The Kundalini Kid—A Former Life that Overlays this One

By Bardo Mountjoy, for The Bardo Mountjoy Saga

28 February 2009

 

Note: This is a short narrative of a former life of mine that occurred around the time of Christ.  It provides all the detail given to me by the two psychic healers, J. M. and M. H., who related it to me. In moments of emotional-release work I have had some recall of this life as well. In the analysis piece that accompanies this I provide a listing of ways that I view this former life as significant to understanding and emblematic of my current life issues with Parkinson’s disease.

 

I am a 13-year-old Jewish boy studying for my Bar Mitzvah at the beginning of the common era some 2,000 years ago.  I am dazzled by the shapes of the “root language” Hebrew script before me—they appear as strokes of golden light right before my eyes. Startled, I fall straight back out of my chair and hit the back of my head.  I feel an incredible lightning jolt of kundalini energy shoot down my spine from my head to my sacrum.  I am taken out of myself into the presence of God. I feel one with all of creation.  I am clothed in the glorious light of God—beyond all knowing, feeling, and description.

Vaguely, in time, I come to realize that I am suspended between the glorious power of this feeling and the call of my human life.  I want only to stay with God.  Every cell cries out: “Dear God! Oh, God! Dear God!” I become aware that I am to choose human life. Slowly, the Kundalini current weakens and recedes.  I find myself back in my body, alone, sprawled across the floor.

As I strive to recover my senses, I realize I am changed forever.  This is the beginning of what I will come to know as “the split between heaven and earth” which will manifest itself in my body (I write about this in a separate piece). One effect is that I can no longer speak—I can utter groans and cries—but not human language.  Another change is that my hands can transmit strong healing energy.  There is new palpable feeling of love in my heart and a fierce fire in my eyes. I will come to learn that, to an extent, I can “read” people’s hearts and think their thoughts.

Soon after this, my parents see that I can no longer fit in to society, so they take me to the community of the Essenes who are living in the Qumran caves by the Dead Sea. This is an ascetic community of very spiritually minded, “holier than thou” men.  These men do not marry but do take in and raise certain children.  Here there is a strong feeling of men whose hearts, like mine, long for God. It is a rigid community, though, bound by harsh “flesh denying” laws and beliefs. (See more on the Essenes in a separate piece.) 

In time, I leave and begin a life as a wandering, desert-dwelling healer.  Life is hard for me, but people largely tolerate such loners and, for the most part, respect the wild look of God-connection in my eyes. I wander from well to well on the arid, rocky plains and hills of Palestine, avoiding settlements.  I live on very little except the occasional handout for my healings.  In my way I am holy, serving God.  My heart radiates love to those who can feel it. I know there are times when I am desperately lonely–especially for a female companion.

Eventually, though, while still a young man, I die as a spiritual martyr—killed by a mob who hang me up by my feet and then beat me with rocks and sticks.  It is agonizing.  I feel deeply shamed.  Many parts of my body are mangled—the top right part of my head, the back of my neck, my left arm, my lower back, my left hip, and my left foot.  I feel no grudge against my assailants—just the wish that there were more love in the world.  As one psychic, J. M., put it, “You died teaching a higher spiritual law that most people were not ready for.”  And as I die the light I keep seeing is connecting me back to that kundalini current.  (the end)