You can’t run away from it; it grabs you every time. In the chants of the Brahmin priests, in the flames of the fire, in the temple, in Nityananda’s house, in the room where he took Mahasamadhi, in the sounds of the bell and the beating of the drums, in the murtis, under the banyan tree that Nityananda planted near the river, in the air, it catches you every time.
You cannot hide from it, Kundalini “Sakti. It’s even at the tip of your tailbone.
Shanti, Shanti, Shanti