Nick looked haunted when he appeared on my screen. It was a late evening WhatsApp video session—his face dimly lit, voice rough around the edges, like someone trying to hold himself together with invisible thread.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he said, eyes flicking away from mine. “There’s this energy… it rises in my spine, especially at night. I wake up shaking. I cry out of nowhere. I feel emotions that aren’t mine. Even thoughts. Especially from my wife.”
I watched him carefully. His aura flickered—not visibly, but perceptibly. His body was present, but his soul? Midway through a transformation he didn’t ask for—but one that had clearly claimed him.
“Kundalini,” I said softly. “She has awakened within you.”
He froze. “What does that even mean?”
I could feel the current moving through him—raw, untamed, terrified. His nervous system was trying to survive a spiritual rebirth, and no one had told him this was possible.
Back home, his life had started falling apart. Emma, his wife, couldn’t make sense of who he’d become. He had gone from being grounded and analytical to sensitive, intense, and emotionally reactive. One moment, he was weeping at music. The next, unable to bear her touch. She called it a breakdown. He called it something he couldn’t name—until now.
She left two months ago. No message since. Just distance.
In our second session, I asked him to sit comfortably and close his eyes. The call was quiet, aside from the gentle hum of night sounds from his end.
“Describe what you’re feeling right now,” I said gently.
“It’s like a storm in my chest,” he whispered. “But there’s also a strange calm behind it. Like I’m standing at the edge of something massive. It’s terrifying… but also beautiful.”
“That’s what awakening is,” I told him. “Fire and stillness. Death and birth. You’re being asked to hold them both.”
He opened his eyes slowly, tears pooling but not falling. “But my wife… she thinks I’m crazy. I think I’ve lost her.”
“No,” I said, “you didn’t lose her. You lost the version of yourself that made her feel safe—because you no longer feel safe in your own skin. She couldn’t understand what you were going through because you haven’t yet fully understood it either.”
I paused, watching his breath rise and fall. “Awakening doesn’t ruin relationships. It reveals the cracks that were already there. She became a mirror—and the reflection scared you both.”
He was silent. The screen pixelated for a second, then steadied.
“I didn’t want to lose her,” he said. “I just wanted her to stay… to believe in me.”
“But you weren’t asking her to believe in you,” I said. “You were asking her to carry a truth you hadn’t yet embodied. You wanted her to stand still while the fire moved through you.”
His eyes welled again.
“So what do I do now?” he asked, barely audible.
“You surrender,” I said. “Not to her absence. Not to your fears. But to the Self that is emerging through this fire.”
I asked him to place his hand over his heart.
“Breathe. Inhale slowly. Hold it. And exhale through the mouth.”
We did this together until I felt his system regulate, even across the distance.
“Your power is not the problem,” I said softly. “Your fear of it is. Let the energy rise. Let it burn away what no longer serves. What remains will be you—unmasked, unafraid.”
He closed his eyes. I could feel the moment he let go. It wasn’t dramatic. It was subtle, like a leaf finally releasing from a branch. The energy that had once surged violently now flowed like honey through his spine.
“You’re not broken, Nick,” I whispered. “You’re becoming whole.”
Over the next few sessions, he softened. The panic subsided. The visions didn’t scare him anymore. He stopped needing to control the process and began to trust the intelligence behind it.
Then came the turning point.
He joined the Phoenix Project—an 18-month deep transformation journey I only offer to those who are truly ready to rise from their own ashes.
“I need to go all in,” he told me. “This isn’t a phase. This is a rebirth.”
Inside the Project, he began practicing semen retention, and for the first time, he felt power building inside him—not chaotic this time, but focused. He embraced the teachings on living an instinctive life, reconnecting with his raw masculine essence, his primal intuition, his truth.
No more masks. No more trying to explain himself to others. He began to act from a place of inner authority.
One evening, he told me he had written to Emma.
“I didn’t ask her to come back,” he said. “I just thanked her. For loving me, for leaving me, for pushing me into this fire.”
He didn’t know if she’d ever reply. But by then, it didn’t matter. Something deeper had taken root.
Nick was no longer trying to return to the man he once was. That man had served his role.
Now, he was living from the fire. Walking instinctively. Holding his energy. And following his truth without apology.
Kundalini doesn’t destroy.
She reveals.
She burns away the false—and what she leaves behind is you.
And as I ended that night’s call, watching him smile softly—not for me, but from the calm of knowing who he was—I knew:
He had come home. Not to a person. Not to a place.
But to his soul.
And that kind of home?
No one can ever take away.
