Chakra Meditation: Sahasara, the Crown
October 18, 2016by Monique Minahan
I settle into my seat under a moon that’s full and bright, mentally laying out all the chakras I’ve worked with up to now. In the center, I leave a space for my practice tonight, sahasara.
Sahasara is not considered an actual chakra in some traditions. Instead of approaching it as something to balance or open, I think of sahasara as the dark sky above me. That unlimited space that holds the moon, the sun – that will rise tomorrow, the clouds – that will come and go. Always there. Constant. A space that contains everything and nothing at the same time.
I light a candle for trataka (concentrated gazing). It is one of the practices for ajna chakra, but it refines my focus more than any other meditation.
My practice with sahasara is not so much to detach from this human form or reach an enlightened state as it is to blur the lines between me and what I perceive as the “other.” I try to inhabit a state of maximum presence, which can feel like liberation but actually makes me more human.
With my eyes closed, holding the flame of the candle in my mind’s eye, I begin a slow chant of the beeja mantras, or seed sounds, for each chakra:
Lam, vam, ram, yam, ham, om, om.
Lam, vam, ram, yam, ham, om, om.
Faster now.
Lamvamramyamhamomom. Lamvamramyamhamomom. Lamvamramyamhamomom.
When it merges into one long syllable I begin to slow it down. This practice is about unifying, merging, dissolving separation, and the mantras help me access that on a vocal and auditory level.
Attachment and its sisters, avoidance and addiction, are considered the demons of sahasara. They keep us in an I-it relationship with our world and limit our ability to immerse ourselves fully into the flow of whatever is happening.
I open my eyes and watch the great moon suspended above me. I consider the many phases of light and dark she travels through to become this beacon of light, of fullness, of completeness.
It’s not so different with me. I flow through phases of light and dark. Sometimes, on nights like this, the line that separates me from spirit gets so thin I feel this heart-expanding oneness that has no words.
This is the being part of me that is limitless, expansive, complete and universal. When I return to the human part of me that is equal parts light and dark, I try to put this feeling into words. The only word I can use is love.
Part 7 of a 7 part series. You can find part 6 here: Vishuddi, The Throat.
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
Don’t do yoga. Step onto your mat with your bare feet. Breathe. Pick a yoga pose, any pose. But don’t do it; at least not the way in which you’re accustomed. Arrange your arms and legs and body to take up the outer form of the pose, then wait.