Posts In: Chakra Meditation

by Monique Minahan

The birds are chirping even though it’s still dark. This kind of silence – the kind that isn’t devoid of noise but rather full of presence – is the backdrop for my practice today.

Physically located at the level of the throat, vishuddi chakra represents a gateway between body and mind, through which the energy of this chakra can be suppressed or expressed. As an energetic center for communication, creativity, and expression, this chakra is not just about speaking. It’s also about feeling heard.

Instead of beginning with the beeja mantra ham, I explore the concept of toning, where body and breath invite a sound vibration to form, whatever that sound may be. The tones I create symbolize speaking my truth, as opposed to regurgitating truths I’ve been taught by others.

I begin on my exhale breath with a guttural groan. As I refrain from judging or perfecting it, I watch it transition through numerous auditory forms, eventually settling on a cathedral-like ahhhhh.

From the seat of an observer I acknowledge the things I have heard in my lifetime: from my inner dialogue, my conversations with others and what I’ve been taught to be true by people in authority.

And I sense the times I’ve refrained from speaking my truth over the years, whether out of fear of being punished, disapproved of or not understood.

With the intention of freeing my voice both physically and energetically, I begin ujjayi pranayam. I place a finger at the front of my throat, the glottis, and visualize the breath entering there, at the front-body location of vishuddi chakra, known as the chakra kshetram. I place another finger on my cervical spine at the back of my neck, visualizing the breath exiting through the spine, the back-body location of vishuddi chakra. Then I reverse the cycle so it begins at the back of the neck and travels forward. This practice focuses my awareness, breath and entire being on the physical and energetic center of vishuddi.

Vishuddi is often translated as “purification,” but I think of it more as refinement. As a pause between body and mind where I begin to distinguish the chatter of my unconscious mind from a higher level of knowledge. An energetic space where I can observe the way things have been and choose to create a new song for my life.

I sit a little longer listening to the sound of my breath. Before opening my eyes I speak out loud my vision of how my voice contributes to the chorus of life. I hear that truth with my ears and I seal it by bowing my head to my heart.

Part 6 of a 7 part series. You can find part 5 here: Anahata, The Heart.

Monique Minahan
Contributing Writer

Mo is a writer and yoga teacher who believes in peace over happiness and love over fear. She likes to set her sights high and then take small steps to get there. You’ll find her walking the dirt path behind her house with her little fluffy dog, practicing walking her talk by keeping her head high and her heart open. Contact: moniqueminahan.com

by Monique Minahan

I place my left hand on my heart and on top of that layer my right.

I don’t move until I feel that familiar thump-thump beating under my hands, as subtle or as strong as it may be. I don’t move until I connect with the aliveness within me.

Anahata, the heart chakra, reminds me of my need for love and my true capacity to love. It asks me to stretch my heart open not just for my friends or family but for every human being on this planet – a major paradigm shift from the more prominent fear-thy-neighbor mentality that threatens to tear our world apart.

This is why I must connect with myself first. I cannot find compassion for anyone else until I find compassion for myself. I cannot welcome another’s pain until I have welcomed my own.

Onto the physical connection of hands to heart, I layer sound. A soft reverberation of anahata’s seed sound yam starts at the middle point of my sternum, this chakra’s kshetram, or front-body location. It travels through my body, piercing the spine, emerging on my back at the actual chakra point, a deep blue flowering like a tattoo over my upper back.

I repeat that cycle until it feels complete, letting the sound shape-shift, becoming a groan or a song or a wail until it naturally tapers into the quietest, softest syllable, matching the beat of my heart.

Alone with my heart I ask her what she has to say. Then I step back to allow her to answer:

Love bigger, she says. You know you can.

She is right but I stay silent. I listen as she questions why I don’t. I give her all my reasons and tell her that the world makes it hard to love sometimes. She reminds me that when I block love from exiting, I also block love from entering. Like breathing out and breathing in.

I begin bhramari pranayama, the humming bee breath. The gentle buzzing sound allows me to listen to my heart without my head thinking of a reply, a response, a defense.

This practice draws me out into the deep waters of vulnerability, the only state of being where I can receive and offer love fully.

As my humming drifts into silence I become aware of akasha, the heart space, and how it shrinks and expands proportionate to my level of fear or love.

I choose love. Not the small love I only offer to those who love me back. The Big Love that does not require reciprocity. The love that is enlarged by our differences instead of threatened by them. The love which the world needs so desperately.

Part 5 of a 7 part series. You can find part 4 here: Manipura, The Navel.

Monique Minahan
Contributing Writer

Mo is a writer and yoga teacher who believes in peace over happiness and love over fear. She likes to set her sights high and then take small steps to get there. You’ll find her walking the dirt path behind her house with her little fluffy dog, practicing walking her talk by keeping her head high and her heart open. Contact: moniqueminahan.com

by Monique Minahan

I sit on the Earth herself and hold a smooth rock in the palm of each hand. I dug them up when we moved into our house and I use them when I need extra grounding, like today.

Mooladhara chakra is rooted in survival and threatened by fear. It’s located at the literal “root” of our bodies; the Sanskrit word moola meaning “root” or “foundation.” Its location differs for men and women. For me, I visualize it deep in the cervix. 

“Lammmmmmm. Lammmmmm.”

I start with the beeja mantra Lam because sound has always calmed and focused me on a deep level very quickly. The mantra lets me start low. From there I travel within. Deeper than I want to go. 

I allow my thoughts to keep running, and for the moment I descend into the breath. It changes from a natural breath to ujjayi pranayam, and I focus on it like my life depends on it. Because in so many ways it does. 

Once I feel grounded here, the rocks heavy in my hands and my breath steady and full, I feel safe to explore. 

Now I can dance with fear. Now I can speak with fear directly. Now I can feel my fear without being swept away. I’ve been running from her ever since she showed her face during a recent illness.

Sitting with my fear is uncomfortable. It is sticky. It is all mud and no lotus. I want to run but I stay put. I stay present. I keep breathing, I keep observing, I keep listening.

Eventually I open my eyes for nasikagra drishti, nose-tip gazing. This is one of the traditional meditations for mooladhara and inviting my attention to hover just above the skin anchors my vision, which helps steady my mind.

Before emerging, I come back into my breath.

I visualize each successive exhale traveling down through the root of my body, into the ground beneath me, winding its way through layers of earth and liquid until it reaches the intensely hot inner core of our planet.

Then I imagine my inhale drawing all that earth energy back up, through layers of earth and liquid, up through the ground beneath me and into my root chakra.

Nothing outside me has changed, but something inside has shifted. Like the rocks I dug from the earth, I sense my fear has been unearthed, acknowledged and respected. In the pause before I move, I savor this moment of feeling both connected and free, grounded and lightened, human and being.

Part 2 of a 7 part series. You can find Part 1 here: Ajna, The Third Eye.

Monique Minahan
Contributing Writer

Mo is a writer and yoga teacher who believes in peace over happiness and love over fear. She likes to set her sights high and then take small steps to get there. You’ll find her walking the dirt path behind her house with her little fluffy dog, practicing walking her talk by keeping her head high and her heart open. Contact: moniqueminahan.com