Dr. Aryan Verma’s consciousness flickered like a distant flame, caught between the abyss of time and the pull of an unseen future. The deep silence of cryogenic sleep had no dreams, no sensations—only an eternal pause, a breath held by the universe itself. But something stirred in the depths of his being, a whisper that was neither memory nor vision, but something beyond.
He was weightless, yet he felt motion. A slow, gentle pull, like being carried by an invisible river. And then—a sudden awareness. Not of his body, but of his mind, awakening like the first rays of dawn breaking over an untouched world.
A soft chime echoed through his pod. Systems were engaging. Cryogenic stasis was ending.
His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open, blinking against the dim light of the spacecraft’s interior. The cold sensation faded as warmth coursed through his limbs, his body reanimated from its deep slumber. He inhaled sharply, a sudden rush of air filling his lungs. The process was seamless, yet unsettling—like waking from death itself.
One by one, the pods around him began to hum with life. Meera, Avni, and Ansh emerged slowly, their eyes fluttering open, confusion and wonder battling in their gazes.
“Dad?” Avni’s voice was hoarse. “We made it?”
Aryan swallowed, his throat dry. “We’re awake.”
Meera sat up, pressing her fingers against her temple. “How long…?”
A holographic interface flickered before them. The system’s voice, smooth and artificial, provided the answer: ‘Time elapsed: 27 years, 4 months, 13 days.’
A silence thicker than space itself settled among them.
Ansh was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “Twenty-seven years?”
Avni gasped. “That means… everyone we knew on Earth… they’ve aged. Some might not even be alive.”
The weight of time bore down on them. The world they had left behind had moved on without them, reshaped by years they had never lived.
Meera exhaled sharply, composing herself. “We knew this would happen. We prepared for it.”
“Yes,” Aryan said, though the words felt hollow. The mind could accept, but the heart resisted.
A sudden beep interrupted his thoughts. The interface projected a flashing message—one marked with a priority code from the Lunar Space Station. A relic from the past, waiting for them in the present.
“An old transmission?” Aryan muttered, accessing the file.
The screen flickered, and a familiar face emerged—a much older Dr. Raman, the director of the Lunar Colony. His hair had grayed, his eyes lined with time, but his gaze held the same intensity Aryan remembered.
“Dr. Verma,” Raman’s voice was calm, yet heavy with emotion. “If you are receiving this, then you have awoken. I do not know what awaits you, but I trust you have reached the edge of a new world.” He paused, his expression darkening. “Much has changed since you left.”
Aryan’s heart pounded. Something was wrong.
“The Earth…” Raman hesitated, as if struggling to find the right words. “It is not the world you remember.”
A chill ran through Aryan’s spine.
“In the decades after your departure, the planet faced trials beyond our worst fears. Climate shifts accelerated. Nations fought over dwindling resources. Technology advanced, but at a cost. The balance was lost. And now… the Earth you left behind is—”
The message cut off abruptly. Static filled the screen.
“Wait, what?” Avni leaned forward, panic flashing in her eyes. “That can’t be it!”
Aryan frantically scrolled through the data. The transmission had been interrupted. Whether by technical failure or deliberate action, they would never know.
Ansh’s voice wavered. “Is Earth… still there?”
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Meera closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. “Whatever happened, we cannot change it now.”
Aryan ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. The Earth they had once known was now a mystery. Perhaps lost. Perhaps changed beyond recognition. But one thing was certain—if they had ever considered turning back, that door was now closed.
Avni looked at her father, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination. “What do we do now?”
Aryan met her gaze, steadying himself. “We move forward.”
As they prepared to leave behind their past forever, Aryan reflected on the nature of cryogenic sleep. It was not an experience of space, nor could it be compared to the ultimate yogic samadhi of mindlessness. If it were, there would be no urgency to race towards the unseen future. Instead, it was a suspension—a state of the subconscious mind lingering between existence and absence, neither here nor there. True stillness, as the great sages had taught, was not merely the absence of movement but the cessation of all longing, all seeking. And yet, here they were, still searching, still yearning for a new home.
And so, with the weight of the unknown pressing upon them, they turned their eyes toward the distant exoplanet—their new home. Whatever awaited them there, it was no longer just an exploration. It was a destiny they had no choice but to embrace.
The past was behind them. The future was uncharted. And the last message from Earth remained a whisper lost in the void, an unanswered question lingering in the vastness of space.
Demystifying Kundalini 