The Stressless Brain

My relationship with meditation began before I was even born. At the time I was in my mother’s womb, my parents had just started exploring the yogic and spiritual lifestyle in Tucson, Arizona. It was their path towards a deeply meaningful life. By joining an ashram, they were surrounded by like-minded people who sought a spiritual journey to bring clarity to their life. Kundalini yoga and meditation was an important tool in the ashram, creating balance and purpose for my parents. Kundalini meditation - a form of yoga heavily focused on the use of chanting - was my mother’s preferred practice. I can perfectly envision my pregnant mother sitting during the waking dawn each morning, her round belly containing a life that would hear her calls. The vibrations of her chanting reverberated through me, instilling a belief system I follow to this day. Newly married and with a baby on the way, my parents relocated to the Netherlands to continue their spiritual journey at an Amsterdam-based Kundalini yoga ashram. That is where I was born. Spending 37 hours in labor[?], my mother used meditative breathing techniques to help keep her relaxed. In those days, it was not uncommon for fellow ashram members to chant and meditate in a nearby room in order to support the mother and child. It must have worked, because after a long and tedious labor, a healthy baby was finally born: me! Growing up in the ashram, I felt very involved and familiar with Kundalini yoga at a young age. Meditating and chanting was an important aspect of my life. Because my parents also taught yogic practices in the ashram where we lived, I would often go to their classes at night and further surround myself with their positive spiritual energy — and the optimism they projected to their students to find their path. While I might not have been interested in seeking my life’s purpose at the time, I loved to be lulled by chanting. I remember often bringing my blanket to my mother’s class, laying next to her, and asking her to teach a chanting meditation so that I could sleep. I would fall asleep so deeply in the middle of the class that my mother or father would have to carry me back to my room. It was as if my body inherently recognized the power of chanting to help bring me peace. At home, the chanting didn’t stop. My mother would put me to bed with a chant while she massaged my back, face, hands, and feet. Now, most people would feel relaxed with a gentle body massage, but approaching it with a yogic mind enhanced my happiness and tranquility. It made me feel safe and comfortable. At my request, my parents would recite certain mantras that I wanted to hear; perhaps, subconsciously, without yet understanding why, they were mantras my brain felt it needed to hear. As an adult, I now know that our bodies are perceptive to self-healing desires. If a heart requires soothing, it will attempt to seek a remedy — whether through a pint of ice cream or calming mantra. We turn inwards to try and find answers from ourselves and maintain balance within ourselves. By doing so, we inspire inner peace for our bodies and souls. That is a form of healing. From Amsterdam, my parents and I moved to Hamburg, Germany. That is where my parents had their own ashram, where other families lived alongside us. Using the traditional meditative chanting support system as previously mentioned, I helped welcome other children into the world when I was eight years old. To this day, I still call these children my brothers. Even at my young age, I knew it was a special experience, one that brought me pride and purpose. I felt that I was part of something very meaningful. I was part of the ashram community. Just half a year later, however, my faith was severely tested. Life, as we know, is about growth and change. How we adapt to these changes is what sets our outlook moving forward. If you face a hardship, do you become more determined? Or do you find that you settle into complacency? Does it make you angry, sad, mad? Inspired? These are the questions I had to face in my youth, when I was sent to live with another family in the United States while my family stayed behind in Germany. That was a painful and confusing time for me. Although my new family was part of the same Kundalini community, they were shockingly different from my family and the environment I grew up in. This change shook me to my core — and I hadn’t yet developed the tools to cope with my confusion. I could not understand why I was so worried and stressed... and angry. For the next ten years, I found that I suppressed a lot of that anger. Growing up in a yogic lifestyle does not necessarily mean the tools for self-healing are built within you — just that you might have a beneficial advantage. In fact, throughout those ten years, I still practiced a lot of meditation. I spent my summers at Kundalini yoga camps, Kundalini yoga festivals, and with other Kundalini yoga families. It was my life, when I wanted it to be. The problem was accepting that it needed to be part of my life in a deep way if I wanted the opportunity to change. A big turning point in my life — when meditation became a tool to release the pent up stress and sadness within me — happened when I was 19 years old. That was when I experienced my first real heartbreak. I felt it so strongly that I was sure my heart would never recover from the pain. Life became flat. I could not function in my every day routine. I had trouble falling asleep, then staying asleep. An overactive mind kept me up at night, fueled by the fires of anxiety. By using meditation as a healing tool, rather than treating it as an obligation, I was able to train my mind to stop overthinking. Instead, I relieved worry and doubt with Kundalini meditations. If anxiety started to creep up on me again, I was able to distract my mind with chanting. It brought me back to my youth, where the use of my mother’s mantras before bed made me feel calm and protected. Over the years, I have continued to come back to chanting to soothe myself. By doing so, I reconnect with my inner peace. Whenever my mind produces thoughts that upset me, I calm it with a mantra. It eases my emotions. Sometimes it is very easy, but it can still be difficult to quiet my mind even after a lifetime of experience. If you find that you struggle while meditating, don’t feel ashamed. Don’t let the frustration knock you over. Focus on letting go — and trust the meditative process without expectation. Let it sweep over you. Learn from it. And grow. Building a relationship with yourself is the first step in moving forward in life and to change for the better. Life is about movement, not stagnancy. You cannot allow yourself to fall flat. You cannot accept monotony. Our bodies are made of mostly water — the average adult body is composed of 60% water — and that energy must be kept moving. If the flow stops, disease grows, not unlike a still pond covered in algae. Allowing positive change in your life means evolving spiritually and mentally. It means speaking with your inner self. For many people, building relationships with yourself is not a priority when growing up. Most societies focus on forging relationships with others. The popular kid in high school, after all, is the one who has amassed the most friends. Openly expressing emotions can often be the source of ridicule, which can then harvest a feeling of uncertainty or fear. Over time, this can mutate into anxiety. Ultimately, we are told to quiet our inner voices. Some find it difficult to tap into their inner self, but it is a skill that anyone can achieve with patience and practice. You, too, can learn to dissolve controlling thoughts from your head by the use of meditation and chanting. By exploring Kundalini yoga, you will be able to develop your intuition, your consciousness, and your connection to a higher energy. This is a spiritual method towards building a relationship with yourself.