Kundalini and the Art of Being ... 9For a change, I experienced the deep satisfaction that could come
from good sleep. I had been sleeping so miserably the past few
months, due to my injured back and Kundalini symptoms, that I
hadn’t been able to truly relax. But relaxation, of course, is essential
for getting good sleep; and, as I’ve discovered, it’s also important for
allowing the Kundalini to flow through. I realized the importance of
this as I awoke the next morning, after fourteen hours of deep sleep,
feeling the most centered, calm and clear that I’d been in a long time.
As the day progressed, however, many of my symptoms eventually
returned, though I did continue to notice the improvement in my
condition. Sleep deprivation had actually exhausted me to the point
of relaxation, enabling me to fall into beneficial sleep.
I arrived in Eugene late that evening. I called my old friend Matt
and stayed with him for the next couple of days. On my last night
in Eugene, Matt, Sharon, and I drove out to McCredie hot springs,
one of several in the area, out a different highway from the more
well-known Cougar hot springs. After a long, hot soak together and
some good conversation, Matt and Sharon headed back to Eugene,
leaving me there alone. From there, I would head out to the Rainbow
Gathering in central Oregon.
I camped that night in the woods near the steaming springs. After
another soak the next morning, I packed up and hitched east over the
Cascade Range, through the desert, and into one of the many Na-
tional Forests of central Oregon. After standing for hours on a small
gravel road in the middle of nowhere, I finally got a ride late in the
afternoon from an elder hippie brother who was also headed to the
gathering. We arrived later that night.
This small regional gathering turned out to be one of the most en-
joyable Rainbow Gatherings I had been to. I experienced a closeness
and belonging that I needed after the last six months of inner torment
and loneliness.
It was a beautiful site amidst a thin, dry forest typical of eastern
Oregon. Across a wide creek flowing through the trees was an open,
delicate meadow—much of it roped off to prevent use—where we