The Donkey and the Rider: Why Kundalini Meditation is Not a Path to the Absolute

There is a peculiar humor in the spiritual search, a sort of divine comedy that we all seem to play out. We wander through various techniques, perhaps engaging with kundalini meditation or sitting in silent retreats, fueled by the persistent feeling that something is missing. We act like the person in the old story who frantically searches everywhere for their donkey, asking neighbors and scouring the fields, only to realize eventually that they have been sitting on the donkey the entire time. The being we are looking for is already here. It is not at the end of a long corridor of years, and it certainly isn't waiting for us to finish a specific set of breathing exercises or energy movements. When we talk about things like kundalini meditation, we have to be very honest with ourselves. What is the intent? If we are practicing to feel better, to harmonize the body-mind, or to experience a shift in our internal energy, that is perfectly valid. The body-mind is a functional unit that exists in the relative world, and it can certainly be tuned, quieted, or made more vibrant. But if we think this stillness are a ladder to the absolute, we are simply postponing the obvious. The absolute, by its very definition, is total. If it is infinite, it must include us exactly as we are right now—distracted, confused, or even completely "unspiritual." If the totality didn't already include the seeker and the starting point, it wouldn't be the totality. It would be a "partiality" waiting for us to complete it, which is a logical absurdity. We often hear about great figures like Ramana Maharshi or Nisargadatta, and we hear about the intense energy or "presence" felt in their company. It is easy to fall into the trap of thinking they possessed something we don't. But what if there is no separate entity there? What if what was felt was simply the lack of a wall? The separate self acts like a solid brick wall, blocking the natural circulation of aware presence. When that wall is thin, or when there are "holes" in the separate self, the energy of the absolute flows more freely. It creates a field, a resonance. It is not a personal power; it is what happens when the "me" stops getting in the way. This brings us to the common misunderstanding of liberation. We often think of it as the liberation *of* the "I"—as if the separate self is going to win a prize or reach a finish line called enlightenment. But liberation is never *of* the "I"; it is always *from* the "I." It is the realization that the one who was trying to get enlightened was the only thing standing in the light. In the same way, we could say that distraction is never *of* being, but *from* being. Being itself is never distracted. It is the wide-open screen upon which the film of our lives is projected. Whether the film shows a scene of deep meditation or a scene of chaotic anger, the screen remains untouched, unstained, and perfectly present. Consider the nature of emotions.