If you’ve read my reflections on the dark night of the soul, you’ll know that what I experienced as disturbed Kundalini Shakti was often frightening.
Much of it gathered in my chest. I felt waves of pressure, heat, and vibration around my heart and lungs, sometimes so strong that I struggled to think about anything else. At first, I had no words for it. Later, I began to understand these sensations through teachings about Kundalini. That spiritual understanding mattered to me, but it could not tell me what was happening physically.
Here, I want to share more about those waves and the ordinary things I found comforting, including the herbal teas I drank.
Chest pain and breathing difficulties need medical attention. A spiritual interpretation cannot rule out a medical cause.
The Cup of Mud
Someone very dear to me once shared a story about a cup of muddy water.
The mud represented the pain, memories, and experiences of a lifetime. As fresh water was poured into the cup, the mud stirred and began spilling over. Before the water became clear, everything looked messier.
That image helped me describe how I felt when old memories and emotions came to the surface. I wanted peace, yet sometimes I seemed to be feeling more pain than before. I wondered whether things were getting worse. In my spiritual understanding, the muddy cup gave that confusion a meaning. Perhaps I was beginning to notice what I had carried for years without knowing how much it affected me. I could not explain every sensation through that story. But I found comfort in it.
Solitude and Trust
I spent about two years largely alone during this part of my life.
I had read about the soul and believed that there was more to us than the physical body. But when the sensations became intense, those beliefs did not always reassure me. I was still frightened. Trust became something I returned to repeatedly. I prayed. I asked for guidance. Sometimes I felt a little calmer; sometimes I cried and waited for the intensity to ease. I wanted to understand why this was happening. I also needed to get through the day, prepare something to eat, and rest when I could.
There were moments when I experienced all of this as a blessing. At other times, I wanted it to stop. Both were true.
Food and the Teas I Drank
When the waves were strong, I often ate lightly. At one point, much of my food consisted of fruit and viili, a Finnish cultured milk, alongside herbal teas. That describes what I was doing then. Eating less is not evidence of healing, and I would not recommend restricting food to encourage a spiritual experience.
The teas were a comforting part of those days. Preparing them gave me something simple to do when I was tired of trying to understand everything. I drank chamomile tea before bed and tulsi, or holy basil, in the morning. At other times, I chose lemon balm or passionflower.
I felt that they helped me settle, although I cannot separate the effect of the herbs from the warmth of the drink, the pause, or everything else happening in my life. I remember them as part of how I cared for myself.
I don’t want to turn that memory into a promise that the same herbs will ease someone else’s symptoms. Herbal products can have side effects and interact with medicines. The preparation matters too: a tea and a concentrated extract are different products. A pharmacist or qualified clinician can help check what is suitable.
The Herbal Tincture I Tried
The discomfort was not limited to my chest. I also felt pain in my lower back, abdomen, and pelvic area.
At the time, I connected some of this with old fear, particularly the fear of abandonment. I was trying to understand the relationship between what I felt emotionally and what I felt in my body. I could not establish that one caused the other. During that period, I tried a tincture containing clove, black walnut hull, and wormwood, sold as a parasite cleanse.
I include it because it was part of my experience. I felt less bloated and thought my digestion felt easier while I was using it. But I cannot say that the tincture caused those changes, that I had parasites, or that it helped the Kundalini experience. At the time, I described it as “cleansing the vessel.” That reflected my spiritual thinking. It was not something I could measure or confirm.
I would not offer the blend as a remedy for awakening or suggest a course for readers to follow. Taking something because it is sold as a cleanse is different from knowing that it is needed. This is a part of my story that calls for particular care, rather than a product recommendation.
What Helped Me Through the Waves
There were small things I returned to when the sensations felt too much.
A hand over my heart. I would rest my hands on my chest and repeat, “God is love. I allow.” Those words were a prayer. They helped me express the trust I was struggling to feel.
Sound. Sometimes I hummed, sighed, or repeated a mantra. I didn’t always want another explanation. It helped to have something familiar to listen to or repeat.
Water. Cool water sometimes felt comforting. I paid attention to what I could tolerate rather than trying to force myself through another intense sensation.
Nature. Walking, sitting outside, or standing near a tree gave me something beyond my thoughts to notice. I could look at the leaves, feel the air, and listen.
Writing. I wrote down what happened and what I felt. Sometimes a memory appeared alongside the emotion. Sometimes there was only a sensation I couldn’t explain.
Rest. I needed permission to stop. I was so occupied with understanding the experience that I could forget how exhausted I was.
Prayer, tea, music, and these small rhythms became part of my days. None of them worked every time, but together, they gave me choices when I didn’t know what else to do. They taught me that if a practice like meditation or quiet sitting made me more absorbed in uncomfortable sensations, I didn’t have to force my way through it. I could always get up, look around, speak to someone, or seek help.
Living With What I Felt
The waves varied. Some were sharp and frightening; others felt warm and gentle. I began to respond with less fear at times. I would remember the cup of mud and pray that I could meet whatever was happening with a little more trust. Within my faith, I understood this as part of a spiritual awakening. I felt that old beliefs and hurts were becoming harder to ignore. I wanted to know myself beyond them and feel closer to God.
That meaning was important to me. So was acknowledging that I was a person in pain who needed care. I did not have to choose between taking my faith seriously and taking my body seriously.
What I Want to Share
I know how lonely it can feel to experience something you cannot explain. The teas, prayers, and time in nature belong in this story because they were part of my days. I remember holding a warm cup when I was tired. I remember walking outside because I had spent too long alone with my thoughts. I remember repeating “God is love” when I wanted reassurance.
I still think about the muddy cup. It gave me an image to hold when I had no clear explanation.
Alongside that image are the ordinary things I needed: food, rest and care. They mattered then, and they matter as I continue trying to understand what I experienced.
This article shares my personal experience and spiritual beliefs. It does not establish the cause of physical symptoms or recommend herbs as a treatment for Kundalini-related experiences. Seek medical care for chest pain, breathing difficulties, or other concerning symptoms, and check herbal products for suitability before use.
