Coming Home to Ground: A Root Chakra Practice

There's this thing that happens when you've been floating too long.

Everything feels untethered. Like you're living three inches above your actual life, watching yourself go through the motions but not really there.

Your to-do list lives in your head. Your worry lives in your chest. Your someday-plans live in next week.

But your body? Your actual feet-on-actual-ground body?

Nobody's home.

What Muladhara Actually Is

Muladhara (moo-lah-DAH-rah)—and I'm probably still not pronouncing it perfectly even after all this time—the root chakra, sits at the base of your spine. In Sanskrit, "mula" means root, "adhara" means support or foundation.

It's your first chakra. Your earth element. The part of you that knows how to stay when everything else wants to scatter.

In traditional yogic texts, Muladhara is visualized as a four-petaled lotus the color of deep red or crimson. Four petals representing the four mind states that keep us stuck when this chakra is out of balance—and honestly, these translations get complicated, but basically they're about the different ways we get caught in pleasure-seeking or control. The yogic texts love their lists.

At the center sits a yellow square—representing earth element, solid and stable.

Inside that? A downward-pointing triangle.

Not reaching up toward enlightenment. Not striving toward anything higher.

Just pointing down. Toward earth. Toward what's real.

And coiled at the base—this is the part that always gets me—is Kundalini Shakti. The serpent goddess. Sleeping. Waiting. All that potential energy just resting at your root until you're ready to wake her.

But here's what I'm learning: you can't wake Kundalini by bypassing Muladhara. You can't access all that cosmic power by skipping over the messy work of actually landing in your body first.

The Goddess Who Holds Everything

In Hindu tradition, Bhumi Devi is the earth goddess herself. Literally the ground beneath our feet made divine.

She's Vishnu's second wife (long story involving a cosmic rescue from a demon, because of course). She's depicted in green, sitting on a lotus, holding—wait for it—lotuses.

But here's what I love about her: she's not asking us to transcend her. She's not a stepping stone to something higher and more spiritual.

She IS the spiritual.

Every time we touch ground—literally put our hands or feet on earth—we're touching the divine. Not the divine that floats above us in some unreachable heaven.

The divine that holds us.

When I'm teaching malasana—goddess squat—I think about Bhumi Devi. About how squatting low to the ground isn't us being small or powerless. It's us remembering that power comes from being held by something bigger than our own effort.

When You Need This Practice

Real talk: do this practice when anxiety has you living entirely in your head.

When you've been making decisions from fear instead of from your body's actual wisdom.

When everything feels uncertain and you need to remember what "stable" even feels like.

When you're exhausted from trying to hold everything together through sheer will.

When you need to come back to your actual life instead of the one you're worrying about.

This is the practice for when you realize you haven't felt the ground beneath your feet in days—maybe weeks—and it's starting to show in how wobbly everything feels.

The 30-Minute Root Chakra Sequence

You need a mat. Or you don't—honestly, you can do most of this standing in your kitchen.

Just show up. That's the hardest part.

Minutes 1-5: Grounding Breath (Seated)

Sit however you sit. Cross-legged on the floor. On a cushion. In a chair with both feet flat on the ground.

Close your eyes.

Place your hands on your thighs, palms down. (Palms down is grounding. Palms up is receiving. Today we're grounding.)

Start breathing into the base of your spine. I know that sounds weird—just imagine your breath traveling all the way down your spine and pooling at Muladhara, right at your tailbone.

Inhale for four counts.

Hold for two counts.

Exhale for six counts.

Hold for two counts.

The exhale is longer than the inhale. That's on purpose. That tells your nervous system it's safe to land.

Do this for five minutes. Set a timer if you need to.

Let your body get heavy. Let your sit bones press into whatever they're pressing into. Let gravity do its job.

If your mind wanders (it will), just notice that and come back to the count. Four in, two hold, six out, two hold.

Minutes 5-8: Cat-Cow (Tabletop)

Come to hands and knees.

Wrists under shoulders. Knees under hips. (Or knees wider if that feels better for your body.)

Start moving through cat-cow, but slower than you probably usually do it.

Inhale, belly drops, chest opens, gaze lifts gently (cow).

Exhale, belly draws in, spine rounds, chin tucks (cat).

Here's the thing though: really feel your hands pressing into the ground. All four corners of each palm—base of index finger, base of pinky, inner wrist, outer wrist.

And really feel your shins on the ground.

You're connecting to earth through four points of contact. Four petals of the Muladhara lotus. Four directions.

Let this be meditative. Let your spine wake up slowly, vertebra by vertebra.

If your wrists hurt, make fists instead of flat palms. If your knees hurt, double up your mat or put a blanket under them.

Three minutes of just this. Moving with your breath. Feeling the ground.

Minutes 8-12: Malasana (Goddess Squat)

From tabletop, tuck your toes, sit your hips back, and come into a squat.

Feet wider than hip-width. Toes turned out.

If your heels don't touch the ground, that's completely fine. Roll up a blanket and put it under your heels. Or stay on your toes. Your hip structure is your hip structure—we're not trying to change your bones here.

Bring your hands to prayer at your heart.

Press your elbows gently against the insides of your knees. Let your knees press back against your elbows.

This is Malasana. The pose that makes your legs shake and reminds you that you have a pelvic floor.

Stay here for four minutes.

(I know. It's long. Your legs are going to hate me. But that's the point.)

While you're here, think about this: In Hindu tradition, Shakti—the divine feminine creative power of the entire universe—is often shown in a squatting position. Low to the ground. Close to earth.

Not because she's powerless.

Because she knows where power actually lives.

Not in floating above everything. Not in transcending the mess.

In being willing to get low. To squat in the mud. To touch ground.

Breathe into your pelvic floor. Into your hips. Into those inner thighs that are probably screaming right now.

If you need to come out and rest, do it. Shake out your legs. Then come back in. We're building tolerance for staying in uncomfortable places that are actually good for us.

Minutes 12-15: Tadasana Foundation (Mountain Pose)

Stand up. Shake everything out.

Come to Tadasana—mountain pose. Feet hip-width apart. Arms hanging by your sides.

This is where we slow way down and actually feel our foundation before we try to balance on it.

Close your eyes if that feels safe.

Feel the four corners of each foot:

Base of big toe

Base of pinky toe

Inner heel

Outer heel

Don't try to press evenly. Don't try to fix anything.

Just notice where your weight actually lives right now.

Maybe you're heavy on your heels. Maybe you're gripping through your toes like you're trying to hold onto the ground. Maybe your left foot is doing something completely different than your right.

All of that is information, not something wrong with you.

Stay here for three full minutes. Just standing. Just breathing. Just feeling the ground beneath you.

This is the part nobody photographs. The part that looks like you're doing nothing.

But it's everything.

This is where you learn the difference between standing ON the ground and being held BY it.

Minutes 15-20: Vrikshasana (Tree Pose)

Now—only now—we practice tree pose.

Right side first:

Keep both feet on the ground. Shift your weight slowly—so slowly—into your right foot.

Take thirty full seconds feeling all four corners of that right foot.

Your left foot is still touching the ground, just barely. Like training wheels you're not quite ready to take off yet.

When you're ready (and only when you're ready), lift your left foot and place it:

Against your right ankle with toes still on the ground, OR

Against your right calf, OR

Against your right inner thigh (never directly on the knee—that's not structurally sound)

Wherever it lands today is exactly where it's supposed to land.

Hands can stay at your heart in prayer position. Or reach up overhead. Or out to the sides like branches. Whatever helps you balance.

Here's the thing about tree pose that nobody tells you: if you lose your balance, that's not the end of the pose.

That's not you failing.

That's just information about where you are right now.

Put your foot down. Feel the ground again. Lift back up when you're ready.

Trees don't stand perfectly still anyway. They sway. They bend. They lose entire branches in storms and keep growing.

Stay for ten breaths. Or five. Or twenty. However long it takes to feel the difference between balancing and being rooted.

Left side:

Switch sides. Same slow process.

Left foot roots down. Thirty seconds feeling all four corners of that foundation.

Right foot lifts and finds its place when you're ready.

Ten breaths. Or five. Or twenty.

Notice if this side feels different. (It will. It always does. Our bodies are asymmetrical and that's completely normal.)

Minutes 20-24: Prasarita Padottanasana (Wide-Legged Forward Fold)

Step your feet wide—about three to four feet apart, depending on how tall you are.

Toes pointing forward or turned slightly inward.

Hands on your hips. Inhale, lengthen your spine.

Exhale, hinge forward from your hips. Keep your spine long as you fold.

Hands can come to the ground between your feet. Or to blocks if you have them. Or to your shins. Wherever they land without forcing.

Let your head hang heavy. Let gravity do the work here.

This is a grounding inversion—your head is below your heart, but your feet are still firmly planted on the ground.

Stay here for four minutes.

While you're here, think about Ganesha. The elephant-headed remover of obstacles. Son of Shiva and Parvati.

Ganesha is always depicted with his feet on the ground. Always.

Even though he's a god. Even though he could probably float if he wanted to. Even though his father Shiva literally levitates in meditation.

Ganesha chooses ground.

Because that's where obstacles actually get removed—not by transcending them or spiritually bypassing them, but by staying rooted enough to face them. To sit with them. To figure out how to move them or move around them.

Breathe into the backs of your legs. Into your lower back. Into the base of your spine where Muladhara lives.

If the stretch is too intense, bend your knees. This isn't about flexibility. It's about finding a way to be upside down while still feeling held by earth.

Minutes 24-28: Virasana or Sukhasana (Seated)

Come to sitting. However you sit.

Hero's pose—Virasana—sitting between your heels if that's available to your knees today.

Or cross-legged—Sukhasana.

Or on a chair with both feet flat on the ground.

Place your hands on your thighs, palms down.

Close your eyes.

Bring your attention back to Muladhara—the base of your spine, your root chakra, your foundation.

Imagine a four-petaled lotus there. Deep red, like earth rich with iron. Like clay. Like blood.

At its center, that yellow square of earth element. Solid. Stable. Unmoving.

And coiled at the base—Kundalini. The serpent goddess. Not awake yet, just... resting. Waiting.

With each inhale, imagine roots growing down from the base of your spine into the earth below you.

With each exhale, imagine those roots going deeper. Through the floor. Through the foundation of the building. Into soil. Into bedrock.

Not anchoring you in a stuck way. Just connecting you. Reminding you that you belong to this earth. That Bhumi Devi—earth herself—is holding you.

Stay here for four minutes.

Just breathing. Just visualizing. Just letting yourself be held.

Minutes 28-30: Savasana or Seated Rest

Lie down on your back if that's comfortable. Or stay seated if lying down doesn't feel good today.

Let your body get completely heavy. Let gravity take over.

You don't have to hold anything together right now. The ground's got you. Bhumi Devi's got you.

If you're lying down: feet fall open, arms by your sides, palms up.

If you're sitting: just let yourself be.

Two minutes of landing. Of arriving. Of actually being here in this body on this earth in this moment.

That's it.

That's the practice.

What This Practice Has Been Teaching Me

I spent years thinking spiritual practice was about transcendence.

About rising above. About floating through life unbothered by anything earthly or messy or hard.

About getting so enlightened that nothing could touch me.

Turns out, that's not liberation.

That's just dissociation with better marketing.

What this practice has been teaching me—slowly, because I'm a slow learner—is that the way up requires going down first.

You can't build a temple without a foundation.

You can't grow a lotus without mud.

And you can't actually fly if you've never learned how to land.

The ancient yogis knew this. That's why Muladhara is the first chakra, not the last. That's why all the texts say you have to stabilize your root before you can safely awaken Kundalini.

Because power without grounding is just chaos.

Energy without foundation is just anxiety with spiritual language.

And you can't hold space for anyone else—not your kids, not your students, not your partner, not your community—if you're not first held by something yourself.

The Invitation

Try this practice when you need to come home to your body.

When everything feels wobbly and untethered.

When you've been living in your head for so long you forgot you even have feet.

You don't need any special equipment. You don't need perfect alignment. You don't need to do every single pose exactly right.

You just need to be willing to feel the ground beneath you.

And to stay there long enough to remember: this is where you belong.

Not floating above your life.

In it.