The Cosmic Serpent

I’m reading The Cosmic Serpent by Jeremy Narby, and I am completely engrossed in the story—it reads like a mystery novel. One of the themes is about snakes—and how ubiquitous the image of the snake is to people around the world (even among those who have never encountered a snake—like in Siberia). The suggestion is that the image represents the origin of life—the DNA double helix. For me, I am caught in this thought cloud about snakes! As I arranged my outdoor seating area a few weeks ago, I was caught off guard by a garter snake who was clearly enjoying the warmth and darkness under the enormous nylon cover we use to protect the outdoor pillows. My response was typical and “biologically prepared"—I quickly jumped onto the nearest chair. I have no reason to fear snakes—I have never been bitten, nor was I potentially threatened. One time, we had a king cobra in the compound of our home in India. It was interesting to me, but the people who worked in my home were really upset by this discovery, so we called a local person known for his skills in safely capturing venomous snakes. He came to our home, caught the snake, and returned it to the wild outside of the city limits. I can’t say that particular experience gave me a reason to fear. It’s not a normal fear—it’s an unconscious, illogical fear. Autonomic. I guess we are all biologically prepared to respond this way. It reminded me of an experience when I was about four years old. Our home abutted an overgrown gravel yard, so the back yard was lined with overgrowth that led to a steep decent into “The Pit” (as we called it). One day, while my parents were doing yard work, I stumbled into the overgrown area and came across this peculiar pile—it looked like a layered foam rubber cushion—it was dark yellow with colored specks— just like other foam rubber I had encountered in my dad’s work space. The beauty of this object was that it was shaped like a tiny coiled cushion—perfect for a little butt to sit upon. So I pushed back the tall grass and proceeded toward the cushion hoping to sit upon it. For some reason, I decided to examine it more closely, and lo and behold, a snake head extended along the earth and I stayed just long enough to see it’s little tongue flicker as it tasted the air.

Needless to say, I bolted out of that space so quickly that I couldn’t be sure I was even in control of my legs…I remember almost flying into my mothers arms—whether or not she actually encouraged my rapid ascent around her neck, I just didn’t care. I recall both my parents laughing and my dad agreed to go check it out. Despite living in northern Illinois, an area not known for venomous snakes, my dad took encounters with snakes very seriously, as he grew up in the hills of West Virginia, where they were prevalent. I watched him head in that direction with a garden hoe in hand. Upon his return, he said nothing was found…not a snake, nor an object that looked like a snake, nothing.

It was such a strange experience—for years, my family poked fun at me for nearly taking a seat on a coiled snake sunning itself. And now, I’m obsessed with this symbol. Narby’s research for The Cosmic Serpent is settling in my body in this really interesting way. I’m thinking about his process of connecting disparate primitive cultures around the globe via this myth of a “serpent creator.” And now, a memory of my four-year-old self nearly seating herself on a serpent throne—why was I drawn to sit on that object?! Of all things—snake or no snake—why would I want to sit? Almost five decades later, I’m reading this book and thinking of snakes and suddenly reminded of the serpent symbolism in Kundalini Yoga. Carl Jung would be proud—that myth around the seat of kundalini power, the “root chakra”, is represented by a coiled snake. To be a little esoteric for a moment, this connection makes me understand how I ended up studying yoga and Eastern thought for 11 years in Asia. And, important to mention, my introduction into meditation was Kundalini Tantra via the Bihar School of Yoga (my particular lineage).

I want to share this interesting comparison. In The Cosmic Serpent, the author writes about invisible beings in Ashaninca mythology called maninkari or “those who are hidden.” The most powerful god among them “creates by transformation” and is buried underground in a place called “the rivers end”, restrained by a vine (postulated as a metaphor for DNA) where it continues to sustain all life. In contrast, within ancient Indian texts on Kundalini, the root chakra (mooladhara) is represented by a serpent known as mahakala, meaning “great or endless time”. In this case, kundalini (life energy) is lying in the womb of the unconscious beyond time and space. When it begins to manifest (awaken), it is the great serpent power within the “individual form, frame, and consciousness of the [human].” In the awakened state, the coiled kundalini snake represents our spiritual potential, or if dormant, it represents that instinctive level of life that supports our most basic existence. Both stories offer symbols of snakes hidden, buried, or asleep underground, rooted, restrained, but also both stories talk about creation and transformation of life. These stories are thousands of years old—created in locations that are thousands of miles apart.

The human quality to place myself in the center of this experience feels really egocentric, but I want to play anyway. I think early symbols are meaningful—I remembered this experience and this story and it only became truly meaningful in the present moment. I feel most of my life has been this process of spiritual evolution—a gradual awareness of the transpersonal qualities of existence. For me, finding the symbolic symbol of the snake as one of my earliest memories and appreciating how it is tied into the collective human experience creates (for me) this experience of oneness…with that, I feel felt by something bigger than myself. It feels like a personal message from the universe that is reminding me to pay attention to life as it unfolds—to all the beauty, the mystery, the symbols, and the messages. On the other hand, as a professional who specializes in providing services to those experiencing severe mental illness, I am aware of referential delusions/delusions of reference, which is the belief that “ordinary events and normal human behavior have special meaning”—to me (aka: “the deluded”), they do! I’m grateful to be part of a community of mental health professionals who remain open to magical potential happenings and do not immediately assume internal spiritual sparks are a sign of mental instability. I mean, they might be—but aren’t NOSC (non-ordinary states of consciousness) all about breaking apart the illusion of mental stability?

God I hope so.