When the Body Remembers Before the Mind Does
Art by: Paula Loomis
There are certain moments in life when I feel hollow in a way that words cannot quite explain. Not sad exactly. Not broken. Just paused. As if something inside me is waiting for a signal, a permission slip to begin again.
It is usually in those moments that Kundalini yoga finds me.
I do not go searching for it with intention. It appears. A class suggestion. A memory resurfacing. A quieter inner nudge that says, try this again. And every time, I am a little surprised by how precise the timing feels, as if the practice knows something about me before I do.
I am both a student and a teacher of Kundalini yoga, and yet I do not live inside the practice. I move away from it. I forget it. I do not always teach it, and I do not always practice it. Still, when something inside me begins to stall, when my inner world tightens or grows quiet, it finds me again. Not as a demand, but as an invitation.
Kundalini yoga is often described as a spiritual discipline, but for me it feels more like a conversation with the body. A way of asking questions without words. A way of listening through breath, posture, and sensation rather than thought. I come to the mat not seeking answers, but willing to witness whatever begins to move.
At first, the experience is unmistakably physical. Breath shifts. Muscles stretch, tremble, contract, and release. Heat builds. The spine feels alive, as if energy is learning how to travel upward again. The nervous system responds before the mind has time to interpret.
What I slowly began to realize is that this practice is not only moving my body. It is reorganizing my brain.
The chemistry shifts. Neurons fire differently. Signals travel new pathways, altering how my body prepares to move, respond, and orient itself in space. Muscles engage with less force and more intelligence. Bones feel carried rather than commanded. Even the impulse to act arises from a different place.
It is mind-blowing to witness how breath and posture can influence the most microscopic processes inside the body. How something so ancient can reshape something so modern as neurological patterning. And yet, this is only the beginning.
As the body reorganizes, the mind expands. Thoughts arrive with more space around them. Old mental loops loosen their grip. New perceptions emerge quietly, without announcement. I feel my consciousness stretching, refining, noticing. It is as if I am receiving a new template for thought itself.
I am not forcing transformation. I am watching refinement happen.
Through breathwork, meditation, and repetition, I witness myself shifting. Not becoming someone new, but returning to something more original. My internal frequency changes, and with it, my experience of reality. The way I interpret situations. The way I respond to uncertainty. The way I trust my own inner signals.
This is where the experience becomes exhilarating and unsettling all at once.
Because when your inner world recalibrates, your outer world responds. Relationships shift. Desires refine themselves. Old expectations dissolve. Life begins to reorganize itself around a deeper alignment, and suddenly, the familiar no longer feels true.
And beneath all of it, there is a quiet request.
Pay attention. Breathe. Notice.
The deeper I go into these practices, the more trust is asked of me. Not blind faith. Not certainty. But embodied trust. Trust in my breath. Trust in my intuition. Trust in the intelligence moving through me that does not need my permission to exist.
That trust can feel intimidating. Because once you begin to listen, you cannot unhear. Once you feel the shift, you cannot unknow it. You are asked to move through the world without the old maps, guided instead by sensation, presence, and an inner knowing that grows stronger the more you honor it.
Through Kundalini yoga and breathwork, I have come to experience a force moving through us that cannot be controlled, yet can be met. Some call it God. Some call it Source. I experience it as a living intelligence, flowing through the body, responding to attention, breath, and willingness.
The breath becomes an interface. A bridge between the physical and the unseen. Between brain chemistry and consciousness. Through it, I experience both the illusion of control and the deeper truth of alignment.
I do not write this to convince anyone to practice Kundalini yoga or breathwork. I write it as an offering. A reminder that the body remembers what the mind forgets. That wisdom lives beneath our habits, our fears, and our carefully constructed identities.
Sometimes transformation does not arrive as a breakthrough. Sometimes it arrives as a quiet internal reorganization. A soft shift. A subtle return.
And sometimes, it begins the moment you notice your breath. The moment your body pauses. The moment something inside you whispers, try this again.
If you are reading this now, take a breath. Feel the weight of your body. Notice what is moving beneath the surface. You may find that what you need is already here, quietly waiting for you to see it.
#KundaliniYoga #BreathworkJourney #EmbodiedAwakening
God in My Bloodstream, Like Sunlight on Water
Like sunlight on the water, divinity dances through our lives—unseen, yet ever-present, in every wave of grace, every moment of stillness.
Have you ever felt the divine in the quiet moments of life? That subtle sense of connection, a hum beneath the surface, reminding you that something greater is always present?
Elizabeth Gilbert, one of my favorite authors, writes in Eat Pray Love:
“I want God to play in my bloodstream the way sunlight amuses itself on the water.”
The first time I read that line, something in me stilled. It wasn’t just beautiful—it felt like truth, a truth I had been unknowingly reaching for. A truth that felt like a deep exhale.
The Search for Divine Connection
For much of my life, I believed that connection with the divine was something I had to earn. I thought that if I meditated enough, prayed deeply enough, or read the right spiritual texts, I could somehow break through some invisible barrier and finally feel it. I imagined it would come in a sudden rush—a flash of light or a bolt of clarity, confirming that God, or the divine, was real and alive within me.
But now, I see it differently.
Shifting Perspective: The Effortless Nature of Divinity
Divinity isn’t something to work for. No amount of effort can make the sun shine, nor can I force the water to reflect its light. These things simply are. They don’t strive. And neither does the divine.
When I stopped trying so hard to find it, I began to notice that divinity was already moving through me. It always had been. It had never been something I had to earn.
Finding Divinity in the Small Moments
I feel it sometimes—not in grand, overwhelming moments, but in the quietest of ones. In the warmth of my chest when I hear a song that moves me—the kind that makes the air feel thick with beauty. Or in the deep, unspoken release of a breath shared after laughter with a friend. In the rhythmic pulse of my heartbeat, steady and constant. These small, simple moments are where I feel the divine most.
There’s a presence, a hum beneath the surface, like golden light dancing on water—unforced, ever-present, never needing to be called.
The Key to Connection: Letting Go and Noticing
Maybe that’s the key: letting go and noticing.
What if divine connection isn’t something we need to work so hard to build, but something we soften into, something we allow? It’s there all along, moving and changing, weaving through our lives like the air we breathe.
I often think about the sun and the water. The sun doesn’t struggle to shine; it simply does. The water doesn’t try to reflect; it just does. There is no resistance, no effort. The dance between them is fluid, effortless. And it happens because each is exactly what it is meant to be.
Noticing the Divine
Perhaps this is how we could meet the divine—not by reaching or striving, but by opening. Instead of seeking, what if we simply noticed? Instead of holding on, what if we let go?
For so long, I believed I had to push and fight, search for signs, and seek answers in order to feel close to something greater than myself. But in the quiet of surrender, in those small moments of stillness, I am reminded that divinity is already here. It doesn’t need to be earned or forced. It only needs to be allowed.
Can You Feel It?
Can you feel it? Those moments of grace, however subtle they may seem? The warmth in your chest, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, the golden light that’s always been within you? Maybe we don’t need to search for it. Maybe all we need to do is notice. To breathe. To pause. To feel.
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#DivineConnection, #GraceInEverydayLife, #SpiritualAwakening