Gudrun Mouw speaks on reincarnation and her forthcoming book Out of the Ashes (to her meditation students).
Gudrun Mouw Posts
I see a rainbow inside;
outside, nothing but light.
that which awakens.
Being here, kundalini
does not relate
Whenever the word, kundalini, comes up in conversation, which it has lately, I remember an intense and confusing period where my perceptions were shifting dramatically.
One way to describe the awakening of kundalini is that it is an intensification of internal energies, which can be a smooth rush of energy coming up through the center of the spine, or if there are physiological/psychological blocks there may be unusual manifestations of heat, reactive neurological movements, or other processes that may be difficult to understand. However, eventually, the process of kundalini works to remove the blocks and to create a transformative experience.
After years of integration work, I see now, that such times of challenge can lead to incredible growth spurts. Sometimes, the growth feels as if it is moving too fast and that can be confusing.
I am looking at some of the books I have read on the kundalini experience. I learned that the information I gleaned from my research, though very helpful, was not always totally reassuring. Much more important was and still is to have people in one’s life who are understanding. Without my daughter’s acceptance and support and the help of friends and students, the journey would have been much more difficult.
One massage therapist said about the kundalini energy–“It’s like a Maserati engine driving on a dirt road.” This is an awkward experience until the physical and energetic bodies are integrated.
Each kundalini experience is unique and that can make it harder to work with, because there’s no one way that is correct. The kundalini process can be very puzzling to the outside observer, because it is such an inward process. However, with a positive and nurturing environment, the kundalini can blossom and transform one’s life in a beautiful way.
This morning I harvested rosemary. The attention and care it took for this project gave me a good feeling of place.
I remember one of the first times I had this feeling of connection to the land. I was sixteen, staying with my maternal grandparents at the Bodensee, the lake that creates 3 borders, Austria, Switzerland and Germany. As part of the research for From Ashes into Light, my daughter and I traveled to Europe, and I very much looked forward to seeing the Bodensee again.
From New York, we landed at the Czechoslovakian airport to the sight of heavily armed soldiers. Memories were triggered. I struggled to regain a sense of balance.My daughter’s confidence, curiosity and competence broadcast practical needs of the moment, reminding me to let go of the past. I experienced a strong connection to several places in Prague–especially the synagogue, as well as the Jewish cemetery. After more than 3 decades, I had come to the continent of my birth with mixed feelings of fear and release, which surprised me. The humility and sincerity of the people we met reminded me of cultural differences I had forgotten. There were tastes, smells and sounds that triggered many visceral memories.
In Prague, we attended a transpersonal conference where we spent a number of days listening to speakers in a building that looked like it doubled as a Renaissance style, ornate opera house. Towards the end of the conference, we danced with Olantunde on the streets. The music had a powerful trance-like rhythm. The night was clear and temperate. Even though there were more than a hundred people who joined the dance, I experienced a sense of close-knit community that transcended historical adversity.
We took the train from Czechoslovakia to the former East Germany. The fare was so inexpensive, I decided to go first class. It seemed as if there was no one else on the train but the two of us and several porters who frequently wanted to know if we needed anything. It was a long, pleasant ride dedicated to watching country landscapes along the Elbe River.
I remember practicing my German with a gentleman who was traveling to buy a new car and bring it home. He was retired and very relaxed about it, at ease with himself. His benefits were secure, and the knowledge of this seemed to permeate his being.
We came to visit my Aunt, and my mother’s closest sister in age. She welcomed us so warmly, I felt I had truly come home. She lived very close to one of the last Russian internment camps our family had endured.
We next visited one of my mother’s brothers, the chiropractor, who hired a chauffeur to pick us up at the station. I had last seen him when he was newly engaged, and now his daughter was grown up just as mine was.
Eventually, we came to the Bodensee, where I had spent 2 summers during my teenage years with my maternal grandparents, my mother and her youngest sister with her first-born son. Those summers I learned to appreciate the healing power of nature. Along the lake, in the woods and the community gardens, I sought solitude, healing and transformation.
However, my return to the Bodensee was different than what I had held dear in my memory. My grandparents were no longer alive. There was a hole in the fabric of the family.
My aunt and uncle took us on many excursions along the Bodensee, which were welcome diversions–from old cobblestone harbor towns to craggy heights of the Alps. There were moments when these places impacted me with a healing sense of finding my roots–a deep familiarity that had been nearly forgotten.
Adversity Series 1. During the night, a branch crashed; the wound looks rough, bruised, cracked. The broken branch invaded fruit trees and picnic table; I contain reaction to create something beyond confusion. 2. One way to go beyond the wall, observe; along the perimeters are movements light. The wall dissolves. Everything is possible. 3. Listening to Ralph Nader on Labor Day, pain has me hard at work since 3:00 am; Let me be grateful to understand why. Let us not inflict cruel greed from the top.
The publisher has unveiled the cover to my upcoming novel, From Ashes into Light. To be released Fall 2015.
When I finished the last chapter of the novel draft I’ve been working on, I took a walk on a trail I used to know very well. Things have changed. I pushed through sage, oak and manzanita, whose leaves, branches, and even roots have made the path nearly invisible, but I didn’t mind. Loving the smell of native plants close to my face, I thought, perhaps, it’s best the trail is now so overgrown. I stopped at a point where I have sometimes gotten lost in the past. Wilderness still exists, and this gives me hope.
I returned home to read the last paragraphs of the novel once again. Will these words survive another draft, if there is one? At the time I wrote the ending, I find myself, unexpectedly, crying. If emotions are transient movements, then, does that create the best exit for the book?
That night, I woke up before 5:00 am with a word on my lips from the novel manuscript, and I knew from which chapter the word came. The word came to me, because the word was the wrong word. I was acutely aware, in that moment, why I had been writing and editing so intensely. I wanted to hold the novel inside my being like a poem. Each word in a poem carries water. With the novel such an endeavor has not been totally successful, but the intention to do so was there, nevertheless.
A Novel Excerpt:
I do not talk about the part of last night’s vision that appeared to foretell a meeting with phoenix. I don’t feel the need to try to explain….Instead, other words come out. ‘Thank you everyone for coming. I had a dream last night. In the dream, there was a part where I saw nothing but light, and the light seemed to chant: I am coyote singing. I am the lion, the vulture, I am all that endures, all that roars, all that is strong, and, most of all, I am grateful to be alive.’ As I repeat these words, light shines around all the walls in the room, along the ceiling and along the shapes of the celebrants. I see myself standing inside the light.