🔐 Episode 4: I Unlocked My Heart Chakra and a Pigeon Moved In

 



If you've ever followed a guided meditation and wondered, “Am I doing this too hard?”—I have an answer for you.

Yes. You can absolutely do meditation too hard.

I found this out the weird way (as usual), when I followed an online video titled:
“Radical Heart Chakra Opening for Deep Healing and Possibly Sweating.”

The narrator had a voice like warm soup and ocean mist. She said, “Visualize your heart as a blooming lotus.”

I did.

She said, “Let go of fear and invite in love.”

I did that too.

Then she said, “Now imagine a great light pouring through your chest like the sun cracking open a watermelon.”

That’s where things went… off-script.

Because instead of light, something else came through.

A pigeon.

A literal pigeon flapped its dusty gray wings and stepped out from inside my chest like it was renting space. It looked around, made eye contact, and cooed. Then it curled up on the left side of my rib cage like it had always lived there.

And honestly? I panicked for a full six minutes.

Introducing: The Heart Pigeon

At first, I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe this was one of those metaphorical visualizations. But then it sneezed and a feather tickled my uvula.

Definitely not metaphorical.

I stumbled into the kitchen, where Carl — my monocled cactus roommate, amateur philosopher, and unofficial aura janitor — was watering himself with rosewater and lime.

Without blinking, he said, “Ah. You unlocked your heart chakra.”

“I think I broke it open,” I wheezed. “There’s a bird in my literal chest cavity, Carl.”

Carl walked over, tapped my ribcage, and the pigeon cooed in response.

“I shall name it Compassion,” he declared. “It’s your new emotional support tenant.”

Cooing at Inappropriate Times

Compassion the pigeon had opinions. And he loved to express them at the worst times.

If someone on TV cried — coo.
If I scrolled past an old photo — coo.
If I tried to do taxes — aggressively coo.

Apparently, opening your heart chakra invites all the feelings in, not just the Hallmark ones.

Worse? He started pooping metaphors.

Like, actual shiny little sparkly droppings, and when I looked closer, I saw words forming in the mess:

  • “The cage was never locked.”

  • “Love is a sky with no ceiling.”

  • “Your ex was an emotional fire drill.”

Thanks, pigeon. That last one stung.

The Side Effects of Too Much Open

The first few days, I felt emotionally raw. I cried at commercials, spilled water and whispered “I forgive you,” and hugged a stranger because they looked like they had “father wounds.”

Carl gave me a pamphlet he once wrote during his time as a retreat plant.

“When Your Aura Unhinges: Tips for Re-Harnessing Rogue Compassion.”

Inside were some gems:

  • “Try wearing heavier clothing. Compassion pigeons dislike cardigans with structure.”

  • “Feed it soft bread metaphors like ‘I am enough’ or ‘Even broken hearts beat onward.’”

  • “Avoid romantic comedies. They get territorial.”

The Pigeon Starts Offering Therapy

About a week in, Compassion stopped nesting and started intervening.

Any time I had a judgmental thought, he’d coo disapprovingly.
Any time I got impatient, he’d ruffle his feathers like a disapproving grandma.
At one point, I tried to roll my eyes at Carl and the pigeon literally flapped so hard I choked on the wind of my own denial.

I guess this is what spiritual growth looks like — covered in feathers and unsolicited self-awareness.

Vocabulary Corner

  • Chakra: Energy centers in the body. The heart chakra deals with love, compassion, and crying during Disney movies.

  • Guided Meditation: A calming audio journey that sometimes results in metaphysical houseguests.

  • Emotional Fire Drill: A relationship or situation designed to test your emergency exits and ego alarms.

  • Metaphor Poop: Unexpected bits of messy wisdom left behind by spiritual birds.

Carl’s Wisdom of the Week

Carl sat me down one night and said something I'll never forget:

“You can’t just crack your heart open and expect nothing to fly in. That’s what it wants. The trick isn’t getting rid of the bird — it’s learning how to let it coo without flinching.”

He handed me a feather Compassion had shed.

“Make a quill,” he said. “Start writing your soft parts down.”

Things I’ve Learned from Living with a Pigeon in My Chest

  1. You can’t rush healing. Especially when it lives inside your ribcage.

  2. Vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s just the price of being real.

  3. Sometimes, metaphors are messy. That doesn’t mean they’re wrong.

  4. Love is loud. And feathery. And sometimes interrupts dinner.

  5. You can meditate yourself into emotional upgrades. But read the fine print.

Quote of the Week

"Your heart isn’t broken. It’s under renovation."
— Compassion the Pigeon (via Carl’s embroidery project)


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

That Time I Meditated Myself into a Cult Run by My Houseplants

Image
  They say inner peace is a journey. Mine started on a yoga mat made from old tax documents and ended with a Venus flytrap initiating me into a houseplant cult that communicates in Morse code. But let’s back up. It began—like most great spiritual misadventures do—with Carl. Carl, in case you missed Episode 1, is my cactus. Or more accurately, he was my cactus. Now he identifies as The Thorn Oracle, a self-proclaimed spiritual provocateur, emotional saboteur, and part-time enlightenment broker. That morning, I had dared to express mild irritation after stubbing my toe on the coffee table. Carl responded with the kind of pitying disdain usually reserved for people who clap when the plane lands. “You are toxic ,” he said, “and not in a sexy Britney Spears way. In a spiritually constipated way.” I was still hopping on one foot. “Carl,” I hissed, “I am bleeding.” “Exactly,” he said, with a photosynthetic flick of superiority. “Your ego is hemorrhaging. You need cleansing. Ritual. Relea...
Read more

The Day I Was Hypnotized by a Cactus

Image
 I was not expecting to be hypnotized by a cactus on a Tuesday. But as they say in therapy: expect the unexpected, especially when your houseplant starts quoting Nietzsche. It began innocently enough. I was sipping lukewarm oat milk from a mug shaped like an anxious dolphin when I noticed my cactus—formerly known as Carl, now self-identifying as "The Thorn Oracle"—was glowing. I blinked. It blinked back. Or rather, it twitched one of its tiny spines with the sort of menace typically reserved for middle managers or cats who have discovered their reflection. Then it spoke. “You are late,” it said. Its voice was deep, yet slightly wheezy, like James Earl Jones if he were allergic to himself. “I wasn’t aware I had an appointment,” I replied, which seemed logical until I realized I was arguing with a cactus, which by all definitions was not ideal. “You were scheduled for a psychological reset,” the cactus said. “Your inner chaos is leaking into the astral grid. Also, you lef...
Read more

🍄 Episode 6: Mushrooms Gave Me Relationship Advice and Now I Can’t Eat Risotto Without Crying

Image
  (Carl cooks something that tastes like truth, and now I'm emotionally al dente.) It started when Carl announced we’d been “emotionally malnourished since the last equinox.” I was halfway through an expired protein bar and not in the mood for his metaphysical grocery lists. “What’s that mean?” “It means,” he said, pulling a burlap sack from his canvas tote with dramatic flair, “we need to commune with mushrooms.” I blinked. The mushrooms blinked back. One of them looked like it had been divorced twice and carried the wisdom of failure in its cap. “We’re making risotto,” Carl said solemnly. “But the kind that stirs you back.” 🍚 Cooking With Existential Fungi Carl began prepping the risotto like it was a sacred rite. He dimmed the lights, lit three candles shaped like Carl Jung’s head, and played ambient whale calls remixed with affirmations in reverse. I swear I heard one say, “You are the unresolved climax of your parents’ dream journals.” Meanwhile, the mushrooms loung...
Read more