The Letters: My Daughter, My Kundalini Awakening, and the Words I Waited Years to Hear
From journal entry August 20, 2017:
My daughter rushed into the house and handed me the mail. There were three letters from him, my twin flame. The envelopes were decorated with large cursive writing in pencil. I opened one and saw his name. And the moment I saw his name, I collapsed onto the floor. I was shocked. I was in disbelief. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I cried because, finally, I had heard from him.
At that time in my life, I had spent years hoping he would reach out to me. I wanted him to call. I wanted him to write. More than anything, I wanted him to tell me the truth. Whatever the truth was. The silence had broken my heart because I had been left carrying so many unanswered questions. I didn’t necessarily need a perfect ending. I needed acknowledgment. I needed words. I needed to know that what I had experienced had meant something outside of my own heart.
But those words never came in waking life. And that is what makes this dream so emotional for me now. What I understand today is that I collapsed before I even read what was inside the letters. That matters. It wasn’t necessarily the content of the letters that overwhelmed me. It was the fact that he had finally reached out. His name alone was enough.
After years of wondering, waiting, hoping and trying to move forward, there was suddenly proof in my hands that the silence had been broken. Perhaps that was what my heart had been longing for all along. Not necessarily the words, I love you. Not necessarily an apology. Not even the explanation I imagined I needed. Maybe what I wanted most was simply to know: I mattered enough for you to finally speak to me.
But there is another part of this dream that feels even more significant to me now. It was my daughter who brought me the letters. That is not a small detail in my story. When I experienced my Kundalini awakening, I was pregnant with her. That awakening was one of the most profound spiritual experiences of my life. During it, I experienced what I understood as a reunion with my beloved on another level of consciousness… what I have always described as a spiritual reunion with my twin flame.
And while all of that was happening within me, my daughter was growing inside my body. She was there. She was a part of that chapter of my life before she was even born. She was physically carried through one of the most transformative spiritual experiences I would ever have. And then, ten years later, in this dream, she becomes the person who carries the letters from him to me.
That realization moves me deeply. The child I carried when the awakening began became the one who carried the letters I had waited years to receive. There is something so circular about that. She connects two completely different periods of my life. She was present at the beginning of my awakening, and in this dream, she appears inside one of the unresolved emotional chapters that came afterward.
I don’t know whether I would have recognized the significance of that detail back in 2017. I recognize it now. My daughter was not merely delivering mail. Symbolically, she felt like a bridge. A bridge between who I was when the awakening began and the woman I had become years later. A bridge between the spiritual experience I carried within me and the ordinary life I continued living afterward. A bridge between something that felt transcendent and something painfully human: waiting for someone I loved to simply speak.
There is even something meaningful to me about the nature of a letter itself. A letter begins privately. Someone sits alone with thoughts that have not yet been spoken. They put those thoughts into words. They place those words inside an envelope. And then those hidden thoughts travel until they reach the person they were meant for.
Pregnancy feels strangely similar to me in its symbolism. Something exists before the world can see it. Something is forming quietly in the darkness. Something is being carried. And eventually, what was hidden emerges into the world. Perhaps that is one reason the image of my daughter carrying those letters touches me so much. During my pregnancy, something profound was being born within me spiritually. Years later, the child I had been carrying was the one who brought me the words I had been waiting for ever since.
There were three letters. I don’t know exactly what the number three meant in this particular dream, and I don’t want to force symbolism onto something that may simply have represented abundance. But I do know this: One letter apparently wasn’t enough. There had been too much silence. Too much left unresolved. Too many things I had wondered about. Perhaps three letters represented everything I wished could finally be said. Beginning. Middle. End. The whole story.
And then there was the handwriting. Large cursive letters written in pencil. Cursive feels intimate to me. It is personal. Someone’s hand moves across the page. It carries something of the person who wrote it. But pencil is not permanent. It can be erased. Changed. Rewritten.
And that fits the uncertainty I lived with for so long. Was the connection over? Was there something still unfinished? Would he ever acknowledge what had happened between us? Was I supposed to let go? Could the story somehow still be rewritten?
Maybe all of those questions lived inside those pencil-written envelopes. What is especially striking is that the dream never really gave me his answer. I saw his name. I knew the letters were from him. But the emotional climax happened before I learned what he had actually written.
Perhaps my unconscious could not give me his truth. How could it? I could never truly know what he would have said. Instead, the dream gave me the experience I had been longing for: He finally spoke. And maybe that is why this dream affected me so deeply.
In waking life, I was tired of waiting. I was tired of hoping. There were times when I thought I had found my balance again, and then I would dream about him and everything would come rushing back. The love. The grief. The hope. The confusion. The feeling that something remained unfinished.
I sometimes wondered if silence would have been easier if the dreams had also stopped. But they didn’t. And this dream may have been my heart creating the closure that reality never gave me. Maybe The Letters was never a prediction that letters would eventually arrive. Maybe it was showing me how badly I needed words because silence had left me carrying the entire story by myself.
And as a writer, words matter to me. Words give shape to things we cannot see. They turn emotion into something tangible. They allow us to say: This happened. This mattered. I felt this. I was here. Perhaps that is why silence hurt me so deeply.
I had written thousands of words trying to understand the connection, while the one person whose words I longed to hear remained silent. And so my dream placed those missing words into my hands. Even if I never got to read them.
And someday, I hope my daughter reads this. I hope she understands that she was part of something much larger in my life than she ever could have known as a child. She was inside me when my spiritual awakening began. She was with me during a moment that permanently changed the way I understood myself, love, consciousness and spirituality.
And years later, inside a dream, she became the one who carried the message back to me. Maybe someday she will understand why that means so much to her mother. Why seeing her walking into that dream with three letters in her hands feels almost sacred to me now. Not because I can prove what any of it meant. But because dreams have a way of weaving together the people, memories and emotions that shaped us.
And somehow, my daughter was woven into this story from the very beginning. The child I carried when the awakening began became the one who carried the letters I had waited years to receive. Maybe that is the message I was always meant to keep.
Madison Meadows
You may also enjoy: The Letters, Part 1, My letter to my twin flame https://madisonmeadows.blogspot.com/2021/01/twin-flame-dream-letters.html