Meditation & Energy Practices

The First Time I Saw Energy

I remember being around 13 or 14 when I stumbled across a book in my mum’s room about psychic abilities. It opened up a whole new world. The book spoke about energy—how to see it, how to feel it. It mentioned those tiny little floaters that dance in your vision when you stare into a clear blue sky—not at the sun, but into that vast open space. Or when you soften your gaze while looking at a lone tree, or let your eyes rest somewhere in the space between you and the far wall. Those flickering, drifting specks? That’s energy.

Sometimes they move fast, sometimes slow. Occasionally they shimmer with colour. Once you become aware of this subtle movement, you can begin to see it everywhere—around people, between objects, and even while someone speaks. I’d watch colours or orbs of moving energy emerge from their mouths with each word. I didn’t know it then, but I was tuning into a subtle language of the soul.

As my awareness grew, I naturally began turning that attention inward. I was an unsettled teen—moody, withdrawn, often feeling weighed down. Looking back, I can see now that my energy was rotating at a low frequency, tangled up with my mother’s, who was also cycling through deep waves of depression. Low-vibration energy feeds on itself, and I began attracting what I now call “yuckies”—entities, thought forms, energetic clutter. The experience could be terrifying. Repetitive negative thoughts. Shadows in the corner of my vision. A heavy presence when I closed my eyes. Darkness in my aura. It was all very real. And it was all energy.

Turning Darkness Into a Portal

For a long time, I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling and seeing. No one around me spoke about energy, let alone how to work with it. So I did what I could—I stayed quiet, I coped, and I carried on. But deep down, I was yearning for peace. Some part of me knew that the chaos I felt wasn’t all mine. And that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to shift it.

As a teen, depression was a heavy cloak I wore almost daily. With it came waves of suicidal thoughts and tendencies—quiet, haunting visitors that blurred the lines between numbness and intensity. And because I wasn’t afraid of death, when I entered those still moments—what I now recognise as the early threads of meditation—there was no fear of what might happen. In that no-space of breath and inward attention, I let go of the need to resist.

One night, lying in the dark, I closed my eyes and brought my attention to the space just behind my forehead. I imagined a stone resting there—cool, grounding, and silent. With my eyes closed, I turned my inner gaze upward, toward that point. Slowly, I began to see energy swirl and gather. It would spiral, often dark purples and deep indigos, forming what looked like a tunnel. Then I would let go. I would allow myself to slide down that tunnel. At first slowly, then faster—quicker and quicker—until I was falling. Free falling. It felt like that moment when you're lying in bed and suddenly feel as though you’re about to fall off the edge. But instead of snapping awake, I let myself fall—into the abyss.

The abyss was a no-space. Limitless. Wordless. Emotionless. A place beyond identity. A space of pure observation—nothingness that was somehow everything. It consumed all, not in a frightening way, but in an infinite one. It was vast and quiet and still. And though it may sound strange, I found a strange sort of comfort there. In that state of not caring, in the hollow ache of depression, I discovered an inner escape—a gateway.

I truly believe that if I hadn't been in that surrendered, detached state, I never would have let myself fall. I never would have found that portal. And now, I believe that space—the abyss—is the connective tissue between all worlds. The place behind the veil. A realm where everything and nothing coexist, and where we can listen to the language of the all.

So while I was deep in depression and dancing with suicidal thoughts, I also stumbled into something ancient and profound. A space where I could be nothing—within everything that was nothing.

Absolutely—here is your refined and complete Section 3, now incorporating your added guidance about using stones and the quick tip for accessing the pineal tunnel. The language has been woven together with care to maintain your tone: mystical, grounded, and deeply personal.

The Space Beneath It All

Looking back, I can see that what I stumbled upon wasn’t just an escape—it was a doorway. What felt like falling into nothingness was actually falling into truth. It was the beginning of a relationship with the void, the place where ego dissolves and presence expands. While it arose during a time of deep suffering, it also planted a seed—a knowing that even in the darkest moments, there is still a space within us that is vast, sacred, and untouched.

This space has never left me. Over time, I’ve returned to it again and again—not as a means to escape life, but to reconnect with the part of me that exists beyond it all. And now, when I guide others into their energy or meditation practice, this is often where we begin. I share the same process that unfolded so naturally for me as a teen. A way to soften the veil, to access the tunnel, and to fall—consciously—into the space that holds all things.

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Energy Meditation Practice: Entering the Tunnel to the Abyss

This is how I guide others into the experience of the tunnel—the inner path into the void space. I recommend finding a quiet, undisturbed place and allowing yourself to lie down comfortably.

Recommended Stones:

To support the practice, you may wish to place a crystal at the third eye (forehead) area. I recommend Amethyst for spiritual insight & violet flame of purification, Lepidolite for emotional balance, a stone that doesn't force anything, purely supports you where you are now, or Selenite for higher connection and clarity.

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Practice: The Tunnel Technique

1. Set the Scene

Close your eyes and begin to focus on your breath. Let it be slow and natural. With every exhale, feel your body softening. Let your thoughts melt away. Feel the stillness around and within you.

2. Anchor the Forehead

Place your pointer finger gently on the space between your eyebrows. Close your eyes and turn your inner gaze toward the point where your finger touches. Now imagine that your finger extends inward—reaching all the way to the very center of your head. Let your awareness follow. Observe this inner space. Feel it. Sense it. Acknowledge it. Appreciate it.

This is simply to introduce yourself to the sensation of awareness at the pineal center. If this feels complete, gently remove your finger, thank your body, and open your eyes. You can carry on with your day.

This little practice can be done daily, sporadically, or just once as a moment of inward curiosity. You can keep it surface-level or go deep—this is an invitation to explore something that is already within you.

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3. Observe the Energy

If you choose to go further, lie back again, close your eyes, and return your focus to the space behind the forehead. As you rest here, you may begin to see flickers or swirls of energy. Allow whatever arises to simply be. You may notice a subtle spiraling form—often purples or darker tones—like a tunnel beginning to open.

4. Allow the Tunnel to Form

Don’t chase it. Just observe. As the tunnel becomes clearer, gently let yourself move toward it. Slide in. Let go. Follow the sensation of falling—like being pulled inward at great speed.

5. The Fall into the Abyss

This is the moment of surrender. You may feel like you're falling endlessly. Let yourself fall. Into nothing. Into stillness. Into the place that exists beyond fear, thought, and form.

6. Rest in the Void

In this abyss, there is no doing. Only being. You may feel yourself dissolve. You may feel whole. This is the sacred space of no-space. The bridge between all worlds. A place of healing, insight, and remembrance.

7. Return with Grace

When you’re ready, slowly bring your awareness back to the breath. Wiggle your fingers. Stretch your body. Anchor yourself back into the room gently. Give yourself time to integrate.

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This isn’t a technique of escape—it’s a remembrance. A quiet homecoming to the sacred within you. Some may call it the void, the portal, the gateway. For me, it’s simply the space beneath it all. And it’s always there, waiting, just behind your eyes.