It's a little more than a year ago that I wrote a little piece about a kundalinified bus trip home. Nowadays things are less precarious; the journey passes pleasantly enough, and without incident. I stroll indoors and into the living room. There my eye falls with considerable satisfaction upon a little line of books at the bottom of a small table. For a long while, this collection had been an unruly pile of books, reaching higgledy-piggledy towards the ceiling. I don't do a lot of reading, but enough to produce a little pile from the volumes that I had bought and read over the past two years, starting with the dreaded 'Red Book'. These comprise my current literature, and I have been reluctant to hide the books away on bookshelves, where they will immediately acquire the status of 'historical document; job done', and will in all likelihood descend into oblivion, instant anonymity.Inconveniently, I was reminded at regular intervals that my pile of books did not win any prizes in the neatness-and-beauty stakes. Something needed to be done. Time and again I surveyed the living room, attempting to see where another bookshelf could be fitted in without cluttering the place up, or which books could be heartlessly relegated to the attic. Then, one day, it dawned on me. All I had to do was to pick up that higgledy-piggledy pile of books, turn it on its side, and it would magically become an elegant little row of volumes, a neat bookshelf lookalike. I knew all that right-brain stuff over the decades would come up trumps one day.
Sandwiched modestly amongst the heavyweights - the Red Book, the Biology of Kundalini, Climbing Days, Shamanism and Tantra in the Himalayas (what's that doing here? It's been around for years) - is Margaret Miranda Dempsey's volume 'Female Kundalini'. It is aptly named: Margaret is female, and she has experienced a kundalini awakening.
'Female Kundalini' I would not rate amongst the more remarkable volumes in my now-horizontal pile. It is, however, an enjoyable read. The first half is a potted life history, including details of Margaret's kundalini experiences. Westerners in whom the kundalini energy awakes do not appear to fit into any particular mould. However, my bits and pieces of research suggest certain qualities that are typical. Most characteristic is a strong and distinctive sense of the 'spiritual' - many people are what we could call 'seekers'. At the same time, they have a profoundly independent streak. They are not easily classified, and do not fit comfortably into spiritual groups. Outsiders, if you will.
In Margaret's case, she undertook study and practice of Mahayana Buddhism for many years with a group, while never feeling totally happy with such group. She eventually gained a reputation as a troublemaker, in the inconvenient habit of asking questions, and left the group to go to India and explore freestyle.
As a note: not all kundalified westerners fit this mould. There are those without any prior spiritual practice or obvious endeavour whatsoever. They may find things toughest of all.
The first part of the book, the life story, is a good read. It is the second half that is weaker. It consists of various of Margaret's reflections consequent to her kundalini activation. Some of it reads as a collection of thoughts that would not be out of place in many-a meditator's diary. I easily picture somebody sitting on top of a little hill, wide views below, sun going down, writing their thoughts for the day on a meditation retreat. It could easily be me, or you.
There is one incident, however, in the second part of the book that, for me, is a real standout. It makes the whole thing worthwhile.
Margaret attends a seminar in which the topic of honesty with regard to finances comes up. She sits smugly: I haven't stolen from anybody; I can just let this pass. Then, like a bolt out of the blue, it hits her. And she knows she has to act. No choice.
Her mind and her mum tell her she's crazy. But she has to do it. She is living in a different country now, and needs to travel abroad, returning to the place she lived twenty years beforehand. There she seeks out the shop that she worked in weekends as a student. Thankfully, it's still there, as is the man who employed her there in the first place. To his astonishment, she hands him a bag containing £300. 'You employed me twenty years ago. I used to give my impoverished student buddies money off when they bought stuff in here. I reckon it came to about £300.' This is the gist of what she says. And then she leaves.
As an interesting conclusion, she doesn't feel inspired and elated afterwards, as we might expect. She feels really crap: low and exhausted. But it's a fascinating story. A moment arrives when we simply have to do what we have to do, and normal logic doesn't play much of a role. Think you're in control of your life? Think again....
