"The Quiet Rise of the Chakras"

There’s something inside us—a quiet energy. It sits still at the base of the spine like it’s waiting. They call it Kundalini Shakti, and when the time is right—when we breathe right and live right—it starts to rise.

They say that when we preserve our energy, when we stop letting it leak out and learn to guide it upwards, the prana begins to move through two main channels: Ida and Pingala. And when those two flow smoothly, something happens. The energy finds the middle path—the Sushumna—and that’s when the chakras begin to wake up, one after another.

But as I sat there listening, something softened in me. A question, maybe. Not doubt—just wondering. What about those who never heard of chakras or prana or nadis? What about the ones who never had a guru or a class? Wouldn’t God want them to come close too?

I thought of my grandmother. She never spoke about awakening or inner energy. She just got up every day, lit a lamp, folded her hands, and whispered a prayer. Some flowers if she had them, some silence if she didn’t. And I wondered—was that not enough?

Maybe awakening doesn’t always look like what we think. Maybe it’s not about knowing things. Maybe it’s about feeling something real, even if you don’t have the words for it.

And then when I think about the chakras, they start to feel more human.

Like Mooladhara, the root—it’s about safety, right? The basic things. When someone finally gets food on their plate and a roof over their head, something inside them loosens. And they feel thankful. And who do they thank? God, maybe. Nature. Life. Whatever they believe in. Isn’t that where faith begins?

Then comes Svadhisthana, the second one, where our desires live—our emotions too. And maybe when someone starts to see that not every feeling needs to be acted on—that they can feel something and still not follow it—maybe that’s self-control beginning to grow.

Manipura comes next—the fire, the power center. And when someone learns self-control, life starts to shift. They become more capable, more clear, and they gain things. But then comes the real test—what do they do with that power?

If they choose to give, to share without needing something back, then their heart opens. That’s Anahata. Love—not because someone deserves it, but because it’s who you are.

And if you keep walking that path, your words start to carry weight. That’s Vishuddhi—the throat. People feel what you say, not because it’s big or clever, but because it’s real. And you lived it.

And if that makes people look at you, praise you, it’s easy to slip into ego—“I did this.” But if you’re paying attention, if you’re honest, maybe you’ll see—“I didn’t do this.” Something bigger did. It moved through me. And that moment of seeing—that’s Ajna, the third eye. That’s when you understand. And you surrender.

Maybe each chakra is a kind of teaching—not a lesson you study, but something you live through. Something you meet inside yourself as life happens. Maybe they’re not steps. Maybe they’re mirrors.

So maybe it’s not just about energy rising through the nadis. Maybe it’s about how we live. How we choose. How we love. And when we really hold all this close, we get a little lighter. We become a little more true.

And maybe—just maybe—even if someone never learned about chakras or prana or kundalini, but they lived with sincerity, with love, with faith in something bigger—maybe they too are walking the path.

Because maybe what makes us worthy is not what we know, but how much we love.