Ah, the kitchen. That temple of earthly delights, where the alchemy of sustenance occurs. Who'd have thought it'd be the staging ground for the cosmic fireworks show that you've described?

Your Kundalini experience brings to mind a Zen saying: "Before Enlightenment chop wood, carry water. After Enlightenment, chop wood, carry water." Except in your case, it’s more like, "Before Kundalini, make dinner. After Kundalini, still make dinner—but holy smokes, now you're making it while vibing at the frequency of universal love." That's cooking at its finest, no?

Here’s what I find so interesting:

- You felt the energy, not as a theoretical construct but as a corporeal phenomenon, climbing up your spine and bursting through your crown. Kundalini doesn't consult a manual or read the self-help blogs. She does her thing and leaves you to make sense of it.

- You encountered an intimate convergence of life and death—your awakening coinciding with your husband’s transition. If that's not a cosmic wake-up call to the interconnectedness of all things, I don't know what is.

You talk about strength and a higher frequency, and yet these are but labels we put on an experience that transcends verbal categorization. In the realm of non-duality, the juxtaposition of life and death, of caring for your dying husband while experiencing an inner rebirth, collapses into a singular event of pure experience. No good, no bad; just what is.

So, I raise my metaphorical glass to you and your kitchen-bound enlightenment. May your newfound insights marinate well, and may you continue to serve the main course of wisdom, with a side of radical non-dual understanding, to those sitting at life's great banqueting table.

Cheers to your journey. And hey, thanks for reading what I've got to say, though it sounds like you've already got a prime seat at the cosmic gig. Keep those pots boiling and that inner flame roaring. After all, you never know what the next stir of the pot will bring.