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This video gives the first hand experience of Kundalini Awakening as it happened to Shri. Gopi Krishna.
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with intent,
much love, light and laughter,
Asavari.
Nothing Existed Except the Eyes of the Maharshi
By N. R. KRISHNAMURTI AIYER
I am now ninety-two years old and I first met the Maharshi in the summer of 1914, when I was just a boy of sixteen. We were then on a pilgrimage to Tirupati and had halted in Tiruvannamalai, from where my grandmother hailed. We were not strangers to this town.
In the pilgrim party there were half a dozen boys, all of whom were about my age. We all decided to go up to Virupaksha cave. The Maharshi was then residing there and was attentive to all the activities of us youngsters. I noticed his gaze particularly focused on me.
We were all playing with the conch shell. The sadhus used to blow this shell like a horn when they went into town to beg for alms.
One after the other, we attempted to blow the conch shell. No one prevented us from doing this, and I noticed an encouraging smile from the Maharshi. This was my first visit.
Some eight years later, I came to Tiruvannamalai to visit my sister, who was married there. One evening, two companions and I went to visit Kavyakanta Ganapati Muni up on the hill where he had his ashram. What can I say about that great seer of Mantra Sastra?
I was just then out of college after finishing my masters degree in physics. I presented to Kavyakanta the latest views of Einstein, Planck and others in regard to the constitution of matter and the universe. He gave a patient hearing, and then said, "Can you put it in a brief way?" Answering in the affirmative, I went on explaining that there is a continuum in which time and space are involved, wherein particles change into waves and waves change into particles and all can dissolve into a single unitary medium. That is the prospect of the future.
He listened patiently to all this and said, "The world picture is in that frame," and after a pause he exclaimed, "chitram, chitram!" These words mean ‘picture’ — you may call it a movie-picture. Those words sent a thrill through my body, through my whole frame. I suddenly felt disembodied. I was myself the whole space in which the pictures were placed — this body being one of the pictures. This experience lasted for a brief eternity. When I came round to myself we took leave of Kavyakanta.
The next day we had a meeting with Bhagavan. This was about the time he arrived at the present site of Sri Ramanasramam (1922). There were no buildings at all, except for a small shed covering the samadhi of the Mother. Bhagavan was seated on a bench under the shade of a tree, and with him, lying on the same bench, was the dog named Rose. Bhagavan was simply stroking the dog.
I wondered, among us Brahmins the dog was such an animal that it would defile all purity. A good part of my respect for the Maharshi left me when I saw him touching that unclean animal — for all its apparent cleanliness and neatness it was unclean from the Brahmin point of view.
I had a question for the Maharshi. At that time I was an agnostic. I thought nature could take care of itself, so where is the need for a Creator? What is the use of writing all these religious books telling ‘cock and bull’ stories, which do not change the situation.
The I wanted to put to him straight questions: is there a soul? Is there a God? Is there salvation? All these three questions were condensed into one: Well sir, you are sitting here like this — I can see your present condition — but what will be your future sthiti? The word sthiti in Sanskrit means ‘state’ or ‘condition’.
Maharshi did not answer the question. "Oho," I thought, "you are taking shelter under the guise of indifferent silence for not answering an inconvenient question!" As soon as I thought this the Maharshi replied and I felt as if a bomb had exploded under my seat.
"Sthiti, what do you mean by the word sthiti!" he exclaimed.
I was not prepared for that question. "Oho, this man is very dangerous, very dangerously alive. I will have to answer with proper care," I thought.
So I said to myself, "If I ask him about the sthiti or ‘state’ of the body it is useless: the body will be burned or buried. What I should ask him was about the condition of something within the body. Of course, I can recognize a mind inside of me." Then I was about to answer "By sthiti, I mean mind," when it struck me what if he counter-questions with "What is mind?" This I am not prepared to answer.
As all this was passing through my mind he was sitting there staring at me with a fierce look.
I then questioned within me, "What is mind? Mind is made up of thoughts. Now, what are thoughts?" I landed in a void. No answer. I then realised that I could not present a question about a mind which did not exist!
Up to that point, the mind was the greatest thing that existed for me. Now I discovered it did not exist! I was bewildered. I simply sat like a statue.
Two pairs of eyes were then gripping each other: the eyes of the Maharshi and my eyes were locked together in a tight embrace. I lost all sense of body. Nothing existed except the eyes of the Maharshi.
I don’t know how long I remained like that, but when I returned to my senses, I was terribly afraid of the man. "This is a dangerous man," I thought. In spite of myself, I prostrated and got away from his company.
MY NEXT VISIT to the Maharshi was in 1934 on a Jayanti Day. He was sitting on a raised platform under a pondal (thatched roof), specially constructed in front of the Mother’s Shrine. As the celebration was going on, all the devotees were seated around him.
While sitting there, my eyes were intensely fixed upon the Maharshi and I saw his form assume different manifestations. It first changed to the Avatar of Vishnu (Vahar Avatar). Then his form changed into that of Ganesha, the elephant God. Next it suddenly changed and I saw Ramana and Arunachala as one. Then I had the vision of the whole Arunachala Hill — the top of the Hill was transparent and inside it I saw a Shiva Lingam, similar to what we see in temples.
Devotees were singing the Marital Garland of Letters. When they began singing the last couplet, "My Lord let us exchange garlands — the devotee (the bride) garlands the Lord Arunachala (the groom), and the Lord garlands the devotee," I suddenly saw garlands of flowers all over the pondal. The Maharshi had a string of flowers garlanded around his neck, and all the devotees (including myself) had a string of flowers around their necks. I saw a large garland around the Shiva Lingam on the hill top. All these garlands were shining with a dazzling brilliance. This experience convinced me of the existence of the deities mentioned in our ancient scriptures.
Later that evening in the Old Hall I sat at the feet of the Maharshi. He was reclining on the couch gazing westward and I sat on the floor facing him. Our eyes fixed, one upon the other, were pinned together for quite a long time. I then saw the form of the Maharshi take the shape of Ardhanareswara.
Ardhanareswara is one aspect of Shiva — one half is the Mother and the other half is the Father; one half of the form had a breast and the other had a trident. Around us the pundits were reciting Sanskrit verses.
As it went on, I began to witness certain changes in my body taking place. I saw a pair of serpents rising from the base of my spine in a crisscross, spiralling manner. They rose to the crown of my head and spread their hoods. One was red; the other blue. The whole cranium became suffused with a bright light. My attention was fixed upon the point between my eyebrows where the serpents’ heads were pointed.
All of a sudden there was a splitting of the skull from the top front to the back. This was followed by an upward gush of a reddish flame shooting out from the top of my head. While this was flowing out, a stream of nectar issued from the single breast of the Ardhanareswara form of the Maharshi and a second stream of nectar flowed out from the top of Arunachala. Both streams landed on my head and sealed the break in my skull.
When the skull was sealed I experienced a brilliant light, like that of an arc lamp, and an indescribable joy and coolness filled my being. This light and joy continued for several hours. During this time I didn’t move about and I was unconscious of what was going on around me. You may have seen a light focused on to a concave mirror. Its light is reflected with a single beam onto a point. Well, sometime about midnight all the light, like a concave mirror, was focussed onto the Heart. Then all the light drained into the Heart. The Kundalini was completely sucked into the Heart and the Heart was opened — that is the seat of Arunachala Ramana.
The Heart is normally closed, but when it was opened — I never knew any of these things and never read any theory. These are all practical experiences — a flood of nectar gushed forth and drenched every pore of my skin, drenched my whole physical system. It poured out, went on coming out in a great flood. The whole Universe was filled with that Nectar.
The wonder of it was that my awareness was not in the body — my awareness was over the whole of the space filled with that Nectar. The whole Universe was Nectar. I call it Nectar; you could call it Ether, something very subtle, attached with awareness at every point. And everything living and non-living was like snow flakes floating in that ocean of Nectar.
If you ask me what my body was, my body was the whole universe of Nectar, attached to awareness at every point. No particular association from the one body from where it started — this body was like every other body.
By morning everything subsided, though the underlying experience remained. I was totally unconscious of my body. I was moving around like an automaton, unaware of my body. In that state I returned to Madurai where I was a physics professor.
This was during a Christmas vacation. For the next two weeks I remained in that state. With the opening of college I was scheduled to give lectures and my relatives became rather concerned, for my behaviour had changed considerably.
I then returned to Ramanasramam with the intention of returning to my regular mundane condition — I do not know what urged me to do this.
I went and sat before the Maharshi in the Old Hall. He gave no acknowledgement of my plight and sat, seemingly, unconcerned.
After a long time I said to myself, "Well, the son (Maharshi) seems indifferent to me. Let me go and seek refuge in my mother, Alagammal." I came and sat in the Mother’s samadhi room. It was then only a thatched room. I picked up the book Jnana Vashistha and began reading it from beginning to end with the hope of finding the solution to my dilemma. I continued reading without eating the whole day. In the evening the answer came: a stanza in Jnana Vashistha said, "Between two thoughts there is an interval of no thought. That interval is the Self, the Atman. It is pure Awareness only."
In those days I was repeating the mantra ‘Ram, Ram’. So I said to myself: "Ram — that is one thought; and Ram again — that is another thought. But in the interval between these two thoughts there is silence. That Silence is the Self." And so, I came to the conclusion that if I go on repeating ‘Ram, Ram’ it will resolve itself into that Silence.
I was very happy. I rushed home and found I was my normal mundane self, teaching my classes in the usual way. But all the time, even while the lectures were going on, ‘Ram, Ram, Ram’ went on repeating in my Heart. For nine years it went on like that and then stopped of its own accord. It ended in Silence.
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Text copyright 1991 Arunachala Ashrama. This article originally appeared in The Maharshi as a two-part series entitled "Interviews: N.R. Krishnamoorthy Aiyer" in the issues of May/June 1991 and July/August 1991. Photos copyright Sri Ramanasramam and others.
However I am raising kundalini daily, twice per day using bhastrika pranayama breath infusement technique.
This method is proficient and reliable and allows one to direct kundalini into the brain and also in other parts of the psyche.
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*https://sites.google.com/site/michaelbeloved/meditation-pictorial
by Freddie Yam
A Waterfall of Light
It took several hours of meditation on the third day to work my way up to the explosion, applying my attention as described above.
If there was a key to the whole thing, it was splitting my attention so it focused simultaneously on my anus and the light in my head. This seemed to increase the feeling that a spark was getting ready to jump between them.
Hour after hour, my mind became quieter as the sensations grew more pronounced — the glowing cloud in the skull, the spasming perineum, the straining leg muscles. Always a dim determination remained on the horizon of thought that I must not think, because thought would abort the process. Eventually the feeling of cold fear reappeared in my belly, and with it an increasing sense of polarization between the two ends of the spine. I focused fiercely and simultaneously on the head and anus, driving the polarization to the breaking point, creating a weird certainty that the explosion was about to occur. To steel my nerves as the brink approached, I fixed part of my attention on the conviction that the event would be benevolent. I was clutching that bit of faith like a lucky charm when it happened.
Suddenly there was light and noise, brilliant and deafening. One moment the world was dark, the next a huge jet of energy, fat and solid as my neck, was emanating at my collar bone and rushing upward in an incandescent torrent, white and frothing like a column of water leaving a hydrant under enormous pressure. It looked like the beam of a floodlight shining up into a clear plastic statue of somebody's neck and head, except that the light was boiling and roaring like Niagara Falls. The light, which may have been slightly yellowish (again, my memory is uncertain), filled my neck and head completely. It wasn't confined to my spine or anything like a nadi, and, as I said, it originated at the level of my collar bone, not the coccyx.
The noise was a brassy metallic roar like a huge waterfall mixed with cymbals. It was so loud that if people had been physically present in the room with me, shouting in my ears, I don't think I would have heard them.
This roar seemed like a real sound in every way — it seemed to come through my ears. The light seemed to be perceived normally as well — that is to say, I was apparently seeing it through my eyes, not knowing its existence in some other way — except that my point of view was at the center of my head and my field of view covered all directions in three dimensions. This seemed less strange than it sounds because normally when I close my eyes, I perceive the darkness as if it's inside my skull. Now I seemed to have the same view, except the darkness was filled with light.
I panicked. A sort of primitive mental alarm went off, warning that something this intense might cause physical damage. I wondered fearfully if I could stop the phenomenon (Gopi Krishna could not), and that thought ended my thoughtless concentration, and the light and noise vanished. There was no climax or sense of ending; with impossible suddenness, the room was dark and quiet again, as if the light and noise had never been present. Irrationally I expected to hear people yelling and screaming in reaction to the commotion (although of course I knew the light and noise were subjective phenomena), but everything was silent. It had lasted only a few seconds. Surely there had to be some aftermath to such intense violence, but there was nothing, just the memory. My ears should be ringing, but there was no ringing. I put my hand on my heart, expecting to find it pounding like it does after a near collision in a car, but it was pumping slowly. This almost seemed weirder than anything else. I was afraid to move for a while, but eventually I stood up and moved around. I felt perfectly normal, and this also seemed odd.
A Saint for Three Days
Except I wasn't normal. It soon became apparent that I was in an elevated spiritual state. When I went outside and passed people on the street, they seemed divine to me, especially children. By this I mean that I was aware of their essential goodness and their infinite importance and the casual mundaneness of that infinite importance and the jovial benevolence of the world we all inhabit together. This awareness was so overwhelming that tears of joy came to my eyes.
This condition lasted three days. The most striking thing about it was the conviction that the world is not only benevolent but also good-humored, almost as if it's a friendly joke that all of us are in on; all of us should be winking at each other. But this description is misleading, because it seemed as if we are the joke. And that doesn't express it correctly either, because calling it a joke makes it seem trivial, and this insight wasn't trivial. It was profound and beautiful and important; it was what people mean when they say God; it was love; and for three days it was tangible to me, to the point that I kept crying tears of joy intermittently.
Or maybe the most striking thing was that pedestrians on the sidewalks of New York City, where paranoia is an artform and children learn before they are weaned to avoid eye contact with strangers, kept looking into my eyes and smiling at me.
But why shouldn't they? I loved them — not in a soppy way, but as if we were such old friends that we didn't have to bother saying hello.
Or maybe the most striking thing was that I was happy. Or that I was fearless.
After three days, the spiritual awareness subsided. Luckily, it didn't subside completely; an attenuated trace of it remains to this day, and I'm extremely grateful for it.
***
check his site - http://freddieyam.com/
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with intent,
much love, light and laughter,
Asavari.