Your Infinity Capacity and the “Last Resort” Meditation
By Dev Suroop Kaur
As I reflect on the capacity to heal, it takes me back to my first days as a Kundalini Yogi and how the practice facilitated my own deep healing. From those early days and through a continuing lifetime of applying and teaching kriya, sound, mantra, and breath, I see over and over again how we can engage the miraculous instrument of the human body to deeply heal physically, mentally, and spiritually.
Each of us comes to the path of Kundalini Yoga in our own unique way, time, and place, and for our particular personal reasons. How we end up here may not even make much logical sense to ourselves or to others. Yet here we are, applying the vast technology of Kundalini Yoga, learning, growing, and finding our own internal peace.
I got my start in Kundalini Yoga in Fairbanks, Alaska in 1983. I was living a lifestyle that I had deeply longed for. I enjoyed a simple, adventurous, and rugged life in the woods in a small cabin north of town with no running water and few amenities. I was fortunate to have manifested the kind of life I wanted at quite an early age—great friends, a relatively uncomplicated life, and the opportunity to spend a lot of time outdoors skiing, hiking, mushing dogs, and exploring the north.
Yet, for all my joy in being precisely where I wanted to be, I was deeply burdened by the old grief, anger, and pain of my past. The longing to relieve this pain is what led me to practice Kundalini Yoga at the Guru Ram Das Ashram on Ballaine Road outside of Fairbanks. As peculiar as I sometimes found the practice and as weird as the whole ‘turban/wearing white’ thing seemed at the time, the more I did the practice, the better I felt. And the better I felt, the more I practiced. Eventually, the grief, anger, and pain fell away and I was able to find the space within myself to begin the process of forgiving myself and others for past hurts.
So what made this all happen? Many things, I’m sure. However, when I look back, there is one particular meditation that I practiced with great intensity in my first year of practice. I am certain that it provided the foundation for deep healing in my life. In response to one of the first letters I wrote to Yogi Bhajan, he instructed me to practice the Last Meditation (sometimes called the ‘Last Resort Meditation’) for 31 minutes a day. This isn’t one of those meditations you hear about very much, but the benefits are tremendous. It is a deeply personal meditation—one you practice when it’s not quite working to seek the answers anywhere outside of yourself. Through a powerful combination of breath, mantra, and deep focus, this meditation brings you into an intimate conversation and relationship with your soul and your infinity capacity. You become your best. A great side benefit is that you build tremendous breath capacity by practicing it. Give it a try and see how it works for you.
Dev Suroop Kaur delights in sharing the pure practicality of nurturing a successful and deeply authentic life. An accomplished musician, recording artist, and Professional Level Trainer in the KRI Aquarian Trainer Academy, Dev Suroop Kaur strives to break it down, keep it real, and guide students to their own empowered authenticity.
Blessed to study directly with Yogi Bhajan for most of her adult life, she gratefully shares what she has learned and continues to learn about how to love, work, and live better in the world. She deeply enjoys training students and teachers of Kundalini Yoga in the science of Naad Yoga, conscious communication, and how to access the beauty and power of their personal voice.
She currently lives with her husband in Espanola, New Mexico and, in addition to her teaching and music activities, works to maintain a peaceful mind as a business executive. Dev Suroop Kaur is an ordained Minister of Sikh Dharma, is certified as a Registered Yoga Teacher (RYT500) through Yoga Alliance, and holds a Masters of Business Administration from the Claremont Graduate University.
Photo: Dev Suroop Kaur, Denali National Park, Alaska, 1983