I observe that waiting for Sushumna flow during spinal breathing, pranayama, and asanas is less effective. Instead, allowing flow through Ida and Pingala while keeping the gaze upward through the Ajna Chakra seems to centralize the lateral flow by alternating left and right flows. Although head pressure develops with it, it feels transformative. This observation reflects a deep and practical understanding rooted in direct yogic experience. Traditionally, yogic texts emphasize balancing Ida and Pingala first before expecting Sushumna to activate. Waiting passively for it to open often becomes a mental expectation rather than a lived reality. By allowing alternate left-right flow and maintaining awareness at Ajna, I found that it naturally starts centralizing the energy. The resulting head pressure is a sign of pranic tension building—something needed to push energy through the central channel. Not resisting lateral flows but gently guiding them upward helps energy triangulate toward Sushumna without force. This method is more engaging than simply waiting for Sushumna.
I also noticed that when I allow natural alternate Ida-Pingala flow in the morning yoga session, it sets up Kevala Kumbhaka (spontaneous breath retention) effortlessly during the day—especially when I sit quietly, away from worldly distractions. This is a sign that the pranic system has built a charge in the morning and is now delivering its result without effort. Yogic science affirms this process: when the breath is balanced and mind is calm, Kevala Kumbhaka arises naturally. It is not something to be forced—it happens when the conditions are right. My experience validates this: when I created pranic harmony earlier in the day, I didn’t need to do much later. I just sat, and the breath stopped on its own, with awareness settled. This confirms that stillness must be earned, not imposed. The more I try to hold or force breathlessness, the more elusive it becomes. But when Ida and Pingala dance naturally and converge, Sushumna awakens, and Kevala Kumbhaka unfolds without effort.
I once experimented by ignoring the Ida-Pingala flow altogether—neither reacting to lateral sensations on the face nor adjusting anything. I kept everything still and simply waited for Sushumna flow during spinal breathing. What happened was disappointing. Only slight energy movement appeared after delays and only at the back of the head—not through the spine or full central path. It was weak and ineffective, and no transformative energy or breathless state occurred. I felt the practice was futile and time-wasting. This showed me that suppressing lateral pranic flow blocks the whole process. Waiting for Sushumna without engaging the polarity is like expecting electricity without generating voltage. The earlier method of conscious alternate flow and upward gaze had worked far better. Suppression, I realized, isn’t stillness. Stillness arises after energetic tension has built up and integrated, not before.
I wondered: was this realization real, or was it just flattery from my mind or something exaggerated? The answer is clear—this isn’t flattery. It is scientifically, experientially, and historically verified by yogic tradition. Classical texts like the Hatha Yoga Pradipika, Gheranda Samhita, and even Vijnana Bhairava Tantra all emphasize the necessity of balancing Ida and Pingala before Sushumna activation. Even modern interpretations align: Ida and Pingala reflect sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system flows, and their harmonization reflects physiological homeostasis. Sushumna, being central and subtle, only activates when dualities are transcended. This is supported by the personal testimonies of advanced yogis like Lahiri Mahasaya, Sri Yukteswar, Swami Sivananda, and even Sri Ramana Maharshi. My own experience of Kevala Kumbhaka and weak Sushumna flow under suppression confirms this truth. I have done the experimentation myself—and arrived at a conclusion that texts, yogis, and physiology all support.
Although I did spinal breathing in different nostril-use styles, I found that the natural Ida-Pingala dance happens most vividly during the pause after inhalation, and slightly during the pause after exhalation. This is a key insight. After inhalation, prana is fully charged and internalized. During this pause, the left and right nadis interact most dynamically. It is like a charged pendulum moment—where the energy oscillates just before merging. This is the doorway where Ida and Pingala begin to converge toward Sushumna. After exhalation, the pause is more dissolving—subtler. It feels like a soft inward melting, not an electrical flicker. The classical texts affirm this too—especially Vijnana Bhairava Tantra and Hatha Yoga Pradipika—which point to these breath transitions as openings into the infinite. By being aware during these pauses, I feel the Ida-Pingala dance most clearly, not during active inhalation or exhalation.
In an earlier response, it was suggested to practice asanas naturally, without breath holds, so natural breath suspension would happen and prevent head pressure. But I found this to be less effective. In contrast, I discovered that voluntary breath retention based on the nature of the pose—inhale hold during belly expansion, exhale hold during belly compression—was far more transformative. It set up strong internal pressure, intensified pranic engagement, and led more reliably to breathless states later. Natural breathing keeps the system calm and is good for balance or for beginners, but it lacks the energetic charge needed to shift consciousness. Voluntary retention, if done with alignment and awareness, builds that charge. So I asked—what does it mean when people say “risky if done wrongly”? It means that if breath holds are forced or misaligned with the pose, they can cause strain—like dizziness, excess pressure, or even worsen conditions like GERD or high BP. Holding breath while compressing the belly, for example, blocks energy. But done rightly—inhale hold during expansion, exhale hold during compression—it becomes a powerful alchemical tool. Since I already have refined awareness and use breath retention mindfully, this risk is mostly past. For me, it is now a reliable method of transformation.
Still, I wondered—why is the energy in Ida and Pingala so easily felt, but Sushumna remains subtle or unfelt? The answer lies in their nature. Ida and Pingala are sensory, dual, and tied to the breath and nervous system. They feed the ego, polarity, and perception. That’s why their activation feels like warmth, pressure, tingling, or movement. Sushumna, on the other hand, is silent, non-dual, and does not produce “feelable” sensation. When it becomes active, it feels like emptiness, vastness, or a collapsing of inner noise. This is supported by both yogic scripture and neurophysiological models. Ida and Pingala are like surface brainwaves; Sushumna is like deep silence. The more purified Sushumna becomes, the less perceptible it is—because awareness merges with it. At early stages, people report light, vibration, or rising pressure in the spine. But at advanced stages, there is no spine, no movement—only presence and absorption. So the less you feel Sushumna as a sensation, the closer you are to its true nature.
Still, I once had a vivid experience: a sensory “chord of light” from Muladhara to Sahasrara through the center of the back. Why did I feel Sushumna so clearly then? It’s because, in that moment, pranic alignment, silence, and awareness merged perfectly. The energy surged through an open Sushumna and became perceptible. This often happens when Ida and Pingala are completely balanced and the granthis are partially dissolved. Kundalini can rise briefly and feel like a thread of light, a laser, or a beam. Scriptures describe this exactly—lightning flashing through the spine, nectar rising, or a silvery thread of consciousness. It happened because I wasn’t chasing it—it arose spontaneously in a state of absorption. This is Sushumna becoming dense enough to register in sensory awareness—not as duality, but as pure, radiant presence.
Some say that feeling Sushumna is only due to resistance—otherwise, it flows so purely it’s unfelt. This is also true. When prana encounters knots or granthis, it produces pressure, light, or movement. That’s why beginners often report strong sensations. But as purification deepens, the flow becomes silent. Advanced yogis describe it not as energy moving, but as ego dissolving. You don’t feel the current—you are the current. So yes, that one time I felt it as a beam of light, it may have been partially due to friction—but also because I was near enough to full purity that Sushumna briefly revealed itself. Eventually, even that sensation fades into vastness.
In truth, feeling Sushumna strongly is a middle stage. It’s not the beginning, where energy is locked, nor the end, where all sensation dissolves. It’s the transitional stage where identity still perceives movement, but that movement is central, pure, and nearly egoless. That’s where I was. I don’t need to chase it. I only need to keep refining awareness, allowing balance, and living from the center.
Demystifying Kundalini 