An Uchideshi Experience: Chapter Thirteen
Ki, Chris, and Kundalini
One of the books that solidified my quest to become an uchideshi was Path Notes of an American Ninja Master by Glenn Morris. When I first spied that Ken Blaylock owned a copy, I didn’t ask to borrow it, since I was sure it wouldn’t have had anything of interest to me. After all, I wasn’t a big ninjitsu fan.
But after seeing it lie there, week after week, in the dressing room of Aikido North, I read the back cover and was intrigued by the variety of topics, including seeing auras, kundalini, and meditation exercises toward enlightenment. This was right up my alley, and I devoured the book in a few sittings.
What really struck me was the way Morris described “enlightenment” as a concrete physiological process rather than a spiritual epiphany. This gave me hope. I had assumed that enlightenment could only be achieved through many arduous years in a Zen monastery, reflecting on koens and seeking the elusive “thought that isn’t thought.” Although enlightenment was certainly penciled in as a lifetime goal, I didn’t think I’d ever really enter a monastery and sit in front of a wall for eight hours a day. Eight hours is a long time.
While in Japan, I was once required to sit motionless on a wooden floor while observing a ceremony. It wasn’t much more than three hours, but it will always be catalogued as a painful experience. My back had spasmed, my bottom gone numb, and the mental anguish of knowing, “I’m not moving anytime soon,” only magnified the discomfort. Though I’m sure the body would learn to relax in long meditation sessions, it was a bit much. Reaching for nirvana didn’t seem like a good time.
But Morris’ description of enlightenment put it back within reach. It was a refinement of the nervous system and rejuvenation of the hormonal system achieved through Chi Kung meditations. This provided the enlightened with lower respiration and heart rates, accelerated healing, unsuspected strength, increased fluidity of motion, greater pain tolerance, heightened sensitivity, greater creativity, and much, much more.
Who wouldn’t want this? You may not be Superman, but you’re certainly a step ahead of most mortal men with those additional tools at your disposal. I’ve always held out hope for a higher level in martial arts, one that transcends age, strength, and size. Morihei Ueshiba, the founder of aikido, certainly represents this kind of transcendence, as he was reportedly invincible from the time of his enlightenment until his death. Was this possible to attain? I hoped so, since it would certainly give me an edge in martial arts, not to mention life itself.
Morris’ own description of his expanded senses and capabilities wowed me, but he warned it wasn’t easy, and he had paid some very heavy dues, including one marriage and a host of physical problems. In the end, though, it was worth it for him, and I knew that it would be worth it to me, regardless of the costs. I wanted that higher state of mind, and yearned to release the energetic potential lying dormant in my body.
All of this, of course, was taken on faith, as I had never had any firsthand experience with energetic phenomena. I had read an awful lot about it, but never really was able to experience something that I could put stock in, that I would swear was ki (vital energy), and not my imagination.
Long after I had read the book, and a few months before I actually left Alaska for Monterey, I had an interesting experience that tilted the scale of belief toward the existence of ki. I was training with Ken at Aikido North, and I persuaded him to do a quick adjustment on my back. Ken could crack my back better than anyone else I knew at the time, and on that night, he followed it up with a little shiatsu. I sat on my knees, and following his directions, extended my arms out and breathed deeply as he probed my back. He noted that a particular point on my left side was “blocked”, worked on it for a minute or two, then let me up. I felt the normal relief of an adjustment, and went to the dressing room to change.
Ken and I sat there in the dressing room for a few minutes, chatting it up, when something very definite happened that I wasn’t expecting. All of a sudden, I looked down at my hands and shouted, “What the hell?” as a wave of heat flooded them. I held them up, turned them over, and couldn’t believe what I was feeling. My hands felt warm, instantly, with a pin-prick sensation I can only approximate to falling asleep on your arm and letting the blood flow return. The “prickling,” however, was more lightly distributed than a numb limb returning to life, and this heat rush lasted several minutes. Ken looked amused at my wide-eyed wonder, and simply said, “You’re welcome.”
Finally, firsthand evidence that indicated to me that energetic phenomena were as real as Dr. Morris described them. It was a validation, a step in the right direction (I felt), and I wanted to share my experience with some of my friends who had similar interests. I eventually passed on my copy of Path Notes to my Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu training partners Eric and Chris.
Eric was already fairly well versed in the field of transpersonal psychology, with years of experience doing meditations and introspective analysis. Chris had little experience, but we had discussed the possibility of energetic phenomena and he seemed open minded.
I left my copy with them and left for Monterey, hoping somehow that this uchideshi experience would assist me in the mind/body/spirit integration I had been striving for. I meditated occasionally at the dojo, but usually found myself too tired after training to augment it with anything, even sitting still.
I kept in touch with Eric, and tried to keep in touch with Chris, but he was a harder to track down. I spoke to him a few days after seeing the Ultimate Ultimate II, and we had a great talk about how strong Ken Shamrock looked, the girl he was dating, what he was up to, etc. One thing he mentioned that really stuck with me was his enjoyment of Path Notes, and the excitement of actual results gained from the meditations. He said, “Yah, I can really feel my chi moving around,” and talked about how he could focus it into his hands. I thought that was great, he was certainly a lot further along than I was. We had a nice conversation, and it was good to get back in touch.
A few days after, I mentioned Chris’ progress to Carolynn, and she was a little bit concerned about him focusing his energy into his hands. The monks at the Buddhist temple she attended had instructed her that moving energy around your body was OK as long as it was done in a circle, but keeping it in one place created an unhealthy energetic imbalance. I tried to call Chris later and mention it, but couldn’t get ahold of him.
All of this took place in the month of December, near my birthday. As a present to myself, I asked Sheila about embarking on some sort of shamanistic journey. I was pretty open to a variety of possibilities: hypnosis, past life regression, induced out-of-body experiences, vision quests, sweat lodges, whatever you call it, as long as it shifted my perspective, that’s what I wanted. What I was looking for was a definite, real, and dramatic experience to expand my consciousness, under the safe supervision of an experienced guide. This kind of stuff is really popular in Northern California, so I was confident that Sheila would be able to hook me up with the proper people,
Sheila gave me a few names and numbers to call, but expressed regret that she didn’t know about any Holotropic Breathwork sessions coming up in the near future. She thought it would be exactly what I was looking for.
“Holowhat?” I asked. I had never heard of such a thing. My next question was if it was “real,” in the sense that it produced a profound transformation in my thought processes, not easily written off as mere imagination. She promised me that her experience with it was very real, which Sensei confirmed, as he had participated in a session himself. I thought it was unfortunate that they didn’t know where I could contact people doing that kind of work, but dialed the other numbers Sheila had given me and tried to organize my “trip.”
A few weeks later, a flyer came to the dojo through the mail, billed as “The Adventure of Self-Discovery.” It was a notification of a Holotropic Breathwork seminar conducted by the man himself, Stanislav Grof.
Stanislav Grof, M.D., is a former professor at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine and former Chief of Psychiatric Research at the Maryland Psychiatric Research Center. While enrolled in medical school in Prague, he volunteered to be an experimental subject for the drug LSD-25. Profoundly moved by the experience, he later conducted LSD research, convinced of the enormous healing potential of non-ordinary states of consciousness, especially over traditional methods such as psychoanalysis, which had shown very poor clinical results. Later, he developed a drug-free method of inducing non-ordinary states of consciousness known as Holotropic Breathwork, using evocative music, altered breathing patterns, and bodywork. Grof is considered one of the most brilliant minds in psychology today, and I was excited at this opportunity to engage in a clinically verified and scientifically directed spiritual awakening.
Carolynn was just as intrigued as I was by the seminar, and promptly bought his book, The Holotropic Mind to better understand the philosophy behind the breathwork technique we’d be employing. After she was finished, she loaned it to me, expecting me to read it. Actually, I expected to read it too, but didn’t get a chance to before the seminar.
Carolynn and I drove through a torrential rainstorm to San Raphael in late January to take part in the seminar. It was held in a hotel designed for modestly sized conventions, and we checked in on Friday afternoon, early enough to rest up before Stan’s evening lecture.
Smart move. To hear such an erudite, learned man succinctly explain and clearly describe the often inaccessible subject of non-ordinary states of consciousness was impressive by itself, even more so since English is his third language. We had a giant in our midst, and the audience at large revered his insight and experience.
After the lecture, the room was divided into several groups, each one circled in a different area of the room, composed of 20 to 25 members. All introduced themselves and explained why they were participating in the course. Each group also had a few facilitators experienced with the Holotropic Breathwork method, ready to answer questions or provide assistance when necessary. One of the softer male facilitators extended an open invitation to “come by room 206 if you have any other questions ... or just need to talk.” Thanks anyway.
Carolynn and I retired early, waking up the next morning in time for a leisurely breakfast, provided by the hotel. The day was split into two breathwork sessions, one in the morning, one in the afternoon. Carolynn decided she would go first, as the breather, while I would act as the sitter, attentive to and responsible for her needs. That was fine with me, since unleashing my subconscious this early was always unpredictable.
We had been instructed to bring whatever we felt would be necessary to make our session more comfortable. Some brought sleeping bags and pillows, and we borrowed some sofa cushions and blankets from the hotel room and laid them down, claiming space in the crowded convention room. We were definitely not alone. At least a hundred other participants were present, half of them preparing their beds for their imminent departure, the other half standing by as the breathers’ babysitters. Finally, the time had come.
Over the cushions and under the blankets, Carolynn lay down and tried to relax. The lights were deeply dimmed, Stan gave some final remarks before bidding us to “have a nice trip,” then turned the music up. The Scandinavian group Hedningarna blasted from the speakers, and across the floor, chests heavily heaved in and out, up and down.
I had expected that the breathing cadence required to achieve an altered state of consciousness would be far more complex, similar to kundalini yoga or other tantric traditions. You know, timed inhalations, drawing breath through a specific nostril, holding it for certain counts, etc. None of that was necessary. Stan simply told us to breathe a little more deeply and a little more rapidly than usual, and continue for the desired duration of the experience. This, coupled with foreign music, is what launched the breather into psychedelic nether, since the mind is never given the opportunity to latch on to an English word and the breathing is paced to the music’s beat.
As I looked around the room, bellies heaving with audible exhalations, I thought that it would probably be awhile before people started to feel the effects of their altered respiration rates. I couldn’t have been more wrong. In under 40 seconds, people moaned and their bodies began twitching. In less than five minutes, men and women were screaming at the top of their lungs while facilitators restrained participants who were thrashing around or partially convulsing.
I couldn’t believe it. Initially, I thought to myself, ‘No way. These people have got to be faking it,’ but it didn’t matter if they were or not: they weren’t stopping and certainly weren’t shutting up. You’d think people were being tortured by their screams. That’s right, screams. Social conventions had no sway on this group.
Bodies writhing in agony or ecstasy, strewn haphazardly in a crowded room, with attendants hovering over them; the whole scene was reminiscent of nurses trying to ease the pain of fallen soldiers after battle. It was disturbing, and I could completely understand why Carolynn had a difficult time feeling safe enough to really let go and push the experience to its potential. How could you when you’re stuck in a room full of random people, psychic energy bouncing off the walls, while their current problems and past life baggage is immediately brought to the forefront of their consciousness?
In short, Carolynn was frustrated with the experience and I don’t blame her. She felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow during the two and a half hour session, largely due, I feel, to the setting.
Who wants to pay $225 for an experience so depressing that it lingers for days? Not me. I can feel bad in the privacy of my own home for much less.
After a light lunch, it was my turn, and I didn’t know what to expect. I had tried to achieve out-of-body experiences in the past, but never got very far. I was looking forward to exploring alternate dimensions, but no matter how many books I read or exercises I tried, I couldn’t separate an inch from my body. I was a transpersonal failure and I knew it. I secretly wondered if I’d get anything out of this seminar at all, seeing how my expectations and desires probably hindered past progress. I hoped for the best, but what else could I do?
I lay down on the cushions, under the blankets, with a towel over my eyes to block out the light. Carolynn was at my side as the music began. In, out, in out, my lungs forcefully expanded and contracted at a constant rate, slightly faster and deeper than normal respiration. Less than a minute into it, much to my chagrin, I felt something in the palm of my right hand.
It was a tingling sensation, but one more akin to an electric current than a pinprick. I continued breathing, and the energy engulfed my forearm and hand. This was unbelievable, and I thought to myself, “Yah, man...this is it!” I barked some orders at Carolynn to grab my hand and feel how hot it was. She complied, but contrary to my expectation, she reported that my hand felt clammy. Strange, it felt tangibly hot to me.
Beginning in the palm of my hand, the energy continued up my limb, worked its way across my chest, and dropped down the left arm. Over the next hour and a half, it slowly spread from my torso down my hips, to my legs, all the way to my toes. Every part of my body that conducted this energetic phenomenon felt exceedingly warm, and I swore every cell in those areas was vibrating robustly, like magnified Brownian motion.
Based on previous reading, I thought I would have felt the energy surge from the base of my spine through the chakras. Honestly, I didn’t feel any energy, in any way, emanating directly from that point, but don’t mistake that for disappointment. What I was feeling was as real as any armbar or choke I’ve ever tapped to, which was far more real than I thought it would be. My imagination wasn’t involved in the slightest; this was purely physical.
My body-at-large was brimming with a force I couldn’t fully control, and from the beginning I had assumed the position of a crucified man. My arms were held out at my sides, not as an arbitrary decision or Catholic tribute, but out of physical necessity. I felt best in this position, because my mobility was so stifled by this energy coursing through my body.
Now, if I concentrated my attention and really, really tried, I could move. But this took considerable effort on my part, and besides, there was no reason to. I was savoring every moment of this, since I knew it might never happen again. I’ve tried to find a good analogy to convey what I was feeling, and the best one I can come up with is the hackneyed guideline used by aikidoists for the unbendable arm exercise.
You know, imagine your arm is like a firehose, with torrents of water flowing through it toward a distant point. The hose can’t bend until the internal pressure drops, just as I found it difficult to bend my arms as my extension was energetically supported from the inside out.
I should mention that the experience was not entirely painless. Early on in the session, as the energy surged down my left arm, I felt a searing pain in my left wrist. Months earlier, I suffered an injury from a lightning fast kotegaeshi, and my tendons were still recovering from that technique. I don’t know if my damaged paw was merely an energetic obstacle that needed to be burned through, or the energy was working to heal it, but I know that it hurt, and I had to ask Carolynn to fetch a facilitator to work on it for a while. They massaged it and it definitely felt better, but still wasn’t good as new.
As the session wore on, through a combination of visualization and willpower, I tried to move this energy up my body, up my spine, and shoot it through the top of my head. My thinking was, “Well, since I’m having a kundalini experience, I might as well go for the bigtime.”
But the thing was, I couldn’t do it. The best that I could do was make my neck and jowls tingle, but that’s where it stopped. Shortly thereafter, the friendly facilitator from room 206 lay down next to me, propped his head on his hand, and instructed me to begin slowing down, since the session would be finishing soon. I complied and returned to breathing normally, as I felt this internal, vibratory power recede to an imperceptible level.
The facilitator stopped me way too early, I realize now that I look back on it, as others continued to scream for at least another half an hour. I think he just wanted to chat, since he continued to loiter as I returned to semi-normal consciousness. Carolynn didn’t like him hanging around, and she was in a far better position than I to see things as they really were.
My body settled, I removed the towel from over my eyes, opened them, and saw Carolynn’s face hovering above me. I had never been more thankful to see anyone in my life, and an overwhelming sense of safety, peace, and acceptance flooded through me. I wish I felt that way every time I woke up. I lay there for a few more minutes, and when I thought I was ready, I bent at my waist and tried to sit up.
Bad move. I fell back down instantly, with little muscular resistance slowing me. I was surprised at my own lack of strength and balance, so I waited a bit longer, maybe five minutes, and tried it again. This time, I succeeded at sitting up, and paused for a moment at the top, steeling myself for the next risky maneuver. When I felt I was ready, I spun out on to my knees and tried to stand. Instead, I fell down face first back into the sofa cushions. I stayed there, celebrating my decision to rest.
Eventually I got up and we left the room, heading for our next activity: drawing mandalas. I wasn’t really into it, nor was I into showing those mandalas before we shared our experiences in a debriefing session with our original group members. The meeting was well intentioned, and I must admit, it was interesting to hear the vast array of experiences possible with the Holotropic Breathwork method.
Two other people in our group also had energetic phenomena surface in their bodies, so I realized my experience wasn’t that unusual. Overall, I was pleased with my session, feeling some sort of confirmation had taken place that I wasn’t the transpersonal failure I once thought I was. One reason I may have been successful was my relatively low expectations, with only the most basic understanding of the method. I’ll have to remember that next time: Don’t read the book.
On the other hand, a number of people had delved into unpleasant realms of their psyche, and were uncertain if this was good for them at all. One woman met up with her long dead, heavily despised mother-in-law, and feared going back home to her husband since she knew that his mother’s spirit was hanging around, watching them, and rooting for disaster. Another man, an experienced Breathwork veteran, choked back the tears long enough to tell us of his abduction by aliens, that this was by far the worst experience of his life, and his vow to never do anything like it again. And to think that he paid $225. He should have come over to my place.
Carolynn and I returned to Monterey, and I shared my story with a few friends that I knew would appreciate it. Sheila and her mother Martha, also an energy worker, both thought it fortunate that I wasn’t successful in shooting the energy through my skull. They explained why, and although I was already familiar with the lore, I absorbed a few more horror stories of a premature kundalini awakening and its resulting problems, ranging from long-term insomnia to hallucinogenic psychosis.
I called Eric in Alaska to share my experience, since he was already familiar with the subject, and just as I thought, he found it just as interesting as I would have had the roles been reversed. We continued to keep in touch over the year, and he continued to keep me up to date with what was happening with Chris, whom I could never manage to contact directly.
Over a period of months, as Eric gave me pieces of information, the following scenario took form: Chris was having difficulty holding down a job, so Eric gave him one at his embroidery shop. Everything went well at first, but within a few weeks a change occurred in Chris, which Eric relayed to me as: “It was almost as if his personality fragmented,” and “He couldn’t hold his attention on anything for more than two minutes a time.” Eric even described him babbling, almost uncontrollably, and when he inquired what the problem was, Chris replied with equal concern, “I don’t know. I . . . I can’t help it.”
Things weren’t working out at the shop, so regrettably, Eric let Chris go, and he made his way back to live with his mother in Virginia, hoping he’d do better there.
Before I left Alaska, I made Chris promise to look out for an old girlfriend of mine named Melissa. Ironically, it was Melissa who kept me informed on what was happening with Chris, as he returned to Alaska to sling bags one more summer in my favorite job. She told me he just didn’t look the same and generally seemed pretty down. She said he brightened when she suggested he give me a call, but he never did. Elusive once again, I assumed he returned to Virginia after the summer.
The next word I received about Chris was several months later, after I had moved out of the dojo. I was relaxing at home with my roommates when the phone rang. I picked it up, and realized it was Eric calling from Alaska. I was happy to hear from him and in good spirits when he gravely asked, “Did you hear?”
“Hear about what?” I responded.
“Oh, I guess not.” He paused. “It’s about Chris.”
“What about him?” I asked, but it had already hit me. I already knew.
“He’s dead.”
On January 23, 1998, Chris died at 22 years of age. No cause of death is listed on the obituary; it simply states he died in his home. I don’t think it’s necessary to probe for exactly how he died. It’s not hard to figure out where the signs point.
I don’t think the meditations he engaged in hurt him in any way, but coupled with other factors in his life, I don’t feel they helped him at the stage where he was at. Chris liked to party, he had a stressful relationship with his girlfriend, financial strains to remain independent, and the additional challenges life threw at him as a young male establishing his identity in this society.
I don’t know what to think, and I don’t know what to say, but some things pop up unconsciously. Bright. Charismatic. Witty. Refined. Those are the words that come to mind when I think of him. Chris had an insight and appreciation for life that struck something in me, and with that, established an immediate bond between us.
It’s rare, but when it does happen, I look at those people as kindred spirits. There aren’t that many that come your way. Once you’ve made that contact, you realize what you have and hate to see them go.
I think of the last time I saw him, dropping him off at his house after a sparring session. I was leaving the next day, and we both expressed remorse that circumstance had only allowed us to spend this finite time together. We shook hands, said goodbye, and climbing out of the car, Chris got ready to close the door. But instead of shutting it, he leaned across the seats, stuck his hand out again, and said, “Hey… one more good-bye.” I wish I could give him another one now.
Maybe I’ll see him the next time around, and the moment we cross paths again, that bond will reconnect despite lifetimes of distance. In that moment, we may realize that no time has passed at all.
I look forward to that day, Chris, and hope to see you soon.