ajna chakra by itself, without continuously forcing attention there. To me, this is perhaps one of the most basic and complete essences of Tantra expressed in an extraordinarily few words. The teaching does not need a long philosophical explanation; a simple direction contains an entire method, which the practitioner can discover through practice. Teaching Tantra in such simple and little words is itself amazing.

The Psychology of the Bahelia Scene

One scene is particularly profound from a psychological and spiritual point of view. A Bahelia, meaning a bird-catcher or fowler, is shown catching birds and imprisoning them. When Baba asks him why he does this, the Bahelia gives a surprisingly philosophical answer. He says, in effect, that just as nature has imprisoned human beings and entangled them in troubles, he is simply doing the same to the birds. It also helps him earn bread and butter for his children.

This is remarkable because the Bahelia does not even believe in God. Yet, at some deeper level, he feels that something is trapping human beings and making them suffer. Since he sees himself as a victim of this mysterious force, he feels justified in reproducing the same pattern with the birds—imprisoning them because he himself feels imprisoned.

Baba then completely changes his perspective. Instead of allowing him to blame God or nature for his suffering, Baba points him toward his own actions. Baba asks him why he had beaten his wife when she was pregnant. The implication is profound: it is not God or nature that is arbitrarily entangling a person; one’s own actions can become the very cause of one’s bondage and suffering.

The Bahelia had been looking outward for the cause of his troubles. Baba makes him look inward. What he experienced as an external force imprisoning him could actually be the consequence of his own actions. Thus, the scene transforms the idea of “I am being imprisoned by nature” into “I may be bound by what I myself have done.”

The psychological transformation that follows is equally beautiful. When Baba reveals details of the Bahelia’s past that he could not ordinarily have known, his disbelief begins to break down. He develops faith in Baba and eventually becomes one of his principal devotees.

The scene therefore works on a very subtle psychological level. Baba does not simply tell the Bahelia to believe in God. He first breaks his habit of projecting the cause of his suffering onto the outside world and brings his attention back to his own life and actions. That inward turning becomes the beginning of his transformation.

The symbolism is especially powerful: the bird-catcher himself feels caught. He imprisons birds because he feels imprisoned by life. Baba shows him that the real trap may not be nature at all—it may be the bondage created by one’s own actions.Seeing the

The Symbolism of the Germinating Seeds

Another beautiful incident occurs when Baba’s wife becomes annoyed by his long periods away from home, absorbed in deep dhyana and samadhi, and by his apparent lack of attention to family life. She asks him what he actually gains from spending so much time in meditation and samadhi.

Baba does not answer her verbally. Instead, he extends his tongue, places a few grains of seeds on it, and, within moments, they germinate and grow into tiny seedlings or plants. His answer is symbolic rather than literal: this is what he gains through such intense spiritual practice—extraordinarily rapid spiritual development.

The symbolism is simple yet profound. Under ordinary conditions, a seed takes time to germinate, grow, and eventually become a plant. In the same way, an ordinary human life may involve a gradual process of inner development through experience, relationships, worldly responsibilities, and spiritual practice. But Baba’s life of exceptionally intense meditation and samadhi is portrayed as accelerating that process dramatically—as though a seed that normally takes a long time to become a plant could mature in moments.

Thus, without explaining anything in words, Baba gives his wife a visual answer: the time spent in deep meditation is not simply time taken away from life; for him, it is a means of accelerating the growth of consciousness.

Miracles as a Language of Inner Experience

After watching Hanuman Ansh, I therefore feel that the miraculous stories surrounding Baba can be approached on several levels at once. The chana-puri scene expresses the bodily movement from hunger to satiety; the cold water and samadhi can suggest the inward movement of energy; the opening prison can symbolize liberation from limited identification; the serpents can represent awakened Kundalini Shakti; the stopped train can represent conscience and guilt interrupting the momentum of life; and the accounts of telepathic or clairvoyant perception can be considered in the context of the traditional yogic descriptions of siddhis, while leaving their literal interpretation open.

For me, this makes the story more meaningful rather than less miraculous. What appears outwardly as a miracle may also be a language through which an inner spiritual event is being communicated. The physical story, the devotional interpretation, the symbolic meaning, the psychology of consciousness and the possibility of extraordinary yogic experience do not necessarily have to cancel one another. They can exist together, allowing us to watch the life of a yogi not merely as a collection of miraculous incidents, but as a possible symbolic map of the movement from bodily limitation toward freedom, expanded awareness and the divine.

Why Is Kundalini Called Mystical? When Awakening Happens Without Trying

The Continuous Meditation Image and the Movement of Prana

My meditation experience has led me to look at the relationship between prana, kundalini, breathing, nondual contemplation and the inner meditation image in a different way. The most striking feature is the continuous and uniformly shining quality of the meditation image. It does not remain like an ordinary thought or a weak mental picture. At times it becomes so stable, bright and lively that it seems almost like a physical object seen with open eyes. This raises a basic question: what keeps such an inner image continuously alive?

One possible explanation, within the traditional yogic understanding of prana, is that the major support is not ordinary breathing but an upward movement of prana from the muladhara toward the brain. Breathing may still play a role, but it appears to become secondary when sushumna is active. In ordinary functioning, breathing participates in the distribution and movement of prana throughout the body. Exhalation, in particular, seems to be associated in my experience with a downward movement. When this downward movement becomes stronger, the meditation image can become somewhat dimmer, as though some of the energy supporting the image has moved away from the brain.

But when sushumna becomes active and prana is experienced as continuously rising through the spine, the situation seems different. Kundalini energy appears to provide prana to the whole body according to need while its movement is upward through the central pathway, energizing the different chakras and their corresponding functions. It therefore does not seem necessary for this same energy to be repeatedly pushed downward in the way ordinary pranic distribution appears to occur with ordinary breathing. The kundalini energy rising up is giving proportionately equal nourishment to all chakras and their corresponding organs so energy do not need to be moved down frequently from the brain. This may explain why breathing naturally becomes slower or may even pause during deep activation of sushumna.

The experience becomes especially interesting when ordinary breathing cannot slow down. During physical work, stress or other conditions requiring increased respiration, breathing may remain active and its downward effect may still be present. Yet if sushumna is strongly activated and prana is continuously flowing upward, the meditation image may not become significantly dimmer. The downward movement associated with breathing is then apparently unable to overcome the continuous upward supply. The image can remain present, more or less continuously, because it is constantly being supported by the upward current.

From this perspective, a continuously present meditation image could become an experiential indication of an increasingly stable meditative state. If the upward movement through sushumna is sufficiently established, the image may remain continuously present in varying degrees of brightness, approaching what can traditionally be called savikalpa samadhi. This is not meant to establish scientifically that prana literally moves in this way, but to describe the relationship as it is experienced within the yogic framework.

Nondual Contemplation and the Felt Energy Vacuum in the Brain

Another part of the experience has become equally important. Nondual contemplation produces a particular peacefulness and calmness. It is not simply the intellectual acceptance of a philosophical idea. When contemplation becomes deep, ordinary mental activity seems to become quieter, and there is a distinct feeling of spaciousness or even an energy vacuum in the brain.

This felt vacuum may have an important role in the upward movement of kundalini. When ordinary mental activity becomes quiet, there seems to be less energy occupied by scattered thoughts, emotional reactions and ordinary subject-object thinking. The quietness may therefore allow, or in the traditional interpretation even draw, more kundalini energy upward from the base toward the brain.

This seems to explain why a meditation image can become particularly lively during nondual contemplation of sharirvigyan darshan, quantum darshan or another nondual vision. Nondual contemplation first produces the quiet and peaceful condition. That quietness seems to create a receptive space in the brain, after which the upward energetic movement becomes stronger and the established meditation image becomes more vivid.

The process can therefore be understood as a cycle: nondual contemplation produces stillness; stillness allows stronger upward movement; the upward movement makes the inner image brighter and more alive; the bright image stabilizes attention; and stabilized attention further deepens the stillness. The process reinforces itself rather than depending upon deliberate mental effort at every moment.

The term “energy vacuum” is useful for describing the experience, but it should not be mistaken for an established physiological mechanism. What can be directly reported is the felt peacefulness, quietness, spaciousness and associated energetic movement. Whether that experience is ultimately explained through prana, kundalini, neurological activity, attention, interoception, conditioning or a combination of these remains an open question.

Why Does Only One Meditation Image Become So Luminous?

This raises a more difficult question. If nondual contemplation and the upward movement of kundalini increase the energy available in the brain, why does only one preassigned meditation image become continuously bright and lively? Why do other thoughts not become equally vivid?

A possible answer is that the meditation image has become a specially established pathway through long and regular practice. Ordinary thoughts are temporary and associative. One thought produces another, and the mind constantly moves from one subject to another. A deliberately practiced meditation image is different. It is singular, predetermined, repeatedly brought back into awareness and strengthened through thousands of acts of concentration.

Thus, when the mind becomes quiet and more energetic, the established meditation image may be the easiest form through which that intensified activity can express itself. The energy may not literally be restricted to one image; rather, that image may have become the most strongly conditioned and stable representation available.

In this sense, prana may provide the power while meditation provides the channel. Repeated practice may have created a pathway of least resistance. This can explain why a random thought such as what to eat later does not suddenly acquire the same luminosity as the chosen meditation image. The random thought has no comparable stability, repetition or intentional reinforcement.

There is also an important difference in the quality of perception. Ordinary imagination is usually dim, unstable, fragmentary and dependent upon deliberate effort. The meditation image I experience can become continuous, uniformly bright and perceptually alive. It can approach the quality of seeing an object through open physical eyes. This is not simply a matter of imagining the object more clearly. It represents a change from deliberate visualization toward a more spontaneous and self-sustaining inner perception. However at times other images also can intensify like lively physical object but I do not give attention to those and in a way do not like them so energy from them again shifts to meditation image.

The strongest explanation may therefore involve both energy and conditioning. The upward energetic state supplies intensity, while long practice supplies the established form. The image becomes the point where the two meet.

Kundalini and the Long Association with the Meditation Image

There may be an even deeper reason for this special relationship. Kundalini may have become associated with the meditation image itself through the united contemplation of both over a long period of daily practice. The image was not practiced in isolation. It was repeatedly encountered in a meditative state involving concentration, inwardness, nondual contemplation and the experience of an upward kundalini movement through the spine.

If these elements have been repeatedly experienced together, they may eventually become strongly linked. Then, when the image first appears during nondual contemplation, even if only weakly, its appearance may itself become a trigger for the familiar upward movement of kundalini. The image becomes brighter; the upward movement becomes stronger; the stronger movement makes the image more stable; and the stable image draws attention still more completely.

The resulting process can be represented simply as image, upward current, brighter image, stronger concentration, stronger upward current, and still brighter image. The important point is that the image may no longer be merely an object of thought. It may have become a doorway into the entire meditative configuration developed through repeated practice.

This also explains why the experience can be directly felt as a continuity from the base to the image. The movement is not experienced merely as an abstract belief in kundalini. There can be a bodily sense beginning at the muladhara, moving upward through the spinal region and reaching toward the brain or the inner image. From the standpoint of phenomenology, this is a spatially organized experience: the energetic movement seems to have a beginning, a pathway and a point of expression.

It is still important to distinguish direct experience from interpretation. The direct experience is the sensation of an upward movement associated with the meditation image. Calling that movement kundalini, or saying that prana literally travels through a physical channel along the spine, is a traditional interpretation of the experience rather than something established by modern physiology. Keeping this distinction makes the account stronger rather than weaker.

When I enter a familiar place or meet people already associated with my meditation or meditation image, the experience may begin quite distinctly. More often it is better with loving environment that helps get peaceful rest with spine erect and relaxed breath. At first, kundalini seems to rise clearly, felt as a blissful sensation moving upward along the spine—sometimes as one continuous movement and sometimes in stages, almost as if it were passing from one chakra to another. After some time, however, the upward movement may become unnoticeable. An hour or so later, I may no longer consciously feel any movement along the spine, yet the meditation image remains vividly luminous in the brain, accompanied by a deep sense of bliss and peace. Means the kundalini energy prepared the stage for sometime for expression of meditation image there.

The bliss associated with the initial upward surge can resemble sexual pleasure, but it feels different in quality—more refined, diffuse, and inward, as though the familiar sexual sensation has been transformed into a subtler and more pervasive form of bliss. I can describe this as a subjective resemblance to sexual pleasure without claiming that the experience is literally sexual or that a specific physiological process of sexual energy moving upward has been established. But contraction and shrinkage of lower organs with feel of their relief from stress and burden by pushing something up proves this thing experientially.

The Role of the Third Eye and Ajna Chakra

The experience then suggests another component: the role traditionally attributed to the third eye or Ajna chakra. The meditation image does not merely become brighter somewhere vaguely inside the mind. It becomes exceptionally clear and immediate in the region associated in yogic traditions with Ajna.

From this perspective, savikalpa samadhi can be understood as the united contribution of several factors rather than as the result of one factor alone. The regularly practiced meditation image provides the established object. Nondual contemplation produces peacefulness, quietness and a reduction of ordinary mental activity. Kundalini or the upward movement of prana supplies the increasing energetic intensity. Ajna, or the third-eye center in the traditional model, provides the focal center through which the inner object becomes exceptionally clear.

This combination can explain why the image of Dadaguru can become so vivid. It is not merely a picture that has been remembered. It has been practiced repeatedly and associated with the deepest meditative conditions. When nondual contemplation quiets the mind and the upward movement becomes strong, the image can appear almost independently of deliberate effort. At its most developed, it can become continuous, uniformly luminous, stable and lively, with an immediacy approaching physical seeing with open eyes. Even can awaken providing self-realization glimpse in exceptionally favourable environment and heightened energy.

This is where the distinction between ordinary visualization and savikalpa samadhi becomes important. Ordinary visualization still requires the meditator to construct and maintain an image. In the experience being described here, however, the image increasingly seems to maintain itself. Attention no longer has to continuously manufacture it. It becomes a stable inner object around which the mind becomes unified.
This is, in a sense, the special quality of kundalini—the blissful and deeply absorbing state can be achieved deliberately through Tantra, but it can also happen spontaneously. The ordinary meditator may struggle for years, even for a lifetime, simply to maintain a meditation image steadily, let alone reach awakening. What kundalini seems to do spontaneously is therefore not something that can be reproduced so easily by other methods, even when those methods are practiced deliberately and for a very long time.
The difference is important. With ordinary meditation, there can be a continuous struggle to hold the image, bring the wandering mind back, and prevent the visualization from fading. In the experience associated with kundalini, the process can appear to reverse itself: instead of the practitioner constantly maintaining the image, the image seems to become self-sustaining. It shines by itself, attention gathers around it, and the mind enters a state of bliss, peace, and increasing unity without the same continuous effort.
This may be one reason the idea of kundalini appears so extensively in the spiritual literature of the world. Sometimes it is described directly, but much more often it may be expressed indirectly through symbolic stories, verses, sacred figures, ritual practices, images of ascent, inner transformation, divine union, death and rebirth, or the awakening of a hidden power. The language changes from tradition to tradition, and these accounts should not automatically be treated as literal descriptions of the same physiological process. Yet the remarkable persistence of such imagery suggests that human beings have repeatedly tried to describe experiences in which something deeper than deliberate mental effort seems to take over the process of transformation. That is why kundalini is so often termed mystical. But what exactly is mystical about it? If kundalini is understood as a process in which much of the work of awakening can happen spontaneously, without the meditator deliberately producing each stage, then the term seems especially appropriate.

Mystical does not necessarily mean something that has no scientific or physiological basis. It can simply point to something extraordinary that seems to unfold by itself, beyond the ordinary capacity of deliberate effort. A meditator may spend years struggling to maintain concentration, stabilize an inner image, deepen absorption, or transform consciousness. Yet in an experience attributed to kundalini, some of these processes can appear to happen spontaneously, sometimes with remarkable speed and intensity.

What could seem more extraordinary than awakening itself occurring in this way? The remarkable feature is not that kundalini must be a supernatural force, nor that its effects cannot ultimately have physiological or psychological explanations. The mystery lies in the phenomenology: something that normally appears to require enormous effort seems to organize and propel itself from within.

In that sense, kundalini can be called mystical without making an anti-scientific claim. Its mystery is not necessarily that it violates physiology, but that it can produce such profound changes in consciousness with such apparent spontaneity. The experience can feel as though the practitioner is no longer doing the awakening; rather, awakening itself has begun to do the work.

As told above, the term savikalpa remains appropriate within this framework precisely because there is still a particular object. The experience is not completely objectless. There is still the meditation image of Dadaguru, but ordinary mental fluctuation has become greatly reduced and the object has acquired extraordinary clarity and stability.

At the same time, the presence of a bright inner image alone should not automatically be equated with savikalpa samadhi in the classical sense. Traditionally, savikalpa samadhi refers to a deeper transformation in the relationship between awareness, mental activity, and the meditation object.

One can have a bright image of one’s puppy or buffalo or even a beautiful flower or a stone, but how can we call that meditation simply because the image is bright and vivid? There are other qualities of meditation as well, such as nonduality, detachment, bliss, humility, true and selfless love, and the rise of kundalini. These qualities make a meditation image much more spiritually significant. A person who develops such qualities can therefore be considered a better fit for a spiritually oriented meditation image, particularly one associated with a guru, God, or another sacred figure. A Guru, having achieved these qualities through deliberate effort, inspires his followers to cultivate the same qualities in their own lives. Thus, he makes the meditation image further intensify itself in the mind by encouraging the follower to sustain these qualities in daily life. As these qualities are sustained, they further intensify the image, which in turn inspires the follower to embody them even more deeply. This cycle continues, and the image gradually becomes established in the mind, remaining uninterrupted—somewhat like savikalpa samadhi.

Animals or inanimate objects may possess many of these qualities naturally, but they do not possess emotions and cognition in the same way as human beings. In animals, these qualities appear to be largely instinctive or naturally given, whereas in human beings they can be consciously chosen, cultivated, and developed. This gives them greater weight in the context of spiritual practice, because the human being can deliberately direct these qualities toward meditation and awakening. However, as per Patanjali medittion of whatever favourite object can produce samadhi but I think that may take more time than meditation of any spiritual subject. No doubt animals have many spiritual type qualities that is why each god is shown with an animal, so meditation of guru or god with animal seems having synergistic effect. This seems the meaning of god and animal shown together. I also felt this. I largely remain with animals and inside nature during my heightened initial spiritual growth and both awakenings. That’s why most of awakened beings are animal and nature lovers, atleast living in harmonious company with these. Also, animal and nature lovers tend to be more spiritual than others. This is because nonduality is inherent nature of animals and nature. What they do just instinctively to survive, not with any willful dual agenda.

Therefore, the strongest and most accurate statement is that a continuous, luminous image may be an experiential feature associated with a state that resembles or develops toward savikalpa samadhi, rather than by itself proving that the classical state has been attained. The image becomes much more significant when it appears together with the other qualities of meditation—bliss, detachment, nonduality, selfless love, inner stillness, and the spontaneous rise of kundalini.

A Possible Unified Model

Taken together, the experience suggests a unified process. Long practice establishes a particular meditation image as the strongest and easiest inner pathway. Nondual contemplation quiets ordinary thought and creates a profound peacefulness and felt spaciousness in the brain. This quietness appears to make the brain receptive to a stronger upward movement of kundalini from the muladhara through the spine. As that movement reaches the region of the brain and Ajna, the established meditation image becomes increasingly bright, stable and perceptually immediate.

Once the image appears, it may itself reinforce the upward movement because the image has been repeatedly associated with that energetic condition. The process therefore becomes self-reinforcing. A small appearance of the image can initiate a larger upward response; the upward response makes the image brighter; the brighter image holds attention more firmly; and the firmer attention deepens nondual stillness. Breathing may still influence the state, particularly through exhalation and its apparent downward effect, but when sushumna is strongly active, the continuous upward process may become dominant enough that ordinary breathing cannot extinguish the image.

The whole experience can therefore be understood as the convergence of nondual contemplation, kundalini, the practiced meditation image and the Ajna or third-eye focus. None of these elements needs to be considered independently. The meditation image supplies the established form, nonduality provides mental stillness, the upward kundalini experience provides energetic intensity and bliss, and Ajna provides the traditional focal center through which the inner perception becomes exceptionally clear.

The deepest feature of the experience is therefore not simply that an image can be seen in meditation. It is that a particular image, practiced over a long period, can become so deeply associated with stillness and upward energetic movement that it begins to appear with a continuity, uniform brightness and vividness normally associated with direct physical perception. From the yogic perspective, this can be understood as the meeting of prana, kundalini, sushumna and Ajna with a well-established meditation object. From a psychological and neuroscientific perspective, some of the same experience could be approached through learned attention, conditioning, imagery, interoception and changes in ordinary mental activity.

The experience itself, however, remains the starting point. The interpretation can continue to develop without diminishing what was directly observed: the quiet produced by nondual contemplation, the felt movement from the base through the spine, the reduced dependence on ordinary breathing, and above all the transformation of the practiced image of Dadaguru from an ordinary mental representation into a continuous, uniformly shining and unusually lively inner presence.

Kundalini Awakening, Sexual Energy and Samadhi: How Sexual Release May Lead to Thoughtless Awareness

The Peak of Orgasm and the Possibility of a Samadhi-Like State

The question that led this exploration was simple but profound: what is the scientific basis of the samadhi-like feeling that can arise at the peak of orgasm and immediately after sexual release? My experience suggests that the answer may lie in what happens to the whole body-mind system at the height of sexual excitation. During sexual activity, the body becomes intensely activated, and at release there is an abrupt transition. I began to consider whether the enormous excitation accumulated during the sexual act could support a short period of breathlessness or respiratory suspension after release. In the language of yoga, I understand this accumulated intensity as prana. I am not claiming that prana has been physically measured as a stored substance or that it literally substitutes for oxygen. I am describing what the experience feels like and exploring its possible meaning. The important point is that the body can remain intensely awake even when ordinary breathing becomes temporarily very quiet or appears to stop.

Sexual Energy, Breath and the Upward Movement of Prana

At sexual release, the pranic flow is experienced as a voluminous, unidirectional movement from muladhara toward sahasrara. Ordinary breathing, in my understanding, creates an oscillation of prana, moving it up and down with inhalation and exhalation. Such oscillation does not seem suited to the state produced at the peak of release, where the movement is experienced as one powerful upward surge. Therefore, breathing seems to pause until the entire wave of sensual joy or pranic intensity has passed upward through the central axis. This is why the temporary suspension of breath becomes significant in the experience. The essential phenomenon is not simply breathlessness. It is the combination of respiratory stillness with complete wakefulness while the rising energy seems to move toward sahasrara. Probably, the rising Prana keep wakefulness maintained in absence of breathing. It means not only breath or oxygen but prana is also needed for life. Prana can compensate for breath to some extent. I do not mean that science has established that prana physically travels through the spine in this way. The traditional yogic model provides the language with which I understand the experience, while physiology can investigate its observable correlates.

Why Sexual Experience Can Resemble Concentrative Meditation

This led me to another possibility. Sexual activity may contain an involuntary form of concentration. During intense sexual excitation, attention becomes increasingly absorbed in a narrow field of bodily sensation and pleasure. Competing thoughts can diminish, ordinary self-monitoring can weaken, judgement weaken, nonduality arises, and the whole organism becomes organized around one highly intense process. Meditation usually approaches absorption from the quiet side: stillness leads to concentration and concentration can lead to absorption. Sexual excitation approaches it from the opposite direction: intense excitation progressively concentrates consciousness until release is followed by stillness. Thus the common factor may not be sexuality itself but concentration. In this sense, sexual orgasm may sometimes function as a naturally occurring, physiologically driven concentration process. This does not prove that orgasm is samadhi, but it raises the possibility that different routes can converge on similar features of consciousness.

Ordinary Sexual Energy and the Meditatively Prepared System

I then considered what might happen when the person is already practicing meditation. In ordinary life, sexual energy may be experienced as dispersing into different parts of the body and through different side channels. But if someone has been meditating regularly with awareness stabilized at ajna and sahasrara, the entire system may already have a strong attentional orientation toward the upper axis. In the traditional model, daily yogasana also prepares the body-mind for meditation. It steadies the body, reduces restlessness, develops bodily awareness and makes sustained attention easier. It also propels prana upward to top chakras through spinal axis. Yogic tradition further understands asana as helping keep the pranic channels or nadis open and reducing obstruction to prana. Therefore, when a powerful sexual release occurs in a meditatively trained person, the experience may be very different from that of an ordinarily active person. The same or a broadly comparable energetic surge may be expressed differently because the receiving system has changed. The energy may be experienced as moving more directly toward sahasrara, while the breath becomes extremely subtle or temporarily suspended. Breathing stops more than ordinary person as now prana is to be lifted to the top. I would not claim scientifically that breathing physically interferes with prana or that daily asana has been proven to open literal energy channels. These are parts of the yogic explanatory and experiential framework. The more cautious scientific question is whether training attention and regulating the body changes how an intense sexual or autonomic event is experienced. This is experiential science. If we keep searching physical science in it, much of availale time for genuine experience to be got is reduced.

Savikalpa and Nirvikalpa-Like Expression of the Same Surge

An important distinction emerged from my own experiences. I do not think the same amount of energy necessarily produces the same state of consciousness in every person. The energetic surge may be similar, perhaps with some difference in intensity, while the body-mind system expressing it can be very different. Earlier in life, I was ordinarily peaceful and calm but my mind was active and strongly oriented toward nonduality. I was not trying to stop thoughts through meditation at the particular time of the experience. When the powerful ascending experience occurred, I experienced a glimpse of self-realization together with what I call savikalpa samadhi. At its peak there were what appeared to be thoughts, but on closer examination they did not feel like ordinary thoughts. They were more like waves appearing within a background of self-awareness. They did not fade and return in the ordinary way. They remained constantly and uniformly bright along with the background of self-awareness. Although pure background self-awareness as in nirvikalp samadhi is indescribable, it also felt bright with waves. Everything uniformly bright and nondual. This is why I describe the experience as thoughts without thoughts.

It may also be that sudden release and gush of upward energy as mainly in younghood produces high energy awakening linked to savikalp samadhi and slow, steady and stable flow of energy as in maturity produce more of nirvikalp samadhi.

Breath Suspension and the Brightness of Mental Waves

There was another striking feature. Ordinarily, I experience the in-breath as brightening a thought and the out-breath as dimming it. In that sense, ordinary mental content seems to oscillate with breathing. During the peak experience, however, the breath paused. The normal cycle of brightening and dimming therefore seemed to pause as well. The mental waves did not disappear, but remained uniformly bright for the whole experience, which lasted around ten seconds. The mind had not become empty. Rather, its ordinary thought process had changed into something more like luminous waves in self-awareness. This is why I distinguish this from simple thoughtlessness. The awareness remained awake, but what ordinarily appeared as thought no longer behaved like ordinary thought. It was as though thoughts remained without the usual process of thinking them and as if thoughts and thought-experincer both had become one.

Why the Same Energy May Produce Different States at Different Stages of Life

This led to a further hypothesis. Producing or sustaining these highly differentiated, luminous waves in awareness seems, from my experience, to require tremendous energy. I say this from direct experience, not from any measurement of metabolic or pranic energy. Others may not experience the process in the same way. The important point is that the subjective intensity of energy and the way the body-mind expresses it need not be identical for everyone. In younger and more active life, the mind may have enough cognitive momentum to express an intense ascending event through vivid nondual thoughts, insights or imagery. The result can therefore be savikalpa-like. Later, with maturation, prolonged meditation and a naturally quieter mind, there may be much less mental activity available to produce those waves. Increased workload and exhaustion may also reduce the amount of cognitive activity, although exhaustion alone should not be confused with samadhi because ordinary exhaustion produces dullness or sleepiness rather than necessarily heightened awareness.

Thus the model is not simply that more energy produces nirvikalpa and less energy produces savikalpa. It is that a similar rising gush of energy can encounter a different body-mind system and therefore be expressed differently. Earlier, strong energy met a peaceful but active nondual mind and produced luminous waves within self-awareness. Later, strong energy met a quieter mind with fewer thoughts and possibly reduced cognitive reserve, and the same kind of ascending event tended to produce more nirvikalpa-like states. The difference may therefore lie not only in the magnitude of the energy but in the condition of the system receiving and expressing it. What could be the way of expressing of that upsurging prana energy other than thoughtlessness with wakefulness if it can neither form thought waves due to system-exhaustion nor ordinary thoughts due to paused breath? It may also be that energy gush is reduced in intensity by body itself if system is not capable of tolerating it as body is intelligent. So with this reduced gush only nirvikalpa can be experienced not high energy savikalpa with self realisation.

A Spontaneous Energy Experience in Half Sleep

Another experience helped clarify this distinction. On one occasion, in a half-awake and half-asleep state, I felt a rising, shining and blissful streak of energy moving through the spine. I had deliberately preparing the mind through meditation, yogasana, breathing techniques or sexual activity but with little pause or hesitation on those days. During its ascent, I suspect there may also have been a temporary pause in breathing lasting roughly ten to fifteen seconds. The temple imagery that was present in the mind remained continuously bright like directly seeing with open eyes during this period. Yet the experience did not produce the same direct recognition of background self-awareness that I had experienced during the earlier fully awake event.

This suggested to me that the intensity of the energetic sensation itself is not necessarily the measure of the depth of the consciousness that accompanies it. The half-sleep experience had a much more conspicuous luminous energetic streak, whereas in the earlier daytime experience, when self-realization was glimpsed, the actual movement of energy through the spine was almost unnoticed. In other words, the energy can be highly perceptible without producing the deepest transformation of awareness, while a subtler energetic movement can accompany a much greater recognition of self-awareness.

The Metaphor of Friction, Heat and Light

I have used the word friction to describe the possibility that when the rising energy encounters resistance, its movement becomes more perceptible as brightness, heat or a streak-like sensation. By friction I primarily mean a metaphor, although whether something corresponding to it may actually exist remains unknown. May be just like electrons passing through heating coil colliding with its particles due to obstructed path produce heat and light, same may be true in spine too atleast psychologically. I do not claim that there is a scientifically established physical friction inside the spine producing the experienced light. There may be physiological processes involving interoception, autonomic activity, sensory integration or altered brain processing that contribute to such sensations. But the traditional language of blocked or unobstructed prana provides another way of describing the same experience. In one case, the movement may be felt as a dramatic streak because the process is perceptually prominent; in another, the movement may be almost unnoticed while its effect on consciousness is profound. Therefore, a spectacular energetic sensation should not automatically be taken as a higher state.

From Savikalpa-Like Experience Toward Nirvikalpa-Like Absorption

The earlier experience was important precisely because the mind was not trying to become thoughtless. I was living with a peaceful, calm and active nondual orientation, and in that condition the peak experience gave me a glimpse of self-realization along with the intense energetic event. The luminous waves that remained in awareness showed me, experientially, a distinction between awareness and what appears within awareness. However it was not coceptual or visible much, may be it produced its effect on succeeding lifestyle, behaviour and attitude silently. Afterward, it became easier to settle into thoughtlessness. In this sense, the initial savikalpa-like glimpse may have been necessary for me however it may not be necessary for all. I needed the peak of worldliness itself to recognize what I experienced as kundalini awakening together with a glimpse of self-realization. Once that distinction had been directly felt, stillness became easier to recognize and enter.

Later, when thoughts were naturally fewer and the mind had matured through continued practice, the ascending energy and accompanying breath suspension tended to produce more nirvikalpa-like states. The ordinary thought-producing mechanism was already quieter. With suspended breathing there was no familiar respiratory oscillation to brighten and dim mental content so no ordinary thoughts as those are nothing else but mixture of bright and dark spots, and there was not the same amount of cognitive activity available to create the earlier luminous waves. Therefore, the system seemed to have fewer ways of expressing the ascending intensity through differentiated thought. What remained was thoughtlessness together with full wakefulness.

A Possible Understanding of Tantra

This entire sequence makes me wonder whether something like this may help explain why Tantra arose. If ordinary sexual energy is experienced as dispersed through the body, while a meditatively prepared system can gather and direct the experience toward a single upper axis, sexual release becomes more than ordinary pleasure. The enormous concentration already present in sexual excitation may become a vehicle for attention and absorption. Tantra may therefore be understood, at least as one hypothesis, as an attempt not to suppress sexual energy but to use its extraordinary intensity as a means of transforming consciousness. Meditation prepares the receiving system; sexual excitation supplies an unusually powerful concentration-producing event; release creates a sudden transition toward stillness; and the resulting state may differ according to how prepared and quiet the mind already is.

What Science Can and Cannot Yet Say

The scientific investigation should not begin by assuming that prana, nadis, ajna, sahasrara and sushumna are established anatomical structures. They belong to a traditional yogic map and to the language through which these experiences are interpreted. At the same time, science does not have to dismiss the experiences simply because their traditional explanation has not been established. The experiences themselves can be investigated through respiration, autonomic activity, cardiovascular changes, brain activity, interoception, attention, imagery, self-processing and subjective reports.

The central phenomenon I am interested in is therefore not simply orgasm, breathlessness or an unusual light in the spine. It is the possibility that an intense ascending experience can temporarily alter respiratory rhythm and ordinary thought while preserving or even intensifying wakeful self-awareness. In one state, the remaining cognitive activity may appear as luminous waves within self-awareness, producing a savikalpa-like experience. In another, when the mind has become sufficiently quiet, the same or a comparable energetic event may be expressed primarily as thoughtlessness with full wakefulness, producing a nirvikalpa-like experience.

This leaves an open scientific question rather than a finished conclusion: perhaps different routes—meditation, sexual excitation and spontaneous internal experiences—can produce different physiological pathways that nevertheless converge on some common organization of consciousness. My own experiences suggest that the crucial variable may not be the amount of energy alone, but the condition of the body-mind system through which that energy is expressed. The spectacular rising streak, the breath pause, the luminous thought-waves, the recognition of self-awareness and the later thoughtless absorption may be related phenomena, but they are not necessarily the same phenomenon. Understanding how they interact may provide a more precise bridge between the ancient language of kundalini and samadhi and the modern scientific study of altered states of consciousness.

Kevala Kumbhaka, Open-Eyed Samadhi, Void Merger and the Dissolving of Separation Between Self, Mind and World

Recently, a reader commented on my post about Kevala Kumbhaka and his words stayed in my mind for a long time because they reflected a very sincere spiritual experience that many people silently go through but cannot easily explain. He wrote that for many years spontaneous breath suspension had been happening to him naturally. He never fully understood what was occurring because during those moments his mind seemed to disappear and ordinary awareness was absent. He described it as a mystery that followed him for years without clear explanation. He also mentioned that his stomach area used to expand greatly, not because of fat but because of some energetic infilling or fullness. Later he became more attentive to the process and noticed something important. Whenever the breath naturally stopped, the mind also disappeared. After emerging from such states, he experienced profound freedom and nonattachment. Yet despite these experiences happening repeatedly for years, he still remained curious and uncertain about what exactly was occurring. After reading my article, he felt that perhaps the process was related to Kevala Kumbhaka and realized that kumbhaka might hold a much deeper importance than he had previously understood.

His comment revealed something beautiful and genuine. Sometimes spiritual experiences happen first and understanding comes much later. A person may pass through deep inner transformations without having the philosophical language to describe them. The reader was not speaking from imagination or borrowed concepts. He was describing direct experiences of spontaneous stillness, breath suspension and freedom from mental activity. What touched me most was the honesty in his words. Even after years of such experiences, he still approached the mystery with humility and wonder instead of claiming certainty.

The discussion naturally led me to reflect on my own experiences. I realized that although spiritual experiences may appear similar outwardly, internally they can unfold in very different ways for different people. Some experience deep stillness as voidness and silence. Some experience it as expansion of energy. Some experience disappearance of thought. Some experience profound nonattachment afterward. In my own case, the experience unfolded through an intense state of unitive awareness that lasted only for a brief period but left a permanent existential impact on me.

There was a moment in my own spiritual journey when energy rose intensely toward Sahasrara and entered what I can only describe as a supreme existential state of Savikalpa Samadhi. The experience lasted for around ten seconds before I deliberately lowered the energy down toward Agya Chakra. Even today I sometimes reflect on why I interrupted the natural flow prematurely instead of allowing the process to continue on its own. Yet despite its short duration, the experience carried a certainty unlike anything in ordinary life. It did not feel like emotional happiness, imagination, trance or excitement. It felt existentially complete, as if consciousness itself had become fully fulfilled within its own nature.

What made the experience extraordinary was not merely bliss or energy but the disappearance of separation itself. Mental movement was absent, yet awareness remained fully alive. My eyes were open. The external world remained visible exactly as before, yet at the same time there was no distinction between myself and what was being perceived. Whatever appeared in perception felt inseparable from my own existence. There was no distance between observer and observed.

At the same time, the meditation image that existed within my mind also became completely connected to the same unified awareness. Normally human consciousness divides experience into separate compartments. One part is called “me,” another part is called “thought,” another part “meditation image,” and another part “external world.” But during that state all fragmentation disappeared together. The meditation image inside the mind, the external physical world visible through the eyes and the sense of self all existed as one indivisible field without separation.

This is why the experience did not feel like a blank void or unconsciousness. Awareness remained fully present. Perception remained active. The world did not disappear. Instead, division disappeared. There was no separate observer looking at reality from a distance. Observer, observed and the activity of observation merged into one seamless existence. The bliss felt ultimate not because of emotional intensity but because fragmentation itself had dissolved.

Reflecting on the reader’s comment helped me recognize how differently spiritual experiences can unfold while still pointing toward the same mystery. In his experience, spontaneous kumbhaka and disappearance of mind brought profound freedom and nonattachment. In my own experience, awareness remained open-eyed and externally perceptive while inner image, outer world and self-awareness merged into one field. Both experiences carried transformative power, yet each revealed consciousness through a different doorway.

Many spiritual traditions connected with Kundalini Yoga, Raja Yoga and Tantra speak about such states in different language. Some emphasize stillness of mind. Some emphasize breath suspension. Some emphasize nondual unity. Some describe bliss. Some describe voidness. But behind all descriptions there seems to be one common movement: the gradual dissolution of psychological separation.

Another important realization from this conversation was that profound spiritual experiences do not always instantly settle into permanent stabilization. Even after touching deep states, human consciousness may continue reflecting upon them, revisiting them and trying to understand their significance. This is natural. Sometimes the experience transforms a person immediately. Sometimes its meaning unfolds slowly over years. Sometimes one brief glimpse changes the entire direction of life without becoming a permanent state.

In my own case, even though the experience carried overwhelming certainty while it was happening, afterward a subtle lingering remained regarding why I deliberately interrupted the process. Yet this lingering was not the same as ordinary worldly dissatisfaction. Rather, it became part of the deeper inquiry itself. Once consciousness experiences a state where inner mind, external perception and self lose all separation, ordinary worldly experiences naturally stop appearing ultimate in the same way as before.

The reader’s comment also highlighted another beautiful truth. Many people silently undergo profound inner processes without public recognition, philosophical knowledge or spiritual labels. They may think something strange is happening to them without realizing that contemplative traditions have spoken about similar phenomena for centuries. Sometimes a single article, discussion or shared experience helps such people finally recognize that they are not alone in what they have experienced.

What remains most meaningful to me from this entire discussion is not the attempt to classify experiences into rigid categories but the recognition that consciousness has depths far beyond ordinary fragmented perception. Whether through spontaneous kumbhaka, silence of mind, nonattachment, energetic awakening or open-eyed unity, there are moments when the usual boundaries of self begin to dissolve. In those moments, existence no longer feels divided into inner and outer, self and world, observer and observed. There is only one seamless presence expressing itself through everything simultaneously.

Just as the physical world and the self can merge into one during an awakening glimpse, similarly the void and the self may also merge into one. In the spiritual and literary traditions, this ultimate state is often referred to as Nirvikalpa Samadhi. The difference may only be of level — one happening at a gross level and the other at a subtle level. It may be that gross merging acts as an initial demonstration that prepares one for subtle merger. It may also be possible that subtle merger can happen directly without first experiencing gross merger. It may further be that subtle merger becomes easier after gross merger because one becomes habituated to unity consciousness. It may also be that there is ultimately no difference at all, and that direct subtle merger can be just as easy as going through stages. These are all speculations and should be verified by someone fully realized, if any such person happens to read this blog. But one thing does seem clear: just as simple observation of the world is not sufficient and one has to become fully lost in it for complete merger, similarly a simple experience of the void may also not be sufficient. One may need to become fully lost in the void itself, through continued practice, for complete merger to occur. It also seems that the same spiritual and nondual way of living may be necessary for subtle void merger just as it is for gross merger with the visible world, because the principle behind both appears similar. The difference may only be that one happens at a gross visible level while the other unfolds at a subtle invisible level. This may be important to understand because after experiencing gross merger or awakening glimpses, a person can become egoistic, feel spiritually complete prematurely and slowly drift away from the spiritual lifestyle and inner discipline that originally made such experiences possible. If the principle of merger is truly the same at both levels, then continuity of humility, nondual awareness and spiritual living may remain essential even after profound awakening experiences.

Even if such moments last only seconds, their impact can remain for years because they reveal directly that the deepest bliss does not come from acquiring something outside oneself. It emerges when separation itself temporarily disappears and consciousness experiences its own indivisible nature directly.

Morning Dhyana: My Journey Through Nirvikalpa and Heart-Space Purification

Recently, I noticed a new development in my morning sadhana. Immediately after rising from bed, I concentrated on the Ajna and Sahasrara chakras, with subtle awareness of breathing seemingly rising from there. My mind waves began dissolving into a vast background space, leaving a sense of stillness. It felt effortless, as if the nirvikalpa-type dhyana was happening naturally without any prior yoga or preparatory practices.

After about an hour, my awareness shifted downward to the heart area. There, I felt a heavy darkness, which I realized was the emotional weight stored over time. Slowly, emotions and thoughts associated with those impressions emerged into my awareness, making the space lighter. It felt like an inner cleansing, a natural process of emotional and karmic purification.

From a Kundalini perspective, this process shows a beautiful rhythm: first, energy rises to higher centers, giving freedom from thought and and bringing waveless awareness. Then, it naturally descends to integrate higher consciousness into the emotional body. The darkness I felt in the heart was dense energy, now being slowly dissolved. This combination of upward transcendence and downward integration is rare, as many practitioners rise without cleansing the lower centers.

From a psychological perspective, the heaviness in the heart reflected unconscious or repressed emotions. By observing them in awareness, they surfaced without resistance and gradually lightened. This is a natural catharsis — the mind sees what was hidden, allowing tension and stored impressions to dissolve.

This experience made me question whether my usual physical asanas, cleansing techniques, and pranayamas were necessary before morning dhyana. I realized that if nirvikalpa absorption arises naturally, intense or long practices could drain the subtle energy needed for it. Gentle, minimal preparation, however, can support the body and subtle channels without interfering with the natural flow.

My guru had suggested a few practices: Jal Neti, Vastra Dhouti, Vaman, sneezing, Kapalbhati, Anulom Vilom, Sarvottan Asan without stretching, Greeva Chalan, Skandh Chalan, Nabhi Chalan (10 forward + 10 backward), and Sarp Asana. Upon reviewing them, I found them light enough if performed gently, slowly, and briefly. Vaman should only be done when advised or needed for it may be heavy in gerd; Kapalbhati should be mild; movements should be smooth and relaxed.

I created a light, energy-preserving morning prep routine to complement my dhyana: start with 3–5 minutes of gentle cleansing (Jal Neti, Sneezing, Vastra Dhouti), then 4–6 minutes of light movements (neck, shoulder, and core), followed by 3–5 minutes of gentle pranayama (Anulom Vilom and mild Kapalbhati), a short Sarvottan Asan without stretching, and finally 2 minutes of settling into stillness. After this, I enter nirvikalpa-type dhyana, focusing first on Ajna and Sahasrara for 15–20 minutes, followed by heart-space descent for 5–10 minutes to observe and release emotional heaviness. I end with integration and gentle awareness for 2–3 minutes.

The guiding principle is simple: let the dhyana arise naturally and effortlessly. Pre-dhyana practices exist only to prepare the body and subtle channels, not to produce forceful energy. Overdoing movements, pranayama, or cleansing can drain the subtle prana that fuels morning absorption. Consistency and gentleness are more valuable than intensity.

However, this is not always true. Most often, my rigorous energy work with strong āsanas, spinal breathing, and chakra meditation creates such potential in the brain that, after deep nirvikalpa dhyāna within five to ten minutes, I feel the āsanas themselves become perfected. When the same āsanas are practiced for many years, they seem to make the nāḍīs flow better, whereas new or even complicated āsanas do not have the same effect. Of course, these are simple ones like leg lifts, shoulder turns, and similar stretches. Probably, the nāḍīs develop in better alignment with the direction of those habitual āsanas with time. Interestingly, the guru-given effective āsanas did not work as well for me as my own simple stretching poses, which I had been doing for decades. No doubt, the guru’s prescribed āsanas will also become perfected with time, perhaps in an even better way. Thus, time and habit seem to be the main factors. When I am sufficiently tired, simple dhyāna starts by itself; when I am fresh and energetic, energy work leads to better dhyāna with greater awareness.

Through this approach, I am learning to harmonize high consciousness in the brain and subtle emotional purification in the heart. Simple Thokar practice also helps heart a lot. The upward flow gives bliss and waveless awareness, while the downward flow clears the unconscious, leaving a light, integrated, and balanced inner state. Observing my own responses allows me to adjust pre-dhyana practices, ensuring that maximum absorption and minimal energy drain occur every morning.

This journey teaches me that advanced sadhana is not about more effort but about precise awareness, gentle preparation, and letting the natural currents of energy and mind guide the practice. By honoring this rhythm, the heart opens, the mind rests, and the subtle energy supports a consistent and deepening nirvikalpa experience. However, all of this is relative. The definition of effort, energy, and practice may vary from person to person. So the approach is simple: try, observe, and practice — the “TOP” formula.

When the Breath Moved to My Ajna Chakra

🌸 Happy Janmashtami! 🌸
On this sacred day when we rejoice in the birth of Lord Krishna, a quiet celebration unfolded within me — a new birth of awareness, as the breath began to awaken in the Ajna Chakra.

Today something new happened in my meditation.
Earlier, my subtle breathing seemed to come from the Anahata Chakra — a gentle rise and fall at the heart center. But this time, my awareness settled fully in the front Ajna Chakra between my eyebrows, and something extraordinary unfolded.

It felt like the Ajna itself was “breathing.” There was a subtle constriction as prana moved downward, with awareness contracting into a fine point, and a gentle relaxation as prana moved upward, with awareness expanding like a soft glow. This rhythm was continuous — like respiration — yet my physical breathing was barely noticed. Air still flowed in and out of my lungs, but it seemed irrelevant. At times, it even felt like the breath had stopped entirely.

From a yogic perspective, this is when the chitta (mind-field) and prana (life-force) synchronize at the Ajna. The normal link between mind and chest breathing fades, replaced by a pranic tide in the head. This is a pratyahara–dharana fusion state: senses withdrawn, awareness steady, yet alive. The physical lungs continue their work in the background while awareness rides only the subtle rhythm. This can lead naturally to kevala kumbhaka — the effortless, breathless stillness.

I learned that Ajna breathing happens when the ida and pingala energy channels merge at the Ajna, creating a tiny “micro-pump” in the pranic body. The sensation is like the Ajna itself is inhaling and exhaling. It sharpens inner vision and steadies meditation, but it can also pull prana upward so much that grounding is needed to stay balanced. A simple way to do this is to keep a thin “awareness-thread” down the spine to the Muladhara Chakra while meditating.

We also explored how this can evolve:

Path 1: Stay in Ajna breathing and stabilize it until samadhi readiness is natural.
Path 2: Let Ajna’s expansion phase overflow into the Sahasrara Chakra, where the breathing becomes spherical and almost timeless.
Path 3: Occasionally cycle awareness through all chakras to keep the whole system alive and balanced while still rooted in the higher centers.

From this, we shaped a single practice:

Start with Ajna breathing for stability.
Let expansion naturally drift upward into Sahasrara breathing.
Before ending, cycle down and up through all chakras a few times to ground and integrate.

Ajna breathing feels like a gateway. Sahasrara breathing feels like stepping beyond the gate into the infinite sky. Both are precious, but Ajna gives the steady flame, while Sahasrara gives the boundless space. The key is to let it happen naturally, ride the rhythm, and stay rooted enough to live fully in both worlds — the inner and the outer.

Living Samadhi in All Seasons of the Day

I have come to realize that Samadhi is not something to be locked inside a meditation room or reserved only for those rare moments when the world is quiet. For me, it has become a rhythm — like breathing in and out — flowing through the morning, afternoon, evening, and even into the busiest parts of the day. It’s not just about the cushion; it’s about carrying that awareness like a fragrance that lingers wherever I go.

My mornings begin with yoga, the body stretching and opening like the petals of a flower at dawn. The energy starts to hum in the spine, and before it dissipates, I let it settle in meditation for a full hour. This is not a forced concentration, but more like stepping into a quiet lake and letting the ripples fade on their own. The body is still, the mind settles, and the space between thoughts becomes more vivid than the thoughts themselves. I can feel the energy in the Ajna Chakra — steady, blissful — and this alone is enough to keep the mind detached from the usual noise of the day. Morning energy work creates a potential that lasts throughout the day, making it easier to enter deep dhyana during later meditation sittings, and sometimes even bringing brief, samadhi-like naps at intervals throughout the day.

Afternoons are different. Just after lunch, I sit in Vajrasana for about 30 minutes. This is a calmer, grounding period — digestion for both the body and the soul. Vajrasana itself is steadying, and I find that meditating right after a meal in this posture helps the body stay relaxed while the mind quietly tunes itself. It’s not as intense as morning practice, but it carries a deep, homely stillness, almost like a midday nap for the inner being — except you stay fully awake. I feel the downward spinal breath is more prominent during eating dhyana due to the downward movement of life force aiding digestion. However in early morning when belly is empty, the upward movement of breath seems more prominent.

Evenings are my favorite. About three hours after dinner, just before sleep, I give myself another hour. Here, there is no need to prepare the mind — the day has already done its work of tiring the body and mind. I simply sit, and the awareness slips into its place like a familiar old friend returning home. Often, this is the deepest session of the day because the body has nothing left to demand, and the mind knows there’s no more work to be done. The transition into sleep from this state feels like slipping from the banks of a quiet river into the open sea. When you fall asleep directly, the mind may stay restless, leading to light sleep and vivid dreams, which prevents full mental rest. But if you first slip into dhyana and then let sleep come naturally, the mind is already calm and inwardly settled. This allows sleep to be deeper, more blissful, refreshing, and satisfying.

But it doesn’t end with these sitting periods. My way of Karma Yoga — through Sharirvigyan Darshan — has become the thread that keeps it all stitched together. While working, I remain aware of the body as if it were an atom: the brain as the nucleus, the electrons as shifting personalities, thoughts as orbiting patterns that I don’t need to catch or control. The body works, the mind thinks, but I stand a little apart, like the witness. In this way, the practice is not interrupted by activity; it is activity that becomes part of the practice.

There is a sweetness in this rhythm. Morning freshness, afternoon grounding, evening melting into stillness — and in between, the flowing stream of Karma Yoga. Each session is like cleaning a window so that the view stays clear. Over time, I have learned that Samadhi is not only found in long stretches of sitting but also in these shorter, daily touchpoints that keep the awareness polished and alive. When combined, they become a continuous current, humming quietly beneath the surface of everything I do.

It is important to understand that while dhyana or samadhi itself is not dependent on the mind, the mind is still required to prepare the ground for it. In the early stages, mental focus and clarity are essential to enter the state. This is why being fresh, alert, and well-rested allows dhyana to establish more quickly and with greater depth. Once true samadhi is reached, it becomes self-sustaining — the mind in that state neither tires nor drifts into drowsiness or sleep over time. By contrast, if one attempts meditation in a dull or drowsy condition, the practice is likely to slide into yoganidra or ordinary sleep rather than samadhi.

Public demonstrations such as being buried underground for days cannot be equated with samadhi. These feats are often the result of advanced pranayama skills such as keval kumbhak (effortless breath retention) or other survival-oriented techniques. While impressive, they do not necessarily reflect inner absorption, and the ego investment in performing such displays can become a subtle obstacle to genuine spiritual advancement. True samadhi, as described in the yogic tradition, is free of exhibition and rooted in inner stillness.

Kevala Kumbhak, Sattvic Living, and Subtle Grace of Inner Absorption

During my spiritual journey, I started noticing something subtle yet powerful — how disturbances in the throat region directly affect the depth of meditation, especially Kevala Kumbhak, that natural state of breathless stillness that arises without any effort. I began understanding this through the lens of Ayurveda, particularly the tridosha theory — Vata, Pitta, and Kapha — and how they connect deeply with yogic experience.

I realized that Vata, especially when imbalanced in the form of Udana Vayu, tends to move upward from the stomach, which is similar to gastric acid rising to the throat — something we often call acid reflux. This upward movement disturbs not just digestion, but subtler pranic flows. When Pitta is high, it shows up as inflammation or heat in the throat due to that same acid. And when Kapha gets aggravated, it results in mucus build-up in the throat, which causes a heavy, blocked feeling. I’ve felt all these at different times — and all of them make it nearly impossible to enter Kevala Kumbhak or remain still for long in deep meditation. That mucus-type block in the throat is the most annoying for a yogi because it constantly brings you back to the body and disturbs inner silence.

That’s when I realized why Sattvic diet — light, clean, non-spicy, and non-oily food — is so strongly advised in yoga. Not just for health, but for inner stillness. This kind of diet is also part of traditional devotional practices like fasting or rituals. Once, I attended a seven-day religious ceremony, eating only light, fruit-based meals with other fasting devotees. To my surprise, my breath naturally slowed, and I effortlessly slipped into Kevala Kumbhak. I even experienced momentary glimpses of Nirvikalpa Samadhi — a deep, ego-free stillness that comes with great joy. It wasn’t planned; it simply happened repeatedly during those seven days. But on the last day, something changed. I got into a minor heated conversation, and my mental peace broke. That day, despite the same food and environment, I couldn’t enter that breathless stillness. It showed me that mental harmony is as important as diet. Even one small disturbance can disrupt the entire inner field.

Throughout the ceremony, I sat silently in asana, eyes closed, facing the priest. I was surrounded by mantra chanting, the ringing of bells, conches, incense, and devotional stories being narrated — all the sacred sounds of worship. But rather than distracting me, these sounds seemed to deepen my inner silence. I wasn’t paying attention to the words or trying to understand anything. My awareness was on the breath, drifting inward, letting stillness arise. Yet, I felt an immense joy, often deeper than those who were actively listening and thinking about the stories. That puzzled me at first. But then I realized — my conscious mind wasn’t involved, but my subconscious or deeper self was absorbing everything in the background. The sacred environment entered me not through effort but through presence.

I now see that in such devotional spaces, the sound vibrations are not mental distractions — they are like gentle waves that harmonize the subtle body. Because I was already inward, in pratyahara (sense withdrawal), these sacred sounds didn’t pull me outward. Instead, they stabilized me deeper, anchoring my breath into stillness. The presence of other peaceful, fasting, devotional people around me created a collective sattvic energy that supported my inner practice — even though I was not following the ritual mentally.

This showed me that true listening doesn’t always require effort. When the mind is quiet and the heart is receptive, the soul listens silently, and the fruit of devotion enters you effortlessly. It was like receiving grace through stillness, not through study. That’s probably why my joy felt deeper — there was no thinking, no effort — only being. This is where bhakti (devotion) and jnana (self-awareness) meet — not as separate paths, but as spontaneous states of grace.

Reflecting on all this, I realized that such a powerful experience can be gently recreated at home. You don’t need a temple crowd or full ceremony. I started planning experimenting with a home-based mini retreat — just one or two days of silent sattvic living, where I do the following:

Eat only fruit-based or boiled sattvic food, preferably in small quantities.
Play soft Bhagavatam katha, mantra chanting, or sacred music in the background.
Sit in a simple asana, eyes closed, and focus only on the breath.
Avoid all arguments, overthinking, or emotional disturbances for the day.
Stay away from screens, except for playing spiritual audio.

I call this my “Inward Listening Retreat.” It’s not about attending externally. It’s about resting inwardly while allowing sattvic vibrations to bathe the subtle body. Even a few hours like this brings the return of that Kevala Kumbhak and a soft taste of causeless joy. Sometimes, even without trying, I feel that my being is “listening” in the background, and something deeper is getting purified or uplifted.

These simple practices are not meant to chase samadhi, but to remove the inner disturbances that block the natural rising of bliss. It’s not a question of more effort — it’s a question of less friction. When the breath stops on its own, when the mind falls inward without force, when devotion touches you without words — that is the real grace of yoga.

All Yoga Is One: From Karma to Hatha to Raja – My Real Experience

For International Yoga Day — by a Seeker

Starting Point

In my youth, I was healthy and mentally curious. After a certain experience, which I later understood was a transient Savikalpa Samadhi, a shimmering image of meditation stayed in my mind. That image remained alive for years and I used it for deep inner nourishment. With that energy, I studied, experimented, and shared spiritual knowledge with others.

At that time, I now feel, I could have gone into Keval Kumbhak and from there to Nirvikalpa Samadhi, if I had focused completely. The inner image was already guiding me. But I got involved in sharing, not settling.

Later Obstacles

Now at this stage of life, GERD, gastric pressure, and mucus buildup in the throat create interruptions in breath. Even if I don’t try to stop the breath, and just sit silently, the breath starts calming down on its own — but a reflex like engulfing mucus or a throat tickle brings breath back. This keeps disturbing the entry into Keval Kumbhak and the stillness needed for Nirvikalpa Samadhi. Though Kunjal is contraindicated in GERD, regular practice from early life may help prevent GERD from developing.

Similarly, Practicing knee-based asanas like Padmasana and Siddhasana from an early age helps keep the knees strong and healthy, preventing age-related weakness and pain that hinder maintaining prolonged asana as needed for nirvikalp samadhi.

This taught me that Hatha Yoga is not optional. It is necessary.

Misreading the Scriptures

In old texts of Hatha Yoga it is written:

“Hatha Yoga is fruitless without Raja Yoga.”

But that sentence has been misunderstood.

People took this to mean that Hatha Yoga is a separate, lower yoga, and Raja Yoga is a different, higher one.

But this is not true.

I now see that:

Hatha Yoga itself becomes Raja Yoga when it matures.

The so-called Raja Yoga — Dharana, Dhyana, Samadhi — arises automatically when the Hatha practices bring breath and body to perfect stillness. They are not two branches, but stages of one path.

Hatha Yoga Leads Honestly

Hatha Yoga is simple and honest.

When you do Shatkarma (cleansing), you can feel the result.
When you do asanas, you know if your spine is straight or not.
When breath slows, it is known directly.

There is no illusion.
There is no imagination.
And if Keval Kumbhak happens even briefly, there is nothing else to believe.

But in many “Raja Yoga” circles, people sit and try to meditate without preparing body and breath. Then they keep thinking they are meditating, but nothing goes on happening. Breath is disturbed. Body is stiff. Samadhi doesn’t happen.

That’s why I now feel:

Even only Hatha Yoga is better than only Raja Yoga.
Because Hatha Yoga eventually gives you real Raja Yoga anyway.

How Karma Yoga Comes First

Before Hatha, Karma Yoga helped me. But I didn’t realize it in words.

I used my own understanding of holographic reality and science based philosophy Sharirvigyan Darshan to approach life nondually.
This gave me a peaceful mind, a natural sense of surrender in action, and a body-breath rhythm that was already inward. I wasn’t reacting too much to success or failure. I stayed calm while doing duties.

Without knowing, this became Karma Yoga.

This helped my posture stay relaxed, and breath stay smooth, even in daily life. It became easier to move into stillness when I sat down for meditation or inner work.

So All These Yogas Are One Ladder

Now I see clearly:

Karma Yoga comes first — it calms you in action.
Hatha Yoga comes next — it prepares your body and breath.
Raja Yoga comes last — it happens on its own when stillness is perfect.

They are not three different paths.
They are one natural unfolding.

Today’s Confusion

Today, Yoga is divided:

Some do only asana as fitness.
Some do only meditation without body discipline.
Some talk only about philosophy.
But all are incomplete alone.

That’s why many people don’t feel any deep transformation, even after years.

But I feel even if one does basic Karma Yoga and regular Hatha Yoga, stillness will come one day. Raja Yoga will not be needed as a separate practice — it will happen.

What I Suggest Now

For those who want real Yoga:

Don’t label the path.
Live peacefully with surrender (Karma Yoga will begin).
Practice weekly or daily Shatkarma, Asana, gentle Pranayama (Hatha will deepen).
Sit without forcing (Raja Yoga will arise).

Let the shimmering meditation image grow silently.
Let breath slow down naturally.

Let Yoga be one, not many.

Final Line

I no longer believe in separating Karma, Hatha, and Raja Yoga.
I feel now that all are steps of the same inner ladder.
I walked it, without planning, and it showed itself as one path.

If I could give one message on this International Yoga Day, it is:

Yoga is not about variety. Yoga is about unity — of body, breath, and awareness.

Everything else is support.

And lastly, don’t forget:
Yoga is the best job — it gives a salary of peace and bliss for limitless time, not like a physical job that pays only for a few decades, at most a hundred years.

Yoga is also the best family — it offers companionship of the Self for eternity, not just for a short human lifespan like a physical family.

✨ So let us all take an oath on this year’s International Yoga Day — to keep Yoga at the very top of our to-do list.
Not just for a day, but for a lifetime.

Yes, don’t forget – one yoga=one health.

Title: When the Image Fades — My Journey from Savikalpa to Keval Kumbhak

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.

Watching Hanuman Ansh Through a Spiritual Lens

Baba Standing in Cold Water and the Symbolism of Kundalini

The Prison Lock as Liberation From Limited Identification

The Serpents Around Baba and Awakened Kundalini Shakti

The Train That Would Not Move and the Power of Guilt

Miracles, Telepathy and the Traditional Yogic View of Siddhis

The Child Who Wanted to Reach God

The Essence of Tantra in a Few Words

The Psychology of the Bahelia Scene

The Symbolism of the Germinating Seeds

Miracles as a Language of Inner Experience

Share this:

The Continuous Meditation Image and the Movement of Prana

Nondual Contemplation and the Felt Energy Vacuum in the Brain

Why Does Only One Meditation Image Become So Luminous?

Kundalini and the Long Association with the Meditation Image

The Role of the Third Eye and Ajna Chakra

A Possible Unified Model

Share this:

The Peak of Orgasm and the Possibility of a Samadhi-Like State

Sexual Energy, Breath and the Upward Movement of Prana

Why Sexual Experience Can Resemble Concentrative Meditation

Ordinary Sexual Energy and the Meditatively Prepared System

Savikalpa and Nirvikalpa-Like Expression of the Same Surge

Breath Suspension and the Brightness of Mental Waves

Why the Same Energy May Produce Different States at Different Stages of Life

A Spontaneous Energy Experience in Half Sleep

The Metaphor of Friction, Heat and Light

From Savikalpa-Like Experience Toward Nirvikalpa-Like Absorption

A Possible Understanding of Tantra

What Science Can and Cannot Yet Say

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

For International Yoga Day — by a Seeker

Starting Point

Later Obstacles

Misreading the Scriptures

Hatha Yoga Leads Honestly

How Karma Yoga Comes First

So All These Yogas Are One Ladder

Today’s Confusion

What I Suggest Now

Final Line

Share this:

Share this: