Wisdom Of The Near Death Experience

I’ve never been interested in the idea of life after death. The idea seemed to be the wishful or needy thinking of fundamentalist Christians. No interest had I in living forever in some disembodied world. But this past weekend I felt not only the presence of an other energetic world, but that for me the membrane between me in this physical world and that other world was tissue thin.

I attended the “Wisdom of the Near Death Experience” symposium in the lazy hill country town of Wimberley, Texas. Sixteen men and women shared their experiences of dying and their encounters with the phenomena they experienced in a world beyond the physical. Two things were common to the experiences of all the speakers: bright white light, interlaced with the most brilliant colors they had ever seen - far more dazzlingly than anything they had seen on earth - and the experience of being unconditionally and accepted.

Although many lessons were brought back to the physical world by the experiencers, a common theme was that our purpose in this incarnation is to remove the obstacles to loving others so as to act upon the love within our hearts. As one speaker put it, “True love is an action. It ‘takes form’ when it is shared, such as being present for or listening to another; speaking words of kindness or encouragement; putting an arm around another or just touching them gently on the hand or arm; or smiling at someone in a way that lets them know they are seen.” This reminded me of words spoken by the Dalai Lama in January 2017: “We don't need to be talking about God or the Creator; no, we simply be need to be talking about being a warm–hearted person. That's the target. Whether we achieve it or not, it is worthwhile and it is worthy of making the attempt.”

Self-forgiveness is the most significant step in removing the obstacles to expressing our love for others. Forgiving ourselves opens the door to our authenticity in the world and empowers us to share the uniqueness of our own wisdom gained from our life’s lessons.

“We don’t need to look for a ‘life purpose’ – there's no score card being kept", said one of the speakers.  "We simply need more opportunities to express love, and they are around us all the time, if we only look for them.”

One speaker said that in her encounter with angels or beings she saw as tall pillars or columns of light, she realized that, “Although my attitudes and judgments are informed by 'my story', I'm not my story. I gained a new perspective - one of detachment and compassionate neutrality.”

These near-death experiences demonstrated to all of the speakers what they had been making of their lives and what they could be making of them, which lead all of them, without exception, to embrace a deeper commitment to express love for others in the work they do. As one speaker said, “I came to understand that life was happening for me, not to me.”  

What touched me the most was that so many the speakers were told by the angelic beings that they could choose to remain there in that world of boundless love and brilliant light, and given that choice they nonetheless chose to return into their bodies, painful as those bodies were,  because of their love for those who were left behind in grief and sorrow.   

My life is different today because of how deeply I connected with the hearts and souls of those speakers and how I resonate with the wisdom they brought back to share with us.

Kundalini Rising, Part 2

From ancient times to the present day, sacred esoteric Indian texts have described and revered the Kundalini, a bio-psychic energy that lies dormant, coiled three and one-half times at the base of the human spine. Until the kundalini is awakened, the individual continues to identify himself as separate from God and will continue to rely on his instincts of survival, pro-creation and willpower to get what he wants in life. These survival energies are represented by the lower three chakras – the root chakra (holding the need for survival and safety); the sacral chakra (holding the needs for sexuality and self-worth); and the solar plexus (holding passion, anger and strength).

The awakening of the Kundalini marks the beginning of an individual’s spiritual journey. In its aroused form, Kundalini is Shakti, the Divine creative energy. The Shakti rises upward through the sushumna, the body’s subtle channel that corresponds to the spinal column, and pierces the chakras as it makes its way to its ultimate destination, the Crown Charka, or Shahasra. As it pierces the lower chakras, the Shakti liberates the individual’s consciousness from the control of these survival centers, allowing the individual to engage the higher powers of the fourth through sixth chakras that bring about the ultimate merger of individual consciousness with the Divine Consciousness, or Pure Awareness. 

For centuries, seekers have engaged in austere yogic practices to awaken the Kundalini. Not only does Kundalini yoga demand extreme discipline and total commitment, it is rarely successful. Moreover, once the Shakti is aroused it can cause erratic and bizarre behavior and be terribly difficult for an inexperienced practitioner to manage without the oversight of an accomplished master.

Kashmir Shaivism, an obscure, esoteric philosophy that originated among mystics in the Himalayan valleys of northern India 1,400 years ago, informs us it is the divine function of the guru is to awaken the dormant Kundalini in the disciple. Arousal of the Kundalini by the guru is known as “Shaktipat”, and is considered an act of grace on the part of the guru.

Kashmir Shaivism teaches that the guru is the grace bestowing power of God. Shaktipat can be transmitted by the guru’s physical touch, by a thought from a distance, or through a glance. The very consciousness of the guru enters the inner self, or soul, of the disciple, bringing about an initiation to the path toward the disciple’s liberation, which is the realization that one's true self is identical with the transcendent Divine Consciousness, or Awareness. 

There are said to be few gurus on the planet at any given point in time who can bestow Shaktipat.  One such guru was Swami Muktananda, who traveled from India throughout the United States during the late 1970s.

A Chicago accountant, who is also an enrolled agent with the IRS, experienced a kundalini awakening at one of Muktananda’s public programs in Chicago in 1974, five years before I did, and wrote about it in a book he published:  

Baba had just begun delivering his discourse with his opening statement: "Today’s subject is meditation. The crux of the question is: What do we meditate upon?" Continuing his talk, Baba said: "Kundalini starts dancing when one repeats Om Namah Shivaya." Hearing this, I mentally repeated the mantra, I noticed that my breathing was getting heavier. Suddenly, I felt a great impact of a rising force within me. The intensity of this rising kundalini force was so tremendous that my body lifted up a little and fell flat into the aisle; my eyeglasses flew off. As I lay there with my eyes closed, I could see a continuous fountain of dazzling white lights erupting within me. In brilliance, these lights were brighter than the sun but possessed no heat at all. I was experiencing the thought-free state of “I am,” realizing that “I” have always been, and will continue to be, eternal. I was fully conscious and completely aware while I was experiencing the pure “I am” a state of supreme bliss. Noticing that this dramatic awakening of kundalini in me frightened some people in the audience, Baba said to the audience, "Do not be frightened. Sometimes kundalini gets awakened in this way.”

Following awakening of the Shakti, there arises an inner voice within the devotee that, over time, brings about the identification of his consciousness with Pure Awareness. Through discrimination brought about by the intelligence of the Shakti, the devotee gradually disassociates himself from the defense mechanisms and coping strategies that comprise the ego; frees himself from the ensnarement of the left brain’s compulsive categorization of all experience, which results in duality, or the experience of separation from God; and becomes detached from repetitive, negative thoughts and emotions. The result is the emergence of an open heartedness that embraces the vicissitudes of life and a loving countenance that is both accepting and forgiving of others. 

Kundalini Rising, Part 1

On a hot Saturday afternoon in July, I was jogging along the Buffalo Bayou on the edge of downtown Houston.  I’d been running for about 45 minutes when out of the corner of my eye, up and to the right, an image appeared in the sky. I couldn't believe what I was seeing: floating well above an old three-story building, like a balloon tethered on a string, was the image of a naked, baldheaded man sitting cross-legged. His entire body was a light blue color.

I stopped in my tracks. I watched. In a matter of moments, the image disappeared. What the hell was that? Okay, let me think about this – my body was over-heated, right? I had a heat-related hallucination, right?  Wrong. In two years, I would receive a shocking revelation. 

It was 1977. I had recently resigned my position as an assistant U.S. attorney. For seven years I prosecuted a wide range of federal crimes. I was disenchanted with the game-playing, lying, and negativity that are indigenous to the office of a criminal prosecutor. My interest in practicing law came to a stumbling halt. I was fed up with the game. Professional turmoil bled into my private world, and my life became progressively less energetic, confused and unsettled. 

I quit practicing law altogether. On the run, I drove to San Francisco, hoping to find solace in the Golden West. But once there, I confronted the hopelessness of my life: I was running from myself and from everything else. I had no idea where I was going. My world was dry and lifeless.  I was empty and hollow. Eventually, I ran out of track.

On a cold Friday morning in December 1978, I drove to the edge of the Pacific Ocean at Point Reyes, north of San Francisco, sat on a cliff below an iconic lighthouse, and prayed, something I hadn’t done since I was a naive teenager. I didn't know exactly who or what I was praying to, but I acknowledged for the first time in my life that I couldn't do it alone; I needed help in dealing with my life.

Eight weeks later, in February 1979, a friend from Los Angeles telephoned me. She was in San Francisco and wanted to have dinner. On a Thursday night, we met in a small Chinese restaurant on Nob Hill. She as on her way to the Oakland ashram of her guru, a Swami Muktananda. She knew I was struggling with my cigarette habit and told me that Muktananda could take away my tobacco addiction and suggested that I go with her to see him. Absolutely not, I told her. 

The following Monday, she called me from the San Francisco airport and told me she told her guru about me and he want to see me. No way, I said. 

But she insisted that I take down the phone number of the swami's secretary and call him to make an appointment to see the swami. As a courtesy to her, I took down the number, never intending to make the call. 

Two weeks later, for some reason, I called the number and spoke to the swami's secretary. 

“Oh, yes, Henry, Swami Muktananda wants to see you. When can you come over?” Good grief, I thought. He wants to see me? “Come to the ashram, attend an evening program, and if you like it, you can come for a meeting with ‘Baba’”

A few days later, on a Sunday afternoon, I drove to the Oakland ashram, arriving there around 3 o’clock. I was met in the lobby by a young woman wearing a sari. “We were expecting you, Henry.” That was nice. There was a calming peaceful about the ashram.  A pleasing fragrance of a sweet incense permeated the air.

My hostess gave me a tour of the ashram. The last stop the large meditation hall where evening programs were conducted and Muktananda delivered spiritual lessons and give individual blessings to those in attendance. We entered the hall at the very back. As I looked toward the far end of the hall there, hanging on the wall, was a large painting of the image of the man I saw in the sky in Houston two years before. I froze. Chills ran up my back and down my arms. My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t move. The painting was of Bhagavan Nityananda, Swami Muktananda’s guru.

“Are you okay, Henry?”, Saraswati asked, softly.

“I'm just a little shocked", I said. "I had a vision of the man in that painting a couple of years ago in Houston, Texas.” She nodded and smiled, as if to say she wasn’t surprised.

The following Tuesday morning at 10 o'clock I was kneeling before Swami Muktananda in a small room in the ashram. He was sitting cross-legged in a velvet-covered armchair. Two of his swami assistants were in the room with him, one of whom was his interpreter. After my introduction, he asked me what I wanted. 

“I've heard that you take addictions away from people. I smoke cigarettes and can't quit smoking. I'd like your help in quitting.”

As a symbolic gesture of my desire to quit, I timidly offered up to him my last package of cigarettes. He took it in his hand and put it on a small table beside his chair. He motioned for me to come closer to him. I scooted forward on my knees. His chair sat on a carpeted deck about eight inches above the floor.

He looked me straight in my eyes. His eyes were intense, unlike any I’d ever seen. Looking into them was like peering into the depths of the universe. Time stopped. 

He leaned forward. His face was about 18" inches from mine. He cocked the middle finger of his right hand inside his thumb, then flicked it outward, striking me right between the eyes.

“Cigarette smoking is bad for your health,” he said.

At that moment, a searing pain shot over the top of my head and down the back of my neck. My shoulders contracted.

Then he flicked me again, harder. “Cigarette smoking is bad for your mind.” More pain.

Then came a third flick. “Cigarette smoking is bad for your heart."

The fire inside my head was so intense I wanted to cry. Muktananda looked at me for a moment, then said, “Come with me.” He stood up and took me by the hand. I arose in a stupor.

He walked me to the center of the small room. He let go of my hand, stepped toward the wall, picked up a big floor cushion and moved it to the center of the room. He motioned for me to sit on it. I sat down cross-legged. Standing behind me, he placed one of his hands palm down on top of my head, and caressed my head in a clockwise direction five or six times. The pain stopped immediately and a light, tingling sensation arose on the top of my head.

“Sit here and be very still,” he told me. “Close your eyes and don’t move.”

In a matter of moments, he and his attendants left the room. They turned off the overhead lights as they left. There was absolute silence.

My mind became tranquil. I felt like I was floating. I had no sensations. There were no thoughts. I slipped into a state of deep relaxation. It was 90 minutes before I opened my eyes and regained consciousness. My god, I thought, what happened? It was my first-ever meditation.

I went to bed early that night. I was laying on my side, drifting off to sleep, when a loud sound erupted from the base of my spine – a popping sound, like the sound of a cork popping out of a champagne bottle. And at that same moment, my entire body jerked involuntarily. Spooked, I lay there, still as I could be, without moving a muscle, waiting, listening, to see if it would happen again. It didn't. I fell soundly asleep with no idea of what had happened.

The next morning, I was up before six o'clock. I brushed my teeth, put on comfortable sweat clothes, and sat down for meditation. I’d never done it before; well, at least before yesterday, but this morning it was the spontaneous and natural thing to do. In less than a minute, I sank into a deep meditation, losing all consciousness of my surroundings. That meditation lasted more than an hour. When I came back to consciousness, I got up, went into the shower. As soon as I stepped into the shower and began to cry. I cried, and cried, and cried. I couldn't stop crying. I wasn’t sad, or unhappy, or depressed. I was crying tears of joy. Tears of release. Tears of letting go. For so many years I had been uptight and holding on, hanging on, afraid to let go. Now, I was releasing and had no control over it. It felt so good

I cried on and off for the next four days — on cable cars, while at apart-time job I’d taken, or just walking the streets of San Francisco. No matter where I was, tears were only an instant away.

Morning meditations continued to be deep and peaceful, lasting anywhere from 60 to 90 minutes. I experienced a love for God deep within myself. I knew the Divine had answered my prayer for help.

A week later, I went back to see Muktananda to thank him for the gift he had given me. I told him about my body jerking, the popping sound in my lower back and the profound crying that followed. He smiled, nodded his head in understanding, and said, “Ah, Shaktipat.”

The several months following Shaktipat were a curious mixture of joy and pain – my heart was full of joy and my body was full of pain! I had headaches, a lingering, excruciating sore throat, chest pains, and aching joints and bones. Over time, the faded away and my days were saturated with the experience of joy and well-being.

I meditated faithfully every morning for more than half a year. My meditations were so intense that when I came out I was in a daze for several hours and unable to do anything productive until the afternoon. But, with the passage of time, I knew I would have to go back to work, and I began to reflect on what I was now going to do with my life and whether I would ever return to the practice of law.