Professional Documents
Culture Documents
The Rocky Horror Tantra Book
The Rocky Horror Tantra Book
Contents
The Rocky Horror Tantra Book
Introduction
Swami at work
Tantra is
Commentary
8
18
25
Chapter 1
Candles and incense
Sex: the lowest form of love
Seven sessions
28
31
36
Chapter 2
The ironmonger
Eroticism, the light in the darkness of everybodys life
Heavy metal
42
47
50
Chapter 3
An infidelity
The tantric attitude of totality
Hot monogamy
52
57
60
Chapter 4
Little girls panties
The tantric time warp
The revirginised sacrifice
74
76
79
Chapter 5
The pervert
Ancient and modern approaches to taboo and initiation
The pervert revisited
86
90
97
Chapter 6
Orders from the dakini
Dakinis and dakas
A cup of tea
104
116
120
Chapter 7
The shaman
The first patriarch
Inferior men
Modern times
126
132
158
167
Chapter 8
Old School
Dont dream it be it
Inner temple
172
177
180
Chapter 9
Dark night
Notes on the enlightened condition
Dawn
184
189
192
Swamis notes
Note 1
Tantric sex basics
199
Note 2
Preparation of the body and mind for Tantra
219
Note 3
Beyond premature ejaculation
241
Note 4
Touch, breath and timing
249
Note 5
Therapy to truth in three easy steps
259
Note 6
Kissing
267
Note 7
The dark and the dangerous
271
Note 8
Meditation
291
Note 9
Chakras and kundalini
301
314
315
316
Introduction
Swami at work
The mobile phone buzzed on the bedside table.
I seemed to float up softly, drifting up and through where my
dreams had happened. I felt them tugging at me, some with
insistence. I resisted at first, then relaxed and looked them over.
None of them seemed so interesting or important that I wanted
to drag them all the way up to my waking memory. I shrugged free
of them and continued my ascent.
The phone buzzed again.
I felt the softness of old cotton and the deep relaxation of my
body. I pulled my head under the duvet and sank into the soft,
comforting warmth.
The phone buzzed. That was three times now. After the sixth, it
would go quiet and record a message.
I had slept enough more than enough. This was the third
time this morning that I had dozed my way back to the depths
of sleep.
I admitted to myself that I was now awake and could answer it.
The phone buzzed again. I reached for it and opened my eyes.
Squinting in the bright light to read what was probably the last
monochrome cellphone screen in history, I saw who was calling
and pushed the green button.
Hi Wendy, I said, as brightly as I could manage. The little screen
had informed me that it was a little after ten.
Did I wake you up, Swami? she asked. You sound like you are
trying not to sound sleepy.
10
She is too wild for that kind of close guidance. She is finding her
power and will probably need to be a bit irresponsible with it for
a while.
Scary thought. I chuckled. What are you working on with
her?
Jade egg exercises, general life stuff and some strategy.
Strategy, not exterior and self-honesty? I said, a little surprised.
She likes strategy, and she has talent for it. Without even having
heard of Machiavelli or Miamoto, she has done quite well in her
career.
With their teachings then, she could make considerable
trouble.
Wendy grinned. Not that much, and I will keep a close watch.
Anyway, you always say that it is OK for a yogini to ruin a few men
in the course of her learning.
I said it was regrettable
But acceptable. I remember, from when I was still ruining them.
You didnt ruin anyone. You were a sweetie-darling.
Oh come on, Swami. I ruined at least two for sure.
I grinned. K and L certainly had a lot of trouble but they are
better citizens for the experience well-spanked and I hear they
are much better behaved now. That is what you get for fucking
around with tantrikas.
She laughed, then looked serious. I regressed them years, Swami.
K especially.
No, Wendy. You forced them to reveal and be what they actually
are. They thought they were transcendent yogis but they had
layered that learning on a dodgy foundation of unexamined crap.
Like sugar
11
13
I see what you mean. Yes. She does have a predatory capacity but
she looks more playful than nasty to me. She shrugged. Maybe
there is some risk but she is worth it, I think.
Do you see a Devya in her?
Every now and then. She smiled. Her urge for the transcendent
is weak at present but it is developing.
Her feminine?
Still lurking in the subconscious, but it has been seen. It is shy
and resentful of course, but not immovably so. In avoidance, she
tends towards hyper-sensitivity rather than numbness.
Yes. Ticklish and jumpy as popcorn at her second session.
Just so, and it goes with a good sense of humour.
OK, then. I will try to be a good dummy for her. Lets turn her on
and see how she lights up.
Wendy winced, as she does when I say something particularly
inelegant or inappropriate.
What? I challenged. You called it the dummy thing.
Not that, Swami. With exaggerated patience and disapproving
tone. Turn her on and see how she lights up? Really! You can do
better than that.
I laughed and then stopped when it looked as if she was not joining
in. Sure I could do better. That was just between us, Wendy.
She frowned. And what is all this worry about possibly creating a
wild dakini? You love wild dakinis.
I do, and I love free ones at least as much. I hit her with a smile
that was, despite my years, still devastatingly charming. It was
spectacular in its complete failure to have any noticeable effect.
So why?
14
15
Yes. I pointed at the cat. In much the same way as that godless
killing machine is natural.
You leave Kitty Kali out of this, she said as the godless killing
machine purred in agreement. It had to be told, though. Those
realisations were seriously important to me.
Of course, and I think the masculine/feminine thing is a
mandatory topic in any book about Tantra, even though my
perspective is maybe not going to be very popular.
Oh you are not just mentioning the matriarchal era
No. I am telling the story of the first patriarch.
Ooh Her gaze and her eyelids lowered. She smiled. I look
forward to reading it.
I will email the first draft when I have finished It. It will be
soon.
And then your book will be done?
Apart from editing, yes, and one more story.
One more?
For the introduction. I have the lecture part, but I would like a
somewhat fictionalised story, as I do for the chapters.
Yes. Your sutras wrapped in parables. She grinned as I blushed,
ever so slightly.
I think of it as stories framing lectures, I tried to explain.
Your introduction She paused and frowned. I am sure I have
read it. About Tantra being the toughest bitch of a path, how it is
just troublesome and disturbing for most and why it is only useful
to a vanishingly small minority?
Um not quite like that.
16
17
Tantra is
Tantra is the roughest, rockiest and unquestionably the most
horrible of spiritual paths. It is not a journey for the faint-hearted,
the weak-minded or the emotionally troubled. It presents serious
difficulties even to the heroic. It is as harsh as the Truths of Life
themselves.
This is because Tantra challenges, uncompromisingly, any and all
avoidance of truth.
This word truth maybe needs a little clarification, some
disambiguation. The word has a few common usages these days.
So, not political truth: that which is left after plausible deniability
has been deducted,
or social truth: what everyone knows, i.e. a belief system
or even intellectual truth: that which can be understood and
explained.
The truth that Tantra is concerned with is truth that is directly
known, through ones own experience.
This truth is not a static thing. Nor is it identical on all scales of
perception and at all levels of awareness.
There is no way to describe this truth directly with any
usefulness, but analogy and metaphor can be used. Stories about
the experiences of others can be encouraging or cautionary.
Suggestions of methods and approaches can be useful.
One way of describing characteristics of spiritual truths is to
personify them as deities.
The most popular deities in the tantric realm tend to be Goddesses
with fierce, destructive and chaotic dispositions. Cunning,
resourceful and skilfully strategic. Ruthless and powerful. Really
tough to negotiate with. They have to be loved, adored and
18
19
Bliss, because pleasures and pains are embraced, not avoided. Bliss
is the integration, the encompassing acceptance, of lifes pleasure
and suffering as one suchness.
Lightning, because the path is notable for its extreme speed.
The Royal Road, because it is a path originally designed (at least
the Buddhist version) for the elite of a culture, whose worldly
involvement and responsibilities make monastic life impractical.
The personal characteristics that produce achievers in any area of
human endeavour are essential to Tantra: ambition, determination,
responsiveness and, especially, hubris.
Humanity can be classified into three major categories of
inclination and potential. These categories are not absolute, and
their boundaries can be crossed by individuals in the course of
their lives. That said, they are a good general guide to who should
and who should probably not dabble with things tantric.
Pasha (those in a noose) are the good citizens: the 90% of people
that believe what everyone knows and follow their leaders. It is
automatic for them to accept the guidelines and restrictions they
are given.
They have always been exploited by each other and the other
classes of humanity. They are the predated upon: the sheep.
They are not seeking for spiritual truths. If they manage an
incarnation of some sobriety, and not to beat their wives, browbeat
their husbands or traumatise their children into dysfunctionality,
their incarnations are successful: worthy of sincere respect.
They should on no account have anything to do with Tantra. At
most, good sex guides are useful to them: the Kama Sutra and
modern equivalents. Pillow books.
Even Neo-Tantra can be bad for them. Gains in terms of the sexual
pleasure they experience and their awareness of (and reactivity
to) cultural restraint are not necessarily a good thing. The nooses
of sexual addiction and of alternative, fringe and revolutionary
20
23
24
Commentary
Wendy sat back from the screen. Actually, I quite like it, Swami,
although it is not exactly a conventional introduction.
Conventional?
Well, I was expecting something about the range of things called
Tantra these days, and what we mean by the word.
I dont want to trouble my beloved readers with that. I think it is
pretty clear in the world that there are a wide range of things that
are called Tantra. Part of their journey is their development of
good discernment.
Or the glimpses of the Divine that can happen in orgasmic
states?
Every Tantra book I have come across belabours that to the point
of boringness. I am not writing specifically for beginners, and I
dont like to repeat what is more or less common knowledge.
I suppose, but what about people reading yours as their first?
I think they will be fine. If they dont like it, I hope it wont turn
them off the topic entirely. I think it is those who have some
experience and are widely read that will have a tougher time.
The full cup thing because they are full of ideas beyond their
own experience?
Yes, but also because they have encountered a wide range of
beginner teachings. I do try to give some idea of the depths
where Tantra goes
But you give more emphasis to beginner work than describing
our highest understandings and practices.
I do. My focus is on what tantrikas need to learn, particularly
what I find lacking in the books that are currently out there. I
25
26
Chapter 1
30
31
32
For both sexes, the medics have cosmetic (that word really needs
to be in quotes) interventions.
Most men who have a penis enhancement (that word too!), do so
because of how they want to look when in changing rooms with
other men. It is strange that no one told them that penis size, even
in the locker room, generally has to do with the degree of arousal
experienced.
For women, the surgery-sellers have defined the standards of what
something truly unique should look like, and trim off sensitive
and responsive bits to make things neater.
The tantrikas of the healer persuasion may be facing tough
times. The medical profession has a strategy of owning medical
conditions, even lobbying for laws to make alternatives to their
profitable treatments illegal. Medical marketing efforts have now
become very focussed on establishing their treatment regimens
for any conditions they manage to define as a sexual dysfunction.
Some practitioners of these tantric arts are therapists. Similar
to healers, they cure the medically defined conditions but place
more emphasis on coaching their clients/students in relationship
dynamics and sexual performance.
Many are multi-disciplinary, coming to the work via psychology
and other branches of mental, physical and sexual therapy.
There are magicians, shamans and sorcerers, some of whom are
adept in the resolution of spiritual and psychological dilemmas.
Others boost intentions and activate their clients creativity
around issues of health, wealth, success, sexual power, lovers and
so on.
Practitioners of these arts from all persuasions and inclinations
are remarkably effective, even with minimal training, minimal
awareness of what they are working with and even when their
intent is questionable.
Deliberate awareness brought to these practices is the key to
unlocking their gifts.
33
35
Seven sessions
In just seven days
Belinda had been gone for three weeks now, much longer than
either of us had expected.
What was supposed to have been a simple family visit had become
complicated. The day after she visited her great aunt, the old bat
promptly left this world for wherever people go when they die.
They had never been very close but her last contact with the old
woman had touched Belinda deeply. She had extended her stay so
that she could attend the funeral.
Over these three weeks, at considerable expense, I had been for
seven sessions with Yogini Leela, obviously a nom de lamour,
titled a Yogini Adept according to the Tantra schools website.
This lovely woman, twenty-something, blond, and for most of
our sessions clad in a kimono-cut white robe, changed my life.
She managed this in a total of just fourteen hours.
At my first session, I was nervous. All jumps and twitches. She kept
reminding me to breathe, to feel into the sensations and not to shy
away from them. Unrelentingly, she kept touching and caressing,
pressing my increasingly frazzled nerves to accept an overload of
delicious but screamingly intense, and sometimes, I had to admit,
frightening sensations.
Eventually, I succumbed as one does to intense pain. I yielded and
managed to welcome the flood of sensation, enjoying it for a brief
moment.
Suddenly, I convulsed, gasping as if drowning. Feelings
overwhelmed me and tears flooded my eyes. The yogini cradled
me in her arms while I howled and sobbed for the rest of the twohour session.
36
road, parked and sat there, feeling this wonderful new intensity of
sensation and loving it.
The sensation expanded. I felt the embrace of gravity, the love
with which it held my body firmly in the hug of the car seat.
Everything before my eyes showed itself as being suffused with a
a presence. A presence loving of and in everything. Molecules
of air kissed me all over, millions of times a second. I was not
having this experience, I was this experience. In that moment, I
was the lover of all and the beloved of all.
That was the end of my worry. I walked into my seventh session
fearless and looking forward to the yummy things that Leela was
going to do to me.
It was only at the end of that session that I realised she had not
touched me at all. For the first hour or so, we had done a naked
gazing, in which I had slipped again into the all-lovingness I had
first felt a few days before, with the steering wheel.
In the second hour, she introduced me to self-loving.
It had never occurred to me that loving oneself could be taken
so literally. I was surprised to find that I could evoke degrees of
sensation by myself that I had only previously experienced at her
hands.
This was nothing at all like my usual basic and functional habit
of masturbation. I found that I could play my bodys energy like
a musical instrument.
At some point in that dance of sensual fire, I laughed, finding
myself thinking in terms of chakras and energy without needing
quotes or italics. Almost as if I knew what these things were, and
then I realised I did.
She showed me how to gather the energy of approaching orgasm
at my root chakra, then squeeze it there to a delightfully explosive
intensity as I breathed in. As per the directions she gave, I held
my PC muscles tight, holding energy and breath until the need to
breathe became strong.
38
39
Chapter 2
Exploring eroticism
Erotic nightmares beyond any measure
and sensual daydreams to treasure forever.
The ironmonger
I was rubbing down the faux-aged copper finish of an ornate
outdoor table when the freaky, pretty-looking couple walked into
my workshop, a small concrete box in an industrial park on the
city outskirts. Last Saturdays roadside market had been good for
me and now, just moderately hung over, I was here at work on
Monday, getting stock made for next Saturday.
Just like most weeks, except when the hangover was bad, or
postponed altogether by staying drunk.
Hi. Pointy black boots, very loose pants with no pockets, a
leather pouch at the waist, skin tight vest, strongly defined but
skinny muscle, no tits, long, long loose blond hair, tall, sounded
male.
I looked at them and tried to remember back past the hangover.
Vaguely Just this Saturday? I asked. Yes, the other one
replied. This one, less tall but not short, was wearing tight jeans
and a black velvet jacket. Hair cut shoulder length. The jacket
hung open, revealing a wisp of cotton half-shirt which tried,
unsuccessfully, to cover small but definite tits.
Now that they thought I remembered them, I guessed. You want
me to make you a
bed, she supplied, a strong bed.
Grinning broadly, she held her hand out to me. Leigh.
We shook, and she held onto my hand while she spoke. We have a
design we would like you to make for us. She let my hand go and
continued without pause. My husband I waved in the guys
direction who returned a Hi and a friendly smile but no name,
has drawn something up.
This was all happening just a little too fast for my recovering
brain. Is she on caffeine or cocaine? I wondered, a little resentful
42
43
use will sag. Bracing just the head and foot underneath would be
insufficient
I was losing patience. So maybe she liked to brag, or maybe they
did fuck like demons, but they did not need to park a car on the
thing.
I interrupted him. Maybe a 5cm angle iron for the base, if you
need serious strength. I paused, and glanced back but she was
apparently no longer listening. But it would be very heavy. The
rail is totally unnecessary and so is the bracing.
Now she was looking at my only decoration, a trade calendar on
the wall featuring a full-figured blond- straddling a huge I-beam.
He was watching her too. She turned, as if cued by our glance,
swept her jacket back, put her hands on her (now revealed to be
gorgeously formed) hips and mimicked the calendar pose. In the
smoky light that streaked from the fibreglass panels in the roof, she
looked very sexy indeed. She wiggled a little in the pose, obviously
enjoying being the distraction, then, while pouting most prettily,
she addressed us.
Nothing but nothing is going to be allowed to sag anytime soon.
And I insist She turned dramatically and stalked towards me.
I absolutely insist on inflexible rigidity.
Leigh beamed a smile which seemed to gather momentum as she
advanced on us. I became aware that my mouth hung open and
snapped it shut. She came to the table and waved a finger in the air
until we looked at it. The finger descended and our eyes followed
it down to the page. It stopped, pointing at the contentious
bracing.
She spoke. This is necessary because, if I hold on here, and move,
or am moved with some, let us call it passion, this she indicated
the head of the bed, will flex back and forth, and the legs, which
are all one piece with it, will dig holes in my gorgeous pine floor.
Worse, they will squeak. The same will happen at the foot.
44
She tapped her short, clean, sharp fingernail on the paper to keep
our attention there and continued. The rail is useful bracing
for forces in all directions but it is more necessary than that for
She peered closer in the tricky light, studying the diagram,
bending further over the table.
I studied her tits which were completely revealed as the loose
cotton under her jacket fell open. No cleavage as such but perky
and cute as puppies. If she held onto the bed head, and was moved
by passion, they would move like This happy chain of thought
was rudely interrupted by her suddenly slapping the paper.
I broadened my view. Fortunately, she was focussed on the guy.
He looked nervous. She looked stern as stern as a school teacher
confronting dog-chewed homework.
Where are my hooks?
Between her brash directness, seductive asides, and him blushing,
occasionally stuttering something intelligible, I gathered that
the rail was for ropes, and the hooks were to enable their easy
repositioning.
Her ideas on the look and finish were not my kind of thing at all.
Her view, firmly expressed was: I am buying an iron bed, and I
want it to look like an iron bed that is made out of iron.
No, she did not want me to give it a bit of colour, a glow or some
sparkle. Ugly leaden grey with industrial black grime was specified.
Even my suggestion of antique twists of wrought iron work was
rebuffed. That would compromise on rigidity, which you know
is important to me.
Facetiously, I suggested a spider web design for the head and
to my horror she gave the idea serious consideration before
announcing:
No. I like it but it is too specific. I have a greater range than
that, and so does he. We need clean functional lines with no bias
inherent in the design. Bauhaus. A blank canvas for living on.
45
46
47
49
Heavy metal
She was a tough negotiator indeed. Eventually, I agreed to make
their over-engineered king-size extra-long bed for the price of a
regular double. He was drifting around the workshop, smoking
a small cigar, overhearing but not getting at all involved in our
dealing.
I said it would take the rest of the week to make the monstrosity. I
stuck by that, somehow, agreeing to deliver it on Friday afternoon.
Clearly, for this alluring but scary young woman, instant
gratification was just never fast enough.
She beamed a smile at me and gentled her voice. Thanks so
much, Joe. I know you will make me the perfect bed which will
not squeak or rattle, no matter what I do to him.
No, I managed, my tongue feeling clumsy and heavy in my
mouth. No, it will not squeak.
But you will, darling, she said, turning to her pretty companion.
He was suddenly at her side, attentive.
You will most definitely squeak. She paused, enjoying his
blushing discomfort. I promise.
50
Chapter 3
Totality in relationships
Ill put up no resistance,
I want to stay the distance.
An infidelity
But, darling, I am not angry with you. Well, not furious, anyway,
not anymore. Whatever you did with J is really between you two.
None of my business.
But I lied to you. She was sobbing in my arms, the stress of her
confession being a lot harder for her than for me. I had already
had a night out with a bottle of tequila and the supportive
companionship of a good friend.
Yes. I was angry about that. I was still, let us say, somewhat angry
about that.
Is that why you called me a nasty two-timing whore?
Yes. That would have been why, I answered. The cheating, lying,
sneaky
And an evil, lying, conniving bitch? She sobbed, inconsolable.
Yes. I thought your lying to me about that was quite cruel.
Not what I did with J?
No.
Her tears miraculously ceased to flow, her eyes shone bright and
alert. She sat up and set her face into the mask I had come to know
as strategic.
You mean it doesnt bother you that I got so intimate with J?
She paused. I waited. I figured there was more of the question to
come. There was. We did things that you and I have not done
I possibly did not want to hear too much detail, so I interrupted.
Yes, sure it bothers me. Mostly, it bothers me that if that is what
you wanted, you could have mentioned it. We have been married
six years now. Is there really anything you would like that you feel
uncomfortable to ask me for?
52
54
55
56
57
59
Hot monogamy
I resigned from my yuppie job the next day, to my employers
great annoyance. The home industry we had started some years
ago now supplied a few hundred shops. Financially speaking, my
salary was nice to have but not necessary. It was also likely that I
could match it or even improve on it by working as a freelancer,
with much easier hours.
A major incentive too, was the possibility of getting to know my
young children on a more than casual basis.
Nonetheless, I was far from pleased. Even though, in truth, these
changes suited me perfectly, I was resentful at being, as I judged it,
forced to make such extreme changes.
I decided, in the interests of harmonious marital relations, to
discuss the matter further with my beloved.
You insist on the monogamy rules for me, break them for
yourself, and then get me to sacrifice a career that was, by the
way, looking very respectable. In exchange, I get to live with you
and our children. Is that the extent of your demands, terrorist?
Perhaps that is a little harsh, I thought to myself. No matter. She
appeared completely unruffled by my accusation.
Oh no, dear. It is just the beginning. We are taking a week away
together at Oom Bs, so I can explain. She smiled at me warmly,
her beautiful features unmarred by her villainy. I am sorry if you
are upset.
What do you mean by sorry and what do you mean by a week
away? I have things to do a computer to buy and a business
to launch, just for a start. I was sounding a bit loud, and not
entirely coherent. Nonetheless, I continued manfully, protesting
my pussy-whipped reality: Not to mention the kids. And just
without even discussing it. Well?
I am sorry. Was that a question?
60
I I I I gave up.
After giving me a look that seemed to question my sanity, she
explained the arrangements. In essence, they amounted to our
first week alone together in five years. I maintained my dignity by
not getting excited. Or grateful.
It had taken serious negotiations with her extensive Afrikaans
family to arrange this.
Oom Bs bush retreat, a four-bedroom house in a private estate
with fences open to the beasts of Kruger Park was in great demand
with his multitudinous offspring.
Settling into the place, turning on water and gas, stocking the
fridge and the other little chores went smoothly and quickly. This
time there was no need to continually prevent two young children
from returning to the wild, where they thought they belonged and
probably did. There was even time for a shower and change of
clothes before nightfall, although it was hardly necessary after the
easy four-hour drive.
During the half hour it takes night to fall in Africa, we gorged on
fat Machadodorp trout that we had bought en route. The stars
came out as if they really meant it.
We lit paraffin and gas lamps, sat on the stoep, shared a joint of the
local veldtwak and enjoyed the sounds of the wild. It was hard to
stay resentful in that setting. I relaxed a bit.
I am glad you arranged this break. Thank you. It really is very
special out here, especially without the kids.
She gave me a look that conveyed indulgent loving tolerance, got
up and went into the house. I heard sounds of ice and glasses.
Soon, two beer shandies glowed in the gaslight along with two
much smaller glasses from which came a strong aroma of peaches.
I raised a suspicious eyebrow.
I found his mampoer.
61
62
Good. She sat back, took a swig of her shandy and, as we used to
say in the sixties, laid it on me.
Basically, you are polygamously inclined and I am monogamously
inclined. You can be attracted to more than one woman at a time,
and you cant act on it because, as you well know, I am insanely
jealous.
No kidding, I thought. I was being careful to close my mouth when
not drinking, in order to prevent my thoughts from automatically
becoming words.
I, on the other hand, cant, at present anyway, enjoy more than
one man at a time. I have your permission, blessing and even your
encouragement to explore other loves if I so wish, but I have to
fall out of love with you to be open to anyone else. Then I have to
fall out of love with them to get back with you.
She paused and lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply. She looked
appealingly vulnerable. I managed to keep quiet. Soon, her
composure restored, she continued.
I did not enjoy having to get grumpy with you so that I could
enjoy J, or A, or W or well, you get the idea. The emotional
strain of doing that every time takes all the fun out of the game.
I had time to consider this while she fetched more cans of beer and
lemonade from the gas-powered fridge. Topping up our glasses,
she continued her description of our predicament.
We have explored stretching the definitions of our marriage.
You have explored falling in love with your work. I have explored
falling in love with other things. I think our answer lies, if
anywhere, in the opposite direction.
We sipped in silence for a while. I could have argued with her
statement, but it would have been a petty and pointless exercise.
Basically, she had expressed our situation accurately. Also, I was
becoming intrigued, now that my grumpiness was receding.
Opposite direction? I inquired.
63
65
66
I know you are angry with me, and I want to make things up to
you. I want you to make me yours again, after where where I
have been.
She dipped her eyes shyly, sipped at her shandy, then dazzled me
with her most radiant smile.
Would you like me ashamed and very, very sorry, perhaps with
protested innocence, yet utterly yielding,
or would you prefer me to be a cock-hungry slut?
I reached for my drink and felt my hand start to shake. I decided
not to attempt to lift the glass.
Let me help you make up your mind.
She formed her face into a picture of hurt innocence. With wide
eyes and a slight tremble to her lower lip, she said I did some
bad things, but it is not fair to blame me. My heart melted. I
fell in love. She leaned closer to me and touched my cheek with
a delicate, yielding softness and said, I had to I couldnt help
it and couldnt stop it. I want to make it up to you. I will try and
do anything you want, but please, please dont hurt me too
much.
The sweet, contrite darling. Of course I would never hurt her. I felt
another surge of lust, and was a little shocked at my eagerness to
take advantage of this vulnerability. Suddenly, I wanted to order
that beautiful, sweet, delicate mouth to open wide, and as for
those protectively crossed legs
The sweet contrite darling snapped out of her performance as if
a director had yelled, Cut! She closed her eyes, her expression
thoughtful, then opened them and inspected my hopeless at poker
face at her leisure.
Or.
She ran her hands through her hair, dragging strands of it forward,
over her face. She gave her head a quick shake, which threw most
67
but not all of her hair back. A few untidy wisps curled in towards
the corners of her mouth.
Her mouth no longer looked innocent. Her lower lip hung in an
indolent pout. Her teeth were slightly parted. Gaslight reflected
off a hint of pink tongue. Her eyes moved slowly, heavily. She
spoke, slowly and clearly, with just the slightest touch of alcohol
in her pronunciation.
Darling, I never meant to hurt you. Whatever J and W and the
others were, they were not you. They were just there then.
As she spoke, she touched a finger to her lower lip. Pulling it
slightly downward, she revealed its soft, moist inner surface.
I would very much like to do whatever it takes to make it up to
you. Whatever it takes. She closed her lips lusciously around her
fingertip.
Lust overwhelmed me. I wanted to shove my cock deep into that
hungry, pouting mouth. I wanted to throw her face down on the
table and fuck her until logic intruded. Or perhaps it was fear,
masquerading as logic.
But I stammered, logic fighting lust, you do them so
believably they seem so different, and so different from you
I wondered why I was talking. Lust was insisting that I shut
up. Now.
And what, then, would be the real me, I suppose?
I nodded. With a stage-dramatic sigh, she deigned to explain.
Every role I ever played was me while I played it. Everything you
have just seen is me. Another sigh. Leave the existential angst of
the quest for identity to the professional.
I hurriedly agreed to do so.
When do you suggest we begin?
As soon as you make up your mind.
68
Well, to start, I think, for tonight at least, I would like the hungry
slut.
She stood up in front of me, legs spread, and took my hand. She
guided it under her skirt and pressed it between her legs and said,
There is something I would like you to notice, just in case you
have any doubts about what is real for me. Only a really hungry
slut could be this wet. Only a desperate one would bring it to your
attention. She curled her hand over mine, pushing my fingers
inside her and leaned back, closing her eyes. Mmm more
please, she sighed. She pulled my hand hard against her, grinding
and driving my fingers into her depths.
I withdrew my fingers gently but decisively and looked her in the
eyes. I sucked at my fingers and smiled at her. Well, you do taste
good enough to fuck. Would you like that?
Yes, she replied, dropping to her knees, pulling my belt buckle
loose. Very much please.
You seem so sincere, and you do taste good. I wonder how deep
you will go in this performance. Stand up. She did. Turn around.
She did. Spread your legs. They trembled. Hands on the floor
please legs further apart. Walk your hands a little back. Tilt
your arse up. Higher higher good. Hold that pose now. No
moving.
I leaned forward in my chair, and traced a finger up each of her
inner thighs. When I reached wetness, I pressed harder into her
thighs and slid my fingers along them more slowly. Her legs
trembled and I chuckled. I wiped the two fingertips and then my
hand up and down the slippery upper half of her thigh.
She moaned, loudly, and her legs shuddered. Stop that
immediately, I demanded. Its your own fault for being such a
slut. I havent even touched your cunt, and it is dripping halfway
down your legs.
She moaned again. Deeper this time. More despairingly. She
arched her back, her buttocks parted even further. She never
69
wore panties. I flipped her skirt over her back, revealing the cutest
pink dot of an anus and a wonderfully engorged, pouting cunt.
I pressed my right hand into the centre of her slipperiness and
fanned my fingertips, sliding them slowly and steadily back and
forth from her clitoris to her anus. Light at the clit, through the
softest wetness, then heavier over her little button of an anus,
which contracted reflexively as each fingertip went over it. Her
legs shook violently and almost buckled. I stopped the stroking.
She gasped an apology. I slapped her bum lightly a few times,
adding emphasis to my words.
You want to be fucked but you wobble all over the place before
I have even felt inside you. And what a sight you are. Dripping
wet and your cunt is actually gaping. Be still a moment. Very still
yes. I can put a finger inside you without even touching the
sides.
I curled my finger until it touched the wall of her vagina. She held
firm but panted heavily. I circled my fingertip slowly around the
hollow cavity, commenting as I went.
This is pretty impressive. Your cunt has pulled itself completely
open. It is really gaping. Shameful but close up, it is really quite
appealing. It does feel good, you know. Maybe even good enough
to fuck.
Please, she pleaded, please fuck me. Please fuck my hungry
gaping slutty cunt please. She sounded sincere. How on earth
did she deliver such porno lines with such feeling, I wondered. I
believed her. It seemed her body believed her too. My finger felt
her vagina contract powerfully. She was clearly on the edge of
orgasm.
I think I will fuck you, beloved. To convince me, just keep still
and do not come for the next minute or so.
Three fingers slid easily into her. I curled them in turn over her G
spot and the ridges surrounding it, keeping an intense rhythm.
70
72
Chapter 4
They made love for the second time that afternoon. She had used
the bidet after their earlier bout, so she was a little surprised at how
wet and open she was. Unusually, there was no pain or discomfort.
Her orgasm happened easily with no bruising pounding required.
It was also disturbingly intense.
Afterwards, they cuddled until the sun went down and his taxi
arrived to take him to the airport. Shortly after he had left, she felt
the familiar shame and despised herself for feeling it. It was harder
to ignore than usual. She despised herself for that too.
In the middle of the week, she received an email from him. As
planned, he was going to fly back to her in a few days time.
He asked her to fetch him at the airport, so that they could go
shopping. He also asked her to get her pubic hair waxed.
75
76
77
78
80
She curled up tight on his lap, and sobbed pitifully while he gently
continued to stroke her increasingly slippery clitoris and labia. As
her orgasm overwhelmed her she noticed that he was crying too.
84
Chapter 5
The pervert
A few years ago, I visited my friend the pervert. I call him a friend,
because he is friendly. I call him a pervert, because that is how
he regarded himself at the time of this story. His name is not
important. I will call him G.
He was indeed an unusual fellow. Not many people get expelled
from nursery school. From that startling beginning his crime
was teaching the other children to masturbate the school dog he
went on to a life of fascination with all things sexual, excretory
and forbidden.
Now, he was approaching middle age and had been married for
around fifteen years to a lovely woman I will call S. He was
wildly flirtatious but nonetheless more monogamous than most.
Nothing much had come of his promising beginnings as a pervert,
it seemed. After catching up on the ten or more years since we had
last seen each other, I asked him about that.
G, you puzzle me. Forgive me for saying so, but I know you to be
more edgy, dare I say perverse, than most people. Not to criticise,
just, I find myself wondering what became of all that?
He laughed a little strained laugh and said: I was never all that
much into doing most of the stuff that I talked about. It was
interesting, even fascinating sometimes, but not very erotic. He
paused, and I noticed a severe tension in him.
Words squeezed out quietly from behind his tense lips. Most of it,
all of it really. Only the one thing. I waited for further comment,
or grammatical clarification.
For me, there is just one thing that I have always wanted, and
never done. Everything else was just a side issue. Only one thing.
G paused, and looked a little embarrassed.
The pause lengthened. Which is , I prompted. Clearly, this was
actually a bit difficult for him. I could not prevent a slight smile.
86
Yes, a few times. Sure. It really is not that big a deal. His mouth
had relaxed now, his jaw hung loose. Really, G, I persisted. Talk
to S about it. You have been married a while. Maybe she would
welcome a little variety.
But she would think
G, she knows.
You think
Yes. It isnt likely that S chose you without noticing your somewhat
extreme interests. I dont even want to ask what kind of porn you
are into these days, now that there is the internet.
Live toilet webcams.
88
89
90
93
96
97
Its not that. Or maybe it was that. I had the most intense, almost
painfully swollen erection of my life. My crash helmet was so
stretched that
TMI, G, I chided gently, it was intense, I gather. Continue.
He grinned, the pervert in him still in evidence, pleased now at
my squeamishness. Well, we did it all exactly like you told me
Pheew! It was something seriously intense.
He paused, looked at me seriously and interrupted himself. You,
he said with full emphasis, are quite a pervert to suggest that
shit.
He resumed his story. When it came time to enter her bum, I was
shaking and sweating. In the hottest lust I have ever felt. Intense,
man. It was really hard to be steady enough to be gentle.
How was S with things? I felt to inquire.
She laughed a lot. She said some of it was really strange, but really
nice. But that is not what I am trying to tell you.
Sorry.
So, all that horniness, all that build-up, and then I did it. And that
is when everything went strange on me.
Like how, strange?
Well, the first thing that happened is that I didnt come straight
away. I was sure I was going to be exploding on entry. I told you I
was really horny and so on the edge
Yes, yes G, you did. So the sensations, the experience itself was a
bit different from what you had imagined?
Yes. Way, way different. I had thought there would be a great
tightness and strong, intense sensation, but it was like fucking
a cloud, or a flower. He paused, frowned for a moment in
concentration. Like, very gentle, very subtle sensations. Nothing
for the crash helmet to, you know crash. Nothing to, you know,
98
fuck! After a while, I even tried fucking her hard. It did nothing
for me, and S said to go easier. Like fucking a cloud, man his
voice trailed off, lost in reverie.
That doesnt sound too terrible. It sounds like you found more or
less the real of it, I commented cheerfully. That earned me a glare
and a meaningful pause.
I have tried to work this out. It was nothing like what I expected,
but now Im not even so sure what it was that I expected. And
now, there seem to be consequences. Nasty consequences.
He paused, looked steadily at me and continued. I think you
knew this would happen. Maybe not exactly but I am sure you
had a pretty good idea. That is why I said it, and I still mean it
man. You fucked up my life!
Ok, G, I hear you, and yes, I was pretty sure that this would rock
your world a bit. You knew that too, I think. It seems to have hit
you a bit harder than I expected.
Do you know how hard? he asked.
No. Not in any detail. In general terms, I suspect you have just
found out more about your life than you really wanted to know.
That sounds about fucking right. Do you know how much of my
life has been based on this anal sex fascination thing?
Really? I was impressed. I am always impressed by people taking
unexpected leaps of awareness. You found some life decisions
that were motivated by this desire you had been resisting?
Yes. Like that. Nasty. Do you know why I got married? Never
mind that. Do you know why I worked at getting good school
marks, attended Mass, cut my hair, owned a dog all of it? So
much of my life arranged just so I would look respectable, so no
one would suspect. I got married to maybe get intimate enough
to one day
99
story for really serious stuff, or, I looked at him, and risked a
smile and half a wink, what they consider really serious. Things
get covered up. You did some uncovering.
Ok, I think I get it. But what happened to my libido, my
hormones?
Well, there is the truth of attraction, lust, love and affection,
and there is the false. The ideas, the stories, the movies and other
forms of illusion we have about what is happening. You have
recently exploded an illusion you had about anal sex. You are
disillusioned.
You can say that again, he moaned.
OK, I will. You are disillusioned.
Funny man.
It was a good time to laugh. Then it was good to be quiet for a
while. Then it was a good time to wait for him to speak.
I think I get it, or some of it. If ever I felt, like, my erection easing
off when I was with S, or if I wasnt really horny but I wanted to
perform strongly, all I ever had to do was just think for a moment:
What if I put it in her bum? I would then immediately be hot,
horny, sweaty
He paused. Shit. What a run-around. He looked at me with an
openness I had not seen in him before and asked, What to do?
Time to preach.
You have dispelled much illusion. You are unfamiliar with the
real. The real is available to you, to be experienced as it actually is,
for maybe the first time is this too heavy for you?
No, he responded, urging me on.
I nodded. So you need to develop your senses a bit, just learning
to pay attention to how things really are. Before you find the rasa,
101
the juice of the real, you will hunger for the juice of the false that
has become unavailable. That is the good news.
I fucking shudder to ask.
I would have settled for just a shiver, I stated, archly. The bad
news is that you may find a few more things that have a similar
quality. You will find that other areas of your erotic patterning are
mini versions of your bum thing. He looked alarmed. I think
this first big one was probably the biggest. A big bomb. What is
left now are a lot of little bombs, a few minefields with those little
British bomblets. It goes easier as you gain awareness.
You mean, like, shit, everything else that turns me on will vanish
too this is very bad news.
No, not everything. Firstly, starting on this at your age, it would
be a serious race, I think. Though, he had recently moved
through, in days, realisations that had taken me years And
there is something that will always remain, that will not vanish.
And that is?
The genuinely natural delights. Real intimacy and love. What love
and closeness are supposed to be, naturally. That can be revealed
in your quest and cannot be destroyed by it. It is what you are. It
lies on the far shore of the ocean of your eroticism.
Stop right there, he said. Now you are getting too heavy.
It takes a long swim in the warm waters of the sins of the flesh
to get there.
Enough!
For today, OK.
102
Chapter 6
Dakinis
God bless Lili St. Cyr.
the door softly, and then, for the first time since he had left the
caf it seemed, he exhaled.
Thoughts returned. Many thoughts. This was probably what
Rahasya meant when he talked about the mixed feelings of the
path. The mix was rich. Feelings ranging from wonder to dread.
Thoughts ranging from the judgemental to the sublime. All at
once.
He shaved. Trimming and filing his fingernails, he remembered
those moments from his conversation that continued to provoke
feelings and their strange mixing.
By the time he climbed into the shower cubicle, he was considering
the dakinis last point on her list. You will probably have intense
and confused feelings as the session time approaches. You should
probably ejaculate once a couple of hours before the session, just
to take the edge off.
Take the edge off indeed, he thought while he washed, like it
would be a turn-on to lend my body, particularly my favourite
part, to a mad woman for her to use as a prop for real live
encounter therapy. His cock, his lingam, he reminded himself,
stirred, semi-erect. He glared at it and said aloud, and you are
no help whatsoever.
Talking to your dick again? His beloved had sneaked into the
bathroom and was watching him. Whats he doing wrong now?
She opened the door, letting water spray out while she stepped in.
She cuddled close into him, shivering as the hot water awakened
her skin, which was still cool from sleep.
Nothing new, he replied, running hot soapy hands over her
buttocks, parting them to the shower jets. She wriggled and sighed
as he continued. Just disagreeing with me. Damn thing really
seems to have a mind of its own sometimes.
Maybe that is why he and I are such good friends, she murmured,
pressing his lingam between their bellies. Who is my man-whore
boyfriend doing this afternoon?
105
106
He dried himself, hung his towel and followed her wet footprints.
She draped her towel over the foot of the bed, turned to him and
hugged him, naked skin still damp. She held him close and turned
their bodies until the bed was behind him.
She felt his erection stir. She pressed her fingertips into his
buttocks and then more firmly into his sacrum. His erection tried
to rise but was trapped, her belly holding it down.
She pushed him back onto the bed, planted her knees at his sides
and mounted him in one fluid movement.
She tensed her vaginal muscles and leaned back, threatening to
break his penis clean off. She came, grinding herself down onto
him. He gasped in surprise at the sudden intensity of his almostorgasm and the pain of his severely stretched ligaments. She
collapsed, panting on his chest.
After a few delicious moments of afterglow for her, and continued
rising interest from him, she pushed herself up, hands on his
shoulders. She wriggled her hips gently, feeling the intensity of his
erection, then relaxed deeply and held still, enjoying the sensation
of him pulsing gently, deep inside her.
I think I just used you, she said, smiling and sliding off him
as easily and smoothly as she had slid on. She sat on his thighs,
and held his abused erection between her palms. I think I liked
it but, for now, tell me what that woman wants you to do this
afternoon.
Using. That seems to be the theme of the day, he gasped, then
remembered the importance of conscious breath, emptied his
lungs deliberately a couple of times before continuing, breathing
between short sentences.
She has a student. The student has issues with the lingam. Deep
issues, apparently. Anger and the rest. Probably a history of abuse.
She gets to borrow my dick to work on those issues.
She stroked his lingam, gently, encouragingly. Like how?
107
I lie down naked. She sits beside me and gets to feel and do what
she feels like doing. I am basically a prop, a dummy, to help her
through her feelings about men and dicks. Hard-core Gestalt
therapy.
He stopped, gasping as she swirled her hands around and up his
lingam in a slippery-intense caress. She laughed, gripped his penis
at the base with one hand, slid her legs back, knelt forward and
looked sternly at it.
She watched it swell and change colour as she gripped tighter.
You have been a very bad cock, havent you? She waggled it side
to side. He blushed, and moaned. You, she snapped, now looking
into his eyes, shut up. I am addressing the lingam.
She turned her eyes back to the object of her feigned displeasure.
Tell the truth now. She waggled it back and forth now, giggling.
With her other hand, she slapped it gently side to side. Bad cock.
(slap) Naughty cock. Very (slap) wicked (slap) lingam.
He had been holding his breath. It burst from him in a part moan,
part wail. She stopped the interrogation routine and relaxed
her grip. She leaned forward and bestowed soft lip caresses,
murmuring, I suppose it is called Cock Loathing Issue Therapy.
CLIT for short.
No. It is called Lingam Worship.
She chuckled.
You may not be all that comfortable right now, under such
pressure, but you do look impressive. Are you supposed to be
impressive? Are you supposed to be rigid and durable?
No. He repeated the dakinis instructions. I should be of neutral
attitude. Whatever the body does, whatever the lingam does, it just
does it. I am not to encourage or discourage the response of my
body. I am to offer to lend her my body, specify that she can touch,
look, whatever she feels she needs to do to go through whatever
she has to go through.
108
109
A few hours later he lay, more or less still on his back, while his
session-student clearly brought her best efforts to bear in a heroic
attempt to stimulate and please him.
He reviewed the guidelines he had given her.
Had he forgotten ?
No. He had clearly told her to drop her usual ways of relating to
the lingam. Yes. He had specifically mentioned that she was not
supposed to engage with the intent to cause and satisfy arousal.
She was supposed to find her deeper, unexamined feelings about
the lingam and express them.
He was a little rattled by her wilful disregard for the exercise
guidelines but remembered the rule amidst those guidelines. No
talking, no sign language or communication from him once the
exercise started until it ended. He resigned himself happily to
allowing her attentions, which were, after all, delicious.
Or, rather, they should have been. Her touch was measured,
skilful and loaded with intent to inflame. It was also proving to be
completely ineffective.
His penis was not responding. He felt for the anticipated build-up
of sexual tension in his body, and found it absent.
Her hands were gentle yet insistent, giving the most delightful of
caresses, stroking all the right places. He should be blowing steam
out of his ears by now, but it was just not happening. Tension was
rising but not the good kind.
He forced himself to relax and feel her touch, allowing his bodys
uncensored response as directed.
Horrified, he realised that his body was cringing from her touch.
His scrotum had tightened, not in anticipation of ejaculation but
in withdrawal, as if his balls had been plunged into cold water. His
penis felt like it was actually shrinking from her ministrations.
110
111
Dry satin panties slid around his thigh, just above his knee and
ground down on it. Her naked belly pressed into his crotch. She
wiggled her tummy to no effect and then curved her back and
stroked from his belly to his nipples with her nipples. His penis
remained perfectly flaccid.
He felt embarrassed for her and ashamed of himself. Perhaps he
was not, after all his training, yet daka material. To not respond
to this completely gorgeous woman, doing these most totally
gorgeous
He froze, startled as she licked his penis. As his astonishment and
shock subsided, he wondered if this was covered by the guidelines.
Nothing had specifically been said about sex as such. The only
guideline actually a rule said that neither of them should slip
into their automatic or learned sexual behaviours. This exercise
was about exploring the depths of emotion. It was not supposed
to be about gratification.
Silently, he cursed himself for not thinking this through. Then
he cursed the dakini for not warning him of this possibility, and
giving him some suggestion of how to cope with it. Admittedly, he
had not asked, but this scenario had not occurred to him.
An argument exploded in his mind. He should have been warned!
There had to be procedures. Who had designed this stupid exercise
anyway? Probably Rahasya. An ancient traditional temple practice
which the tricky bastard had no doubt invented just last year.
Maybe this was a kind of practical joke a rookie ride and if
so, what to do? A crowd of dark and suspicious thoughts shuffled
through his mind. A few of them liked the place, and applied for
permanent residence.
Slippery sensations intruded on his thinking processes. She was
holding his penis in the palms of her hands, massaging it with
her saliva. It felt like it should feel wonderful. It should have had
his ejaculation out of him within a minute against any defence. It
completely failed to evoke even a hint of arousal. The sharp, edgy
112
113
She let go and for a long while, she did not touch him. He noticed
his breathing and hers calming and deepening.
She touched him then. Tentatively, curiously. Feather light soft
caresses with her fingertips, one hand lovingly, gently, cupping his
balls. She pressed the lingam to her breasts, then her cheek. She
kissed it and pressed her lips to its softest parts.
She curled up around the lingam, hands pressing it to her throat
under her chin. Her breathing was deep and even. They lay like
that until a soft gong sounded the end of the Hour of Silence CD.
115
dakinis. Saraha and all the great tantrikas, gurus and teachers of
every age were taught and raised to their greatness by dakinis.
Traditionally and historically, dakinis were available to only the
most intelligent, persistent and courageous of seekers. Dakinis
had to be tracked down by following rumours.
When a seeker did find one, he could expect to be greeted with
curses and well-aimed rocks. If he could convince her of his
sincerity and offer what she found to be appropriate gifts, he
might get to hear the non-negotiable terms of her unconditional
loving.
Many dakinis were not even that accessible. They worked like
stage hands, facilitating the learning of the Masters of the day
from behind the scenes of public life.
They were the sisters, wives, mothers, lovers, grandmothers and
consorts of gurus and rishees. They influenced and supported
promising teachers with little or no regard for the patriarchal
divisions of religions, cults and sects.
They managed lineage-successions by training, empowering
and declaring the enlightenment of their male students, as did
their spiritual sisters, the Hetaeras of Greece and the Kingmakers
of Egypt. They supervised theological development by hiding
scriptures in memory and oral transmission for generations, only
revealing them to the male spiritual leaders in the right timing.
They managed the spread of spiritual practice, encouraging and
even ordering the dakas, gurus and masters they created to take
their teachings to distant lands.
They were believed to be the most lovingly supportive gateway to
spiritual evolution. They were also believed to be difficult to find,
impossible to evaluate, fierce, uncompromising and dangerous,
even deadly.
Plus a change, plus cest la mme chose.
There are some differences in the way they do things these days.
Most noticeably they do not live hidden in caves anymore, their
117
118
119
A cup of tea
After the student had left, the dakini offered the daka a cup of
tea. While she prepared it, his mind reviewed the last hour. More
mixed feelings. Embarrassment and elation. Shame and sensuality.
Guilt and heat.
He looked up from his reverie. The dakini was standing in front of
him, offering him a cup. As he took it she said, Special tea, and,
smiling, Virgin tea.
Thank you. There was one small leaf in his cup and just a hint
of colour. He sipped and was surprised, first at the sweetness and
then at the subtle but exquisite flavour.
Very special, he noted, delicious. He sipped again and tried
to analyse the sweetness. Not honey, not sugar, not fructose or
glucose either dextrose?
No sugar or sweetening, she said. Just the flavour of that single
leaf in your cup. Nothing else at all.
He sipped again. Well, this is exquisite. What is it called, and how
come I dont recognise it?
Virgin tea, she repeated patiently. Very unlikely indeed that
you would have come across it, even if you were a professional
tea taster.
Very new? Richard Branson
Oh no! Too special for him by far, though he probably could
afford it. It is very specially cultivated at an extremely high altitude
and hand-picked at perfect ripeness by young girls, traditionally
virgins.
He sipped again, thoughtfully. Very special tea. I am honoured.
Glad you worked that out. The dakini smiled at him warmly
over her cup. Congratulations on your first session.
120
Thank you.
They enjoyed the tea for a while in silence before he said I was
worried everything I thought it would be, what I had planned
She laughed. He sat upright, nearly spilling his tea. She laughed
more and he became infected by it and joined her. He felt the
tensions in his body and mind releasing into the laughter.
He felt the whole session as a single complete moment, a gestalt,
rich with existential humour. He felt the poignancy of that
moment and the deep sadness in it too. Tears came and his
laughter changed to a deep sobbing.
The dakini had moved close to him and relieved him of his cup
without him noticing. She knelt in front of him now and pressed
her hand, edge on like a weapon, hard into the centre of his chest.
Her voice, not loud but absolutely insistent, said: All of it. Take in
all of this feeling. Right now.
He was overwhelmed by the intensity and scale of his sensation.
Somehow he managed to stay open to the experience, not shying
away into numbness or dislocation. He felt all the despair, suffering
and hopelessness he had touched in himself and somehow allowed
himself to feel the whole of it, unreservedly.
Her hand kept pressing inward, driving his breath out, and driving
him deeper into his experience. When his lungs were completely
emptied, she said, You have found the extent of it. Now hold your
experience for a moment.
The scale of things seemed to change. He was no longer
overwhelmed. These feelings were within his capacity. He held
them.
She eased the pressure on his chest and said, Breathe all of it in
now. Into your heart. She released the pressure on his sternum.
He recognised the technique now but had never before experienced
it used so directly and with such substantial feelings. He
121
122
He looked at the dakini over his cup. She was watching him,
Gioconda smile in place.
He drained the last of his tea and replaced the cup. She interrupted
his attempt to delay, indicating by her question that a new topic
was now under discussion.
How is your relationship doing under the burden of nonmonogamy?
Very well, today at least. So far. His reply met the enigmatic smile
again. She waited. He continued.
Well we have an agreement that I am available for sessions
work. He gulped. Like this. He paused. The dakini raised an
eyebrow in unmistakable inquiry. He continued, a little nervously.
The sessions are confidential of course. She doesnt want to know
the whos and whats just if I have sex in a session.
Sex? The dakini looked at him sternly. That session you just did
was not pure sex by any reasonable standard?
No. Not by her reasonableness. She uses the Bill Clinton
definition.
You mean genital penetrative sex?
To ejaculation, he confirmed.
It sounds as if your agreement with her could prevent totality in
your work. Does your agreement to tell her about it reduce your
willingness?
He considered this. I might be a little worried if that had to
happen in a session, but not unwilling.
She studied him in silence. Her gaze penetrated to his core. He
exercised his self-control and hoped he appeared calmer than
he felt. She relaxed, shrugged, smiled and took a few steps to her
laptop. It opened on a calendar.
After a few taps on the track-pad, she turned to him.
123
Time now for you to go. I have to get ready for my next session.
He stood and she hugged him. Today, you are a daka in fact, as
well as title.
As he finished gathering his things, she opened the door, holding
it firm against the wind which heralded another of the Capes
famous storms.
One more thing, she said as he came to the door, car keys in
hand, according to your Google calendar, you are clear next
Tuesday afternoon.
Another session?
Yes.
What?
Do you really want to know?
Sure. It can only help.
She put her hand on his shoulder as if to steady him before
replying. Penetration to ejaculation, of course. With me, most
likely.
124
Chapter 7
The shaman
Through the heavy pebble lenses which rested on his fat cheeks,
the old man watched the door, a hole really, which raggedly framed
a bright afternoon sky.
The silhouette of a womans formal headgear appeared at
the bottom of the hole and grew as its wearer approached.
Occasionally, he glimpsed a second head behind her, and focussed
on it intently.
Soon, the hut interior dimmed as his youngest but most senior
wife knelt at the entrance and announced herself and the visitor.
This took a while because the visitors name had to be given with
full titles and an extensive account of his lineage.
The greetings and formalities went smoothly, drinks and snacks
were served, and soon he was alone with the young man.
Tradition says we should use my language in this place, but I
think English may be easier for you?
Thank you, Baba. The young man was obviously relieved.
Most of my schooling and studies were in English, and I am
not that good anymore with my own language. With yours, I am
embarrassed to say, I struggle.
Good. English then. What have you studied?
History, mainly European of course. A few languages,
international law and anthropology. I was schooled in England,
then I studied at universities in Germany and Sweden.
Your parents were in exile?
Yes. We left here when I was nine years old. We returned when I
was nearly thirty.
And now you have a position in government. Your father is very
proud.
126
Well, my father died too soon after our return to see it happen
but my mother still brags about me at her tea parties.
The old man looked stern and his voice boomed in the small hut.
Your father is proud of you, young man and he most certainly
did see it happen.
I am sorry. I did not mean
The old man sighed. Sorry. I just wanted to assure you. I have
been very busy with the ancestors lately and it is your father that
persuaded me that you were the right one.
But how can that The youngster hesitated. He had studied
shamanistic attitudes to elders and ancestors extensively, but
encountering someone who spoke of these things literally instead
of academically was a bit strange.
You mean how can I talk in the spirit realm with an ancestor who
is not of my tribe? The old man looked amused and no trace of
his previous seriousness was discernable on his chubby features.
err, yes. And to himself the young man thought: Never mind
how you shamans claim to speak with the dead in the first place.
Our tribes have not always been separate, you know. Thirteen
generations ago, they were one. We have elders in common, and
anyway, the elders do not necessarily respect the tribal divisions as
much as we usually do.
The young man decided that it was probably safest to suspend
disbelief and play along. So the connection is that you have
ancestors in common with my father and with me?
Well, yes. You and I do at The old mans eyes rolled halfway
back into his head for a few seconds. Nineteen no. Twenty-one
generations back from you and seventeen back from me.
He grinned broadly, waved a hand dismissively and continued.
But I dont have to go by that long route. The connection is that I
have an ancestor who knows your father. Much more direct.
127
128
The old man studied the younger one carefully. It was, of course,
no accident that their conversation had led so quickly to this
suggestion, but he had some doubts.
Could the young man, untrained as he was, take the vision more
seriously than a dream? Could he bring back anything worthwhile
from such a journey?
Would you like to accompany me on such a journey? he asked
eventually, knowing the answer.
It would be a great privilege. the young man answered seriously,
his composure almost fully restored.
Still irked by his doubts but showing no sign of it, the old man
clapped his hands loudly twice.
His senior wife appeared shortly. It is as you thought, the old
man told her.
I have arranged everything, Baba. She kept her head low, politely
avoiding eye contact, but the young man noticed her throw a
quick glance in his direction, and a hint of a smile.
The old man grinned at the young man, conveying confidence he
did not feel. It seems the women are one step ahead of us, as is
usually the case.
Turning to the wife who looked more like a granddaughter, he
raised an eyebrow beyond the heavy lens. Everything?
She smiled and gestured towards the doorway. Two other wives of
the old man came in and removed the low table. They returned,
unrolled a mattress of animal skins next to the old mans couch
and sat at either end of it, silent and expectant.
In their tribal dialect, he asked the women to continue the ritual.
The wife who was nearest to the door clapped her hands once and
a light but insistent drumming started up outside the hut.
The shamans granddaughter-wife, in bare-breasted tribal regalia
stood before the young man and held out her hand with an
129
131
With a loud crack that made his heart start pounding again, the
basket ripped almost all the way around its middle and his bow
sprang free. It felt good and comforting in his hand even though
his arrows had proved too brittle to coil into the basket and too
long to conceal anywhere else.
Shouldering his bag and slinging the bow onto the bag, he ran
at an easy pace along the tree line. He stopped a few times to rub
his hands in his armpits or crotch, then wiped his scent on low
bushes, tree trunks, rocks and his feet.
After laying a few hundred metres of scent trail, he doubled back
and returned to the rock, re-crossing his path often, and careful
not to leave directional footprints when he did so.
Back at the rock, he took two fresh jackal skins from his bag and
tied them over his bare feet. He walked away from the path and
then parallel to it as he set himself a sustainable pace, running
deeper into the forest.
After a few hours he came to the hide he used in the rare times
when game became scarce. It overlooked a grassy river bank where
a variety of meat animals came to drink each evening.
He dined on nuts and dried meat shavings while he considered
his next step. This hide was the furthest he had ever been from his
birthplace. Tomorrow, he would go well, further into the forest.
He realised that he had no idea how big the forest was, or what, if
anything, lay beyond it.
He had no idea where the wild men were to be found. He fell
asleep wondering if he would survive meeting them if they could
be found.
That night, he dreamt his memory of the only wild man he had
ever seen.
The creatures deeply wrinkled face had been almost covered in
matted hair. It had glared at him fiercely from eyes that had the
same intent and clarity as those of a wolf. It had growled and
133
135
She touched her left breast absent-mindedly. So that is how you got
that scar, he thought.
She continued, her voice soft in fond reverie. He was so resistant
that I could not get him to squirt, she sighed.
I enjoyed him for hours, but eventually it was enough and I
was getting sore. I told the trainer to poke him in the arse with
a discipline dildo. His ejaculation was so copious that I quite
overflowed. I knew immediately that I had conceived.
So that is why you brought me here? he had asked, wincing at
the thought of what his conception had looked like. To see what
I would have been, if I had been born wild?
No. She had looked at him sternly. I brought you here to see
what you truly are.
He awoke from the dream sweating and shook his head to clear
the troubling vision of the wild mans hairy face from his eyes.
He stumbled down from the hide to the river, splashed himself,
then drank deeply from it and finally, he urinated into it.
Life flowed through him. He stood proud and felt the sun warming
his face. For the first time since his escape, he felt the elation of
freedom. Throwing his arms above his head, he shouted, I am a
wild man!
Come and have breakfast then, wild man, his Mothers voice
shouted back. She and another woman sat in the shade, slightly
further up the game trail. Their horses grazed calmly behind
them.
He looked around in panic, trying to work out where the dogs and
his once fellow hunters were.
If you still have clothes or skins, wild man, you may want to get
dressed, shouted his Mother. It is cool here in the shade.
136
I would not have expected any male to go feral over the minor
discomfort of castration. I would never have predicted that he
could make his scent trail vanish. I would certainly never have
been able to find him once he had vanished.
He is bred three fourths wild and knows more about the ways of
animals than the ways of people. He has never been disciplined
with anything more severe than a whip and has not been castrated
or imprinted. He is what we need. An almost wild man.
Wooh. The young woman regarded her with wide eyes.
Amazing. How did you get away with all that?
His Mother shrugged. Some of it was easy. I lied about his
breeding, and my Mother had already lied about mine.
She, your Mother, Eva of the Valley Households our plan
started with her?
Oops, there goes her pristine reputation. No. The plan was
started long before her time. It may even be as old as the First
Household.
The young woman raised an eyebrow. You are full of surprises.
His Mother took his empty bowl and handed him a slab of
smoke-cured ham while she addressed the youngster. Avoiding
his imprinting was a bit tricky. I wrapped his penis with a thin
strip of copper. This made it turn a very unappetising shade of
green. The imprinter decided to give it a season to clear up.
And then she forgot all about it?
After drinking a very specially spiced tea, yes.
Impressive indeed. How did you avoid his castration?
I sulked, argued, bullied and bribed for as long as I could.
So when the order came from our favourite Matriarch, you told
him to run here?
138
No. He worked that out for himself. He chose to save his own
balls.
His adrenaline shock had eased as his stomach had filled. He
tried to remember what they had said while he was satisfying his
hunger.
You gobbled that up like a hungry dog, his Mother observed.
Are you sure you want freedom from the good food and warmth
of my household?
I was trying to escape so that I could make my own choices.
Maybe even my own household.
And you see taking to the wild unarmed and unequipped and,
by the way, heading in the worst possible direction, as a workable
start on that objective?
It was a start, he muttered, sullen, hating them for toying with
him.
She smiled. It was. She looked at him, very seriously and said, It
was the proof I was looking for.
The proof of what? He scanned their faces for signs of guile. His
Mother, of course, was inscrutable, but the young woman looked
open, curious and interested in his response.
The proof that you, of your own free will, reject the rule and
power of women. The proof that you are not just a male but are,
in fact, a man. A patriarch.
He looked at Mother, his eyes wide in fright at her use of the
taboo word. Was that what he had done? He frantically tried not
to remember the kinds of things they did to males after they used
words like that. He closed his eyes tight, expecting to feel the whip
across his face, nipples or genitals.
Time passed, and the women said nothing. He opened his eyes.
They were obviously going to do their terrifying worst. They may
as well start by cutting my tongue out, he thought.
139
140
141
No, they will be your breeders. You will decide if and when to
impregnate them. They will be your women.
His brain hurt. All his assumptions about the world seemed to
be suddenly wrong. It seemed that either he must be mad, or his
Mother was. He looked at her companion. No help there. She had
reddened further, and was panting, mouth hanging open.
Why? he managed.
Because we women will one day need stronger, more capable
men than we can produce with our present methods.
He looked at her in confusion. What do you mean?
One day, the world will be full. All available land will be covered
by households. There are lessons that women must learn and
abilities that males men must gain if our form of life is to
prosper. I want you to give women those lessons and I want you
to drive men to develop those abilities.
What are these abilities that men must develop?
They have to show what they can do under their own guidance. I
cant say what they will learn or what they will do with the world
with any certainty. All that I know is that their abilities will have
to rival the powers of the Earth Mother Herself by the time the
world is filled.
What is it that women have to learn?
That men have a far greater purpose than the mere provision of
comfort and pleasure.
And how are we to learn these things?
Men will take on the responsibilities that women currently
manage. They will, with their one-line way of thinking, make,
from the female perspective, a horrible mess of things. In the
course of making this mess, they will show the true scale of their
abilities.
142
Yes. It will happen one day that women will be so tame and men
will be so comfortable with power that the natural superiority of
the feminine will rarely be seen. Until then, however, measures
must be taken to establish and maintain the reversal of power.
These measures are your conditions?
Yes. She looked at him seriously. With some minor surgery, the
natural power relations of our sexuality can be reversed.
Surgery?
Yes. You have no idea how the notion offends my personal
aesthetic, but with some minor adjustments, the power of a
woman can be reduced and a male can be rendered almost
completely insensitive to it.
He looked at her in firm disbelief. Nonsense. When a woman
enfolds a man, even an unimprinted man, he becomes
overwhelmed and automatically follows her lead.
Not if he is circumcised.
Cut, like breeders?
Yes. With breeders, it is done so that ejaculation happens as soon
after penetration as possible. They ejaculate reliably when a yoni
squeezes them to take it, or contracts to resist entry. It usually
takes no more than ten thrusts to get their squirt.
He had heard of the practice, but not its purpose. She paused,
noticed his grim expression, shrugged and continued.
Not you that would be just a little too cruel to the women
who must accompany you, but your sons and all succeeding
generations of men must be circumcised, and must do another
thing that makes the procedure far more effective.
Another thing?
They must be taken to a river bank at puberty, and taught to
masturbate by fucking holes in soft clay.
144
Also a cutting?
Yes. She smiled. I only insisted on this from the next generation
on, but all of your women already volunteered to be cut, to
better honour you.
His head spun. The word honour usually referred to a mans
erection, the absence of which was generally regarded as
disrespectful.
He looked at his Mothers companion again. A sheen of sweat
glossed her forehead, and a stray lock of hair had become stuck,
curling cutely on her cheekbone.
My final condition is that, as a woman is owned, so are her
children. Your women and your children will bear your name,
and if you wish it, your brand. This is why I havent introduced
you to my she studied the young woman for a moment,
lust-sodden companion. She doesnt have a name. Perhaps you
should give her one.
He looked at the young woman. She looked at him as men did
at women. Hungry for attention and fearful of it. Is that so? he
asked her.
My name was taken from me. I would now be a toy for the
Western Mother of Households pet baboons if Aeva had not
saved me for the plan.
Why?
I killed my Mother.
It happens. He shrugged.
It was the way I killed her, and why.
He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
I bound her hand and foot and invited the males of the household
to take revenge for her treatment of them.
146
He whistled. That would piss the bitches off. And get all the males
of your household killed in painful ways, of course.
Yes. A tear fell from her eye, but she kept her composure. It was
done quickly, at least. The Western Mother was very concerned
that news should not spread. There was no public display of the
bodies either.
That makes sense. And why did you do it?
Our cook was close to me. He used to comfort me after Mother
beat me. When she realised that I was fond of him, she would
humiliate and torture him when I misbehaved.
She sniffled, and only her nose was red now. She glared fiercely
and settled her breathing before she continued.
One day she threatened to trade him to the mines. I told her
that I no longer cared what she did with him, she sobbed, then
gathered herself, and continued bitterly, fiercely. She burned his
eyes, cut out his tongue and served his liver at her next banquet,
my banquet, celebrating my first blood-of-life. She produced a
small cloth and dabbed her eyes with it.
All your women have such histories, his Mother interrupted. It
is because of either their anger at their fellow women, or their
guilt at being one that they have agreed to help with the plan.
He looked at his Mother. You said I should give her a name?
Yes, but you will need one yourself first. Hunter to the Mother of
Households does not sound right for the First Patriarch.
What would? he asked, rhetorically, finding the notion
exceedingly strange and the taboo word disturbing.
I suggest Adamos. The oldest word we have for man. It seems
appropriate for the first masculine ruler of men.
He felt light-headed in the wake of headache and confusion. Fine
with me. He grinned and tried it out.
147
The red colour returned to her face. It was really just a trimming.
It healed weeks ago.
And you consider yourself mine now?
Her eyes flicked up to his, and then to his crotch, which was still
semi-tumescent under the thin fabric. Yes. Yours. Her blush
deepened. I will try to be obedient.
He laughed. After a lifetime of ordering men to satisfy your every
whim that might not be easy for you.
She grimaced briefly. I know. I will need your help and so will
your other women. We expect and we will willingly receive
whatever treatment you feel will help us become obedient.
Why?
As your Mother mentioned, we all have as much reason to hate
the bitches as any man does. More than that, we reject our own
feminine chaos, distraction and impulsiveness, and want to atone,
as far as we can, for the excesses of our sisters.
He considered this for a moment. So, things are truly reversed?
Yes. Her forehead was wet with sweat again. Her lower lip
trembled. He studied her for any sign of deception and found
none.
He stood up, and walked to a spot just behind her. Stand up, he
commanded, his voice edged with threat.
She stood. He noticed that her legs shook slightly. When I first
sat down, he reminded her, you called me an it not very
respectful.
Her legs shivered harder and she hung her head. Yes. I did. I am
sorry, Adamos, but your Mother
Was treating me in the familiar way women treat men, he
completed the sentence for her.
149
Yes.
He wondered what he should do now. He had never, of his own
accord, given orders. The nearest thing he had experienced was
relaying orders on behalf of a woman.
What would a woman do, in my position? he asked, thinking
aloud.
The shivering of her legs increased. We have complex motivations,
but in general a woman tends to follow the inclination of her
clitoris.
True enough, he thought, then asked, And what does your clitoris
suggest?
My clitoris no longer makes suggestions.
Why not?
Her legs were hardly shivering now. She was holding them rigid.
Her voice trembled as she answered. When I had my yoni made
neater for you the cutting.
Your clitoris!
Her legs were trembling again. Yes. I confess that I missed it more
than I thought I would, but after a lot of practice with dildos, all
of us managed to relocate the source of our heat.
He considered this strange news for a while before asking for
clarification. To your yonis?
Yes. The centre of life. Except for two of us.
But those two still managed, as you put it, to relocate their
heat?
Yes.
To where?
The anus, both of them. The centre of vulnerability.
150
Sore? he asked.
No, she replied through clenched teeth.
He looked up at her face. She was biting her lower lip, and tears
coursed down her cheeks.
He felt the truth of her vulnerability and a warm fondness, which
seemed to add to the insistent pressure of his own arousal.
This is harder than you thought? he asked.
A lot, she sobbed.
Do you want to change your mind, maybe imprint me so that I
cant find release without your permission?
No. I am yours.
And what if I do not want to give you what your wet hole desires?
he teased.
I am yours. Treat me as you wish, she sobbed. Please.
He stood up and looked into her eyes. Please what?
Please fuck me! She looked at him with no trace of defiance or
guile. Please use me for your release. She looked at his erection,
and her lips pouted open.
His penis pulsed insistently, but he was far more used to sexual
stress than she was. Realising his power, he smiled and decided to
tease her a little more.
Something was said about atonement. He moved closer to her
and slid his forefinger into her yoni. Her muscles contracted on it
and chewed at it. Atonement for what?
For what we have done to men. She moaned as he curled his
fingertip over her interior ridges.
Personally, or what women have done to men generally?
152
154
I could not satisfy myself anyway, she said quietly. Not without
a dildo, and those are only to be used after asking your permission
in any case.
He considered this for a moment.
You really are more or less in the position of an imprinted male
then, he said, moving behind her.
She looked at him over her shoulder. Yes.
Except that I dont know the commands that block or cause your
orgasm.
There are none, she said quietly.
He squatted behind her and pushed her forward on to all fours.
Only a lingam or a dildo?
With great difficulty and short nails I can almost manage with
my fingers.
Almost?
Right to the edge, but not enough for satisfaction.
But with a dildo, you can gain release?
A dildo is workable, but it is hard and difficult to move it right. A
lingam is definitely best.
And is it the same as orgasm was before you were made neater
and plucked your hair?
No. It is deeper than what I felt from my clit. More satisfying in
one way, but much less reliable and the hunger for more of it
returns sooner.
Less reliable?
Even if the fucking is hard and long, it takes concentration. She
arched her back, parting her buttocks slightly.
155
157
Inferior men
Aristotle, it is said, regarded love between men as superior to love
between man and woman, his reason being that woman is an
inferior form of man.
Within the patriarchal structures that we inherit from ancient
Greece, this is more or less true.
Patriarchy is a reaction to matriarchy. It has been a time of (over-)
correction and learning for humanity. At its dawn, of which few
legends remain, the suppression of feminine power was extreme.
Social and legal attitudes were rigid.
Now, long comfortable in its power, patriarchy has discarded all
but the most essential brutalities of its management style.
In much of the world, people of previously frowned-upon gender,
sexual orientation, race, cultural background and so on are now
free to participate in the patriarchal structures, and enjoy some
patriarchal political rights.
When feminists rebelled against the ownership system of
marriage, they did not abolish ownership of women by men. They
legitimised ownership by making it more mutual, more equal.
They gained the right to participate as equivalents of men in the
political system.
Within patriarchy, the true feminine is almost invisible. The
general situation is that everyone has, or is struggling to acquire,
the rights of a male citizen of the culture.
Women in this system are a form of man. Many of them are such
powerful, refined and well-developed forms of men that they
hold power, prestige and fame within the culture. Some disprove
Aristotles assertion of their inferiority by being such outstanding
forms of men.
158
Paris Hilton has shown the world that a woman can be every bit
as much the rake as any man; Heidi Fleiss, that a woman can be a
better pimp; and Angelina Jolie is a better action hero than Tom
Cruise and his Hollywood peers.
Margaret Thatcher, a.k.a. Attila The Hen, and more recently the
aggressive American female politicians have matched men in
gaining and wielding political power.
Within patriarchy, we are all men. This has consequences for
the relationships between men and women. Relationships in a
patriarchal culture happen in patriarchal ways and are contained
by patriarchal archetypes.
Within patriarchy the most common archetype of relationship is
apprenticeship. Between males, the sexual relationship is, in the
main, pederasty. Whatever the genders involved, one is senior and
dominant, the other is junior and submissive.
Look at almost any couple. They can be a straight couple, gay men
or lesbians, it makes no difference. One is senior and one is junior
and that defines their relationship.
They may have a reversal of that power dynamic in some areas,
but the archetypal pattern will rule one will still be the senior
and one the junior. Master and apprentice.
The structure of patriarchal relationship does not require the male
partner in a straight relationship to be the senior. It just requires
that one follows and the other leads, in linear, masculine style.
A major point of stress in any relationship comes when the junior
partner matches the senior one, when the apprentice matches the
skill of the master. When the juniors skill grows to exceed that of
the senior, the relationship seldom survives, and never without an
extensive re-negotiation of its terms.
A relationship that lasts is usually one in which the apprentice
never attains the capabilities of the master. It is perhaps a positive
sign that so few relationships last long these days.
159
161
162
164
165
166
Modern times
The shamans wife woke him the next afternoon and offered him
a lift to the airport. It took him a little while to recognise her, clad
as she was now in black jeans and a jacket that looked as if it was
made of liquid silver.
If it is possible, I would rather come with you to change my ticket.
I would like to spend a few more days here, if that is possible.
It is not. Baba is unwell.
I am sorry to hear it. Is he unwell because of
Your spirit journey? she interrupted. A bit, yes. He has been
unwell for the last ten years. He hides it well, but now he needs
some serious rest.
Will I see him before we leave?
No, but he has asked me to tell you a few things on our drive.
Well that sounds pretty settled thank you.
She grinned. You are welcome. She waved her car keys. We had
better get going. It takes over two hours to reach the airport if one
respects the speed limits. I will be back for you in half an hour.
She sparkled out of the hut.
An hour later, they were blasting along the coast road, a great
ocean on their left and, it seemed, all of the thousand lush green
hills of the tribal lands on their right.
Their conversation turned to their upbringing. She had also had
some years of exile, but on return had responded to the traditional
calling and immersed herself deeply in traditional ways for several
years.
167
She did not tell the story of her traditional marriage to the wisdom
holder of an entire continent, except to say that it was the only way
for her to be in a position to gather and preserve that wisdom.
They exchanged email addresses, and made tentative arrangements
for her to present a paper at a conference he was planning.
Seeing you now, he said, it is hard to find a trace of the
traditional healer. No grass skirt, no bones
He paused for a while, absorbed in memory, then asked, It was
you that held me?
She smiled at him, in a completely western and familiar way,
making no attempt to avoid his eyes. Yes.
Thank you.
Her smile became positively impish. What do you remember?
I am still sorting it out, I think. He frowned. Some things
are a bit mixed up. I remember him talking, and you but in the
dreamlike space, I seem to remember him and you.
I am glad you remember at least something. Baba said that you
might be too westernised and you might let it fade like a dream.
No That is not what is happening. More, in a way, the opposite.
The more I remember, the more I examine my memories, the
more real everything seems to have been.
In what way more real?
Well, it seems like a dream memory until I focus on something.
The memory gets clearer then, and it seems to be kind of
personal. Almost as if it was my memory, from my life. As if I was
His voice faded and he turned to her.
She was gripping the wheel a little more firmly than necessary.
Her gaze was fixed on the road ahead. Without turning to him, she
asked, her voice tightly stressed. As if you were who?
168
169
Not all of it, you know, she said, her voice only slightly tight.
Just a few key moments, to assist the vision. She returned
her attention to the road.
The interior of the powerful air-conditioned vehicle was quiet
enough that she could hear him draw breath a minute or so later.
His breathing took a while to settle.
He looked at her. She glanced at him in that moment. The
friendliness in her eyes was more unsettling than what he had
expected to see, but he still managed to speak. I think I may owe
you a very big apology.
Baba said he hoped you would be able to recall the vision with
at least some accuracy. He hoped that a little more time with me
would evoke some deja vu to save it from fading like a dream.
She was quiet for a little while before adding, Baba will be
impressed, and very pleased that your recall is so good. It was a
scary but wonderful experience for me and I volunteered freely.
You do not owe me any apology.
Well, my thanks then. I feel indebted.
She smiled. Baba will like that. He wants you to record and preserve
that history as best you can. He would also like the awareness you
now carry to be of influence in shaping this country. He hopes
you will be able to share it with those who are in a position to
make a difference.
I I will try, but I have no idea how, as yet.
Pointing to the dashboard clock, she said, That is why we still
have some time together.
170
Chapter 8
Tantric sex
Reality is here.
Old school
The yogi walked into the river until the water reached his waist.
He leaned forward, cupped water in his hands and splashed his
face.
Looking up, he noticed the sky outlining the far bank of the
river. Always brightest just before the dawn, he muttered, then
smiled.
He washed thoroughly then stood naked on the river bank
watching the sun rise while a warm morning breeze dried him.
The river bank was getting busy while he fetched his robe and
sandals from the rock he had left them on and dressed. He touched
his palm to his head. It did not need a shave.
Looking around, he noticed a fruit seller amidst the washing and
worshipping. He strolled over to the fellow and exchanged a small
coin for two bananas, an avocado and a juice coconut.
Big day? the fellow asked, commenting on the extravagant
breakfast.
Yes. The yogi grinned and almost shared a hint of his secret
before remembering that it was a secret.
The fruit seller looked at him quizzically. The yogis smile
broadened as he thanked the man, but he declined the invitation
to share any more of his news.
After a half hours walk, he came to his accustomed breakfast spot,
a clearing next to the cart tracks, with a view of the temple.
As he ate his breakfast the sun cleared the hill behind him and lit
the temples eastern wall, revealing the intricate carvings of Gods,
Goddesses, people, imps, demons and animals arranged in almost
every combination of erotic possibility.
172
Even at this distance he could make them out, not that he needed
to. After a year as an initiate, meditating on them daily, he knew
their every line, every curve, every suggestion of breath, bated or
flowing, every hint of ecstasy and every nuance of intent.
He marvelled for the first time not at the carvings themselves, but
at the mastery of the hands that had cut these images with such
artistic sensitivity.
Initiates, yogis as he once had been, started arriving. Their dyed
robes and shaved heads contrasted sharply with the white robes
and mostly long hair of the dakas and dakinis that they approached
at the entrance to be given their work or meditation assignments
for the day.
He remembered his fear when he had first encountered the whiterobed ones. They had seemed so forbidding in their strangeness.
Their robes white in conscious imitation of a death-shroud
had been part of it, but their attitude, conveyed in the confidence
of their movement, the wildness of their hair and the directness of
their gaze had been very unsettling.
At first, their directives had seemed imperious and arbitrary. Over
time though, their instructions had seemed, more and more, to
make a strange kind of sense. He had gradually come to willingly
accept their guidance.
Yesterday he had been invited, in a traditional secretive whisper, to
enter their temple and become one of them.
As he approached the temple, he remembered his whispered
instructions: Find a moment when no Initiates can see you, then
push open the temple door and enter.
It turned out that this was harder than he expected. Even though
he had arrived deliberately late, stragglers kept arriving. He took
as long as possible over his ritual washing, and then found a brush,
with which he pretended to sweep the immaculately clean slab of
marble in front of the door.
173
174
176
Dont dream it be it
Touch work lovingly confronts and removes reflexive barriers to
awareness to the wonders and challenges of actual feeling and
sensation.
Erotic work drills down through the minds versions of power,
love, bliss and surrender to reveal the truth of these things.
Tantric sexual meditation is a deep immersion in the dharma (the
truth) of the highest natural form of sex. The intense energies
involved also make the participants into attractors, lightning rods,
for earth, spirit and divine energies.
In this book, I try most of all to encourage a good attitude and
approach to the middle area of Tantra the erotic. I find it to
be largely misunderstood, ignored or unknown in the current
literature and it is what most tantrikas of any sincerity will be
busy with, for most of their path.
Mostly though, I give it emphasis because it is the area that many
tantrikas like to ignore or gloss over. The strong egos that are
essential to Tantra are very prone to taking on a practice because
it is advanced or impressive, hence they are often in too much of
a hurry for high sex, tantric sex, mahamudra, sacred union and
so on.
Only when the process of erotic disillusionment is complete, or
very well advanced, can sex be experienced as what it actually is,
sans dream.
Eroticism is a kind of dream. What is mentally associated with
what is happening seems more real than what is actually being
experienced.
Sex beyond the erotic, sex as it is, natural and free of any repression,
is only attainable once one leaves the dream and becomes that
which is happening.
177
178
179
Inner temple
The dakini backed out of the door to the womans preparation
room as the door the yogi had gone through clanked shut. She
took a small stone from the sleeve pocket of her robe and wedged
her door slightly open with it.
A few minutes later, she was in her personal chamber. She grabbed
a fresh robe from the rail behind the door, threw it over her
shoulder and hurried to the kitchen.
She entered the kitchen through a trick back door and wandered
through as if supervising the place, eating opportunistically as she
went. A handful of berries, a chunk of creamy buffalo milk cheese
and a steamy cake of nuts and grain
As she dipped a bowl she had found into a pot of spiced tea, a yogi
on cooking duty looked at her in horrified confusion.
She looked back at him sternly. He scuttled away.
She walked out of the kitchen, through the covered alcove
where students were beginning to gather and sat on a bench in
the sunlight. The chai was good. Fiercely spiced but nonetheless
nuanced and delicate, right down to a luxurious hint of saffron.
Ah, here you are. The voice came from a fellow white-robe who
had managed to sit on her bench without her noticing.
Drawing a steadying breath, she turned to face the old daka whose
lessons had formed so much of her path. Are you supervising
me? she asked.
His face creased up in mirth, his wrinkles revealing that they had
wrinkles of their own. Laughter exploded simultaneously from
her and her old friend. The nearby initiates were startled by this
and moved away from them.
180
She remembered her own first ritual in the temple. The fear/
excitement, the desire/dread and the reality she had met. She
looked fondly at the old man.
Just as you did for me She took a deep breath, overwhelmed
for a moment by the intensity of her gratitude, and then another
breath to steady her voice before she continued, I will help him
become what he is.
182
Chapter 9
Dark night
I was still struggling to breathe at midday when my host and
benefactor, whose guest cottage I had occupied for around a year
now, came by.
Im worried about you. I want to take you to the hospital. He
really did look worried. It was an uncomfortable expression on his
usually cheery face. It did not suit him.
I strained to take a useful breath. My lungs were solid with
thickening phlegm and the slight oxygenation I felt was hardly
worth the bother. I settled for just forcing the body to animate, sat
up a bit, and shuffled back to lean against the headboard.
Charles, dear friend, I know you are worried and I am very sorry
to be causing you this concern. It is pretty bad, and it looks worse,
I am sure.
Painfully, and trying not to show the pain, I forced more breath
into my lungs and gathered some strength.
I lifted my head, locked eyes with him, and hit him with it, firmly.
No hospital.
He flushed, reddening to the tips of his smallish ears. I regretted
my harshness but was determined that this discussion go my
way.
I will get a doctor here for you then, he said, working hard to
restrain the snap his anger wanted to lend his voice. His body
language indicated a decision made, and he turned to leave the
small room.
I am sorry Charles, but no doctors either. Please. Come, sit down
and let me try to explain.
He stopped at the door, wanting to leave now and enforce his
obviously correct solution to the situation. Prevented by my
184
request, he turned and looked at me. I saw his anger choke up into
exasperation.
The Basil Fawlty quality of it brought me a smile, but I held back
on the chuckle. He sat down on the corner of the bed and tried,
unsuccessfully, to look stern. His voice was firm enough though.
OK, you stubborn bastard. Tell me why youre being so bloody
impossible.
I reached over to the side table and dragged the heavy glass ashtray
onto the bed between us. Taking the hint, he offered a cigarette
and lit one himself. I tore the filter off mine, sucked hard at the
light he offered, inhaled as quickly as I could manage and grabbed
a handful of tissues. I got them in front of my mouth in time to
catch the coughing which followed. It hurt, but I welcomed the
oxygen and the easier breathing which followed. Enough for me.
I forced a smile, and stubbed the tasteless thing out.
Rahasya, I am not kidding, he said. You are clearly in very, very
bad shape indeed.
I know. And I know the centre of your concern. The last couple
of nights have been very bad for me, and you are worried I could
die, maybe even tonight.
Now that it was out there between us, his anger receded completely.
His eyes brightened with a hint of tears withheld, and his voice
softened. Yes. I did not want to say it, but it looks like that to me.
Really does.
After the last two nights, I cant disagree with you, I said, and
then gave him time to realise I was not disagreeing. It took a little
while. Now he looked shocked. If I did die tonight, it would be
horrible and very inconvenient for you. I know. It is a lot to ask
you to risk that.
Indeed, he retorted, it would be one hell of an inconvenience,
to be sure, but that is hardly the point. The point is that you could
die!
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
Dawn
Waking up happened, in a body which felt no trace of sickness.
The breath was smooth, even and unrestricted. Aliveness danced
through blood vessels, spreading its excitement to delighted
muscles and organs. The soft warm feeling of fresh cotton
permeated the skin. The soft sound of the bodys breathing
blended with the muted distant chaos of a farm waking. The crisp
scent of ripening clementines complemented the sugary sweetness
of the sun-warmed thatch.
The mind generated a thought: Satori. And soon thereafter,
another thought. Almost.
Between these thoughts, lightning threaded through the brain,
comparing and referencing all previous experiences with a tight
degree of relationship to satori.
First consciously noticed, but not at all understood when
attempting Zsa-Zen for the first time at age 14. Next, at 17, in a
brawl. Another at 20, with a scary-powerful lover. A few over the
next ten years, most seeming to be evoked or enabled by fevers,
sexual intensity and moments of extreme emotion.
Over the last ten years, they had become frequent in silent
standing or sitting meditations. In the last year, they had become
very numerous indeed. Often several in a day.
Satori: moments of deep insight. Direct perception of some
generally occluded aspect of truth. A flash of lightning within
consciousness, briefly revealing a view on the all.
Briefly. This satori was not being brief. That was one point of
difference. Another point of difference was that thoughts were
happening. In satori, thoughts never happened. That is, after
all, the defining characteristic of satori no thoughts happen in
them.
192
Yet, here was satori and these were definitely thoughts which were
happening
Or was this really satori? All previous ones had been a glimpse
from what seemed now to be a very limited perspective. Each had
been true but partial. This satori was a clear perception, a flowing
of knowing that encompassed and superseded all previous
experiences in this category or or in any other, for that matter.
Extended satori. The brain created a new category and linked it to
satori. It then leaped into activity, probing the second-hand data
dump of things read and heard for anything that seemed to fit.
There was a little data. Nothing definitive. There were a few
spiritual teachers who had announced their enlightenment and
taught for a few years before their high ended. Usually they went
back to being students. Maybe this was something like that.
The brains processing of information was happening, apparently,
all by itself. Just the same as the breath happening in the body. Its
activity arose from the same source as the rushing of the blood,
the pulsing of the organs and the peristalsis of the guts.
Eyes opened, legs swung to the floor. Walking to the bathroom for
a crap happened.
A while later, Charles took the short walk from his house around
the pool to his guest cottage. He carried two large glasses of carrot
juice. Sun filtered through the vines which shaded a large wooden
table.
Wearing shorts, the body sat on the huge outdoor table, feet on
the long bench. There was delight in the skin as the cool kiss of
the breeze contrasted the spots of hot sunlight which streamed
through the overhanging vine.
This satori was definitely extended. The brain assessed that
something pretty serious seemed to have happened. Perhaps it
was stuck. In satori, there is no I as well as no thought. In this
strange extended satori there were thoughts, but there was no I in
the way there had been, yesterday, for instance.
193
That I had just been the brain, thinking that it was doing what
was happening. If anything could be said to be I now, it was this
dancing energy of liveliness that rushed through this body.
Existence was, as always, just happening, and the magic of satori
was the noticing of it. To call the object of satori me would be a
huge lie in one sense, and also, ultimately, it was, it now seemed,
inescapably, the truth.
As Charles approached, it became clear that the fiction of an I
expressed was useful and perhaps even necessary. I looked for and
found the set of constraints that was my last remembered persona.
I examined it and compared it to possible alternatives.
I made some modifications which should keep the body me
out of mental institutions, at least for a while. Then I got behind
the mask (which is what a personality is) and tried it on.
I looked out and was surprised to find that, clearly, here was I me,
as surely as in any dream. The illusion of individuated presence
produced by self-maintained constraints was unmistakable.
I expected that the satori was now over, except except it was
clearly not over. No reduction in the power, the presence of that.
The flow/field/flux of that which is truly beyond names was as
before. Just some of it had shaped itself into a mask, taking on
the constraints of a mental structure, being my personality. Being
me.
Charles sauntered into earshot and tried his voice out. Good to
see you are alive and up, if not dressed. Have some carrot juice.
I took the cup he offered. I smelled the creamy freshness of the
head of minced carrot and bubbles, popped by the sun, conveying
a delicately sweet fragrance.
Just drink up the poison. This is not a wine tasting. Charles
encouraged. He did not like carrot juice. That he was drinking it
today meant he was starting his annual carrot juice fast.
I inhaled the subtle aromas theatrically, took a mouthful, circulated
it and drank it down. My eyes closed as I followed the flavours and
194
textures of its love affair with my throat. I looked at him over the
glass and declaimed:
Fine clays and uncovered bedrock giving grace and gravitas to the
bass notes, lifted by mid-tones of a generally sunny disposition.
Full-grown, giving a strong basic sweetness. Very direct tannins
and acids. A delicate citrus top note imparts a disarming sense of
frivolity, but I peeked, to check if he was drawn into my act.
He was.
but enough about me.
195
Swamis notes
Note 1
Loving yourself
This is essential. Make love to yourself with some intent,
some sincerity. Aim to please, or to discover something
new about yourself. Love your own body and let it know
you mean it.
Logically speaking, you should know your body and its
erotic responses better than anyone. Your greatest heights
of intensity and your greatest depths of immersion in
sensuality should be available to you first.
When you have developed some worthwhile presence in
your body, and can maintain a semblance of sanity in
states of extreme arousal, you have something worth
sharing, if you then care to do that.
Teach your hands to develop a sensitivity to your own
bodys feedback. Feel the qualities of your own touch and
explore variations of pace, pressure and so on. As your
senses develop, explore more subtle energies of touch
masculine and feminine, giving and taking, controlling
and yielding.
Find areas of your body that have a heightened sensitivity
or a numbness. Gently coax them to accept sensation or
to feel it, as needed.
Learn about your bodys responses. Pay attention to your
changing heart rate, pace and sound of your breath,
your sensitivity to touch and your degrees and flavours
of arousal.
Explore states of high intensity, opening to the intensity
while staying conscious as far as you can.
Love your body as it truly wants to be loved. Let it feel
your passion, your intensity and your delight.
200
201
202
203
Tantric greeting
Pre-arrange who greets the other first.
Kneel opposite each other, knees almost, or slightly
touching, your hands resting on your thighs.
Take a minute or so to just look at the beloved. Do not get
locked into eye-gazing. Notice the eyes just as another
part of the face and body.
Be aware of your breath, and gather energy at your root
chakra. Contracting your PC muscles helps.
Whoever is doing the greeting first: Cup your hands in
your lap, then, as if lifting water, rise up slowly and move
the hands up over the partners head.
Gently, as if pouring water, touch the partners head
lightly, and let your hands gently flow over the shoulders
and down the sides of the beloveds arms to their
hands.
Repeat seven times, then sit still. Now it is the partners
turn.
204
Naked gazing
Sit naked and silent opposite each other, about a body
length apart.
It is good to have an agreed time period. Not less than
half an hour. More than two hours is certainly possible,
but is only recommended for obsessive-compulsive overachievers.
Notice the eyes just as part of the face and body. Do
not avoid, but do not emphasise eye contact. After a few
seconds of eye contact let your eyes move on over the
beloveds body.
This practice can evoke a range of feeling and emotion.
Keep your eyes open through it all, and keep your
awareness on this beloved person exactly as they are,
here and now.
The truth, the fact of this persons presence, shared with
you in the vulnerability and intimacy of nakedness is
what you will come to appreciate. If a fantasy comes up
though, do not avoid it.
Keep your eyes open and looking at the beloveds body.
If there is heat, a horniness, do not bother about whether
it is from fantasy or the real. Take it as real. It is after all,
real in your body, whatever the source of it.
What to do with arousal? Enjoy and celebrate! Allow
yourself to feel your arousal in the presence and the view
of the beloved. Allow it to express in the sound of your
breath.
Sit still, but not rigidly. Sometimes stillness moves.
Sometimes it even dances a little.
205
207
208
Shared self-loving
Taking turns of around half an hour each way, one
partner lies, sits or kneels in whatever position(s) they
find comfortable while making love to their own body.
The other sits or kneels close by and observes.
When showing your body and its responses: Share
your self-loving with your partner. No words. Show by
demonstrating your touch on your body. Express the
feelings in your body by letting them move your body
and through the sound of your breath.
Do not hold back! Use your knowledge of your body
and its responses to show the beloved your sexual
possibilities and how to work with them.
Accept and move through any inhibitory feelings, views
or judgements you may have about what you are doing.
Try to be as uncensored as possible when touching
yourself. Touch as your body wants to be touched, with
no regard for how that may look.
It may be more comfortable to use a blindfold. In any
case, do not be distracted by your observer. You may
laugh, your tears may flow. However your observer feels
about anything they see is for their learning. How you
feel, be it delight or difficulty, is your learning.
When being the observer in this meditation: Do not speak
or comment. Look, learn and move through whatever
feelings arise in you. Notice the qualities of touch the
beloved uses. Notice the movement of energy, the flow
of arousal and the signs of high intensity and deep
emotion.
Notice the range of styles of touch the beloved uses, the
range of emotion they move through and the variance in
depth, pace and intensity of breath.
209
210
Following fantasies
Go deeply into your fantasies. Give yourself permission
to know your fantasies completely. To know them is not
to indulge them. Knowing your fantasies makes them
conscious. It is when things are subconscious (and
therefore not known) that they are troublesome.
Layers of fantasy can be dispelled. The spell they have
on you can be removed. To do this, choose a current or
favourite fantasy with which to work.
Do what you can with your setting. Anything from your
clothing to the lighting may help. With some fantasies,
just a piece of music or a particular type of incense is
all that is required. The idea is that you make it as easy
as possible to immerse yourself as deeply as possible in
your imagination, augmented by props, the setting and
perhaps a helper.
Pay particular attention as you approach and pass
through orgasm. Particularly, look out for any significant
change in the events of your fantasy or a particular
intensification of focus.
When you find the shift, even if it looks a little extreme
or scary, be willing to know it. The next time you work
with that fantasy, try to get to and through the change or
intensification before orgasm, thus tracking the fantasy
more deeply.
When completely explored, a fantasy will reveal a truth.
This can happen surprisingly quickly.
A lot of this work can be done by yourself, in self-loving.
Some things work better with a lover.
Do remember that these layers of eroticism are quite
literally all in the mind. There is seldom a need to enact a
211
212
214
Yab Yum
This most famous of tantric meditations is extensively
immortalised in sculpture and art.
The male sits in a lotus or half lotus position, or his
nearest approximation of it. The woman sits in his lap,
facing him, her legs wrapping around his waist.
She arranges penetration and draws herself onto the
lingam in a comfortable self-regulating way.
It is good to co-ordinate your breathing at first into an
alternating breath, one breathing in as the other breathes
out. It is good to breathe near the others ear, and allow
excitements, tensions and pleasurable sensations to be
conveyed by the sound of the breath.
On the inhalation, optionally tension the PC (genital and
anal) muscles, relaxing them on the exhalation. This can
be done with great or minimal tension. Vary your rhythm
and play with different counts of PC contractions per
breath or per heartbeat. Experiment.
A cycle of energy naturally develops, from his lingam to
her yoni, up through her body to her heart, from her
heart to his, and down through his body to the lingam.
This energy can be guided and manipulated through the
breath. The direction of the cycle can even be reversed.
Experiment.
After a while, you are each in your own breathing rhythms.
Keep letting the breath produce sound, expressing your
feelings and sensations. Follow the inclinations of your
body as regards tension and relaxation.
If the male wants to prevent ejaculation and has not yet
developed steadiness through breath and PC-muscle
work, he can cheat. This does not do much for him and
215
216
Skydancing
From the Yab Yum position, the man straightens his legs
and lies back.
Simultaneously, the woman uncrosses her legs from
behind his back, and moves them to a kneeling position
each side of the man. She leans forward if the penetration
feels uncomfortably intense.
As in the Yab Yum, intensity can be enhanced and energy
can be moved by tensioning and releasing the PC muscles
coordinated with deep, full inhalation and exhalation.
As the deeper penetration feels comfortable, the woman
straightens up. When this is comfortable, she moves
her legs, one at a time, into a squatting position, again
leaning forward at first, until she is comfortable with the
degree of penetration.
She straddles the man in a squat when she is comfortable
fully upright. Her meditation is to allow the energy of
the penetration to move upward and through her body.
She is likely to cover a range of movements from subtle
to intense, dancing this energy as it is experienced.
Her meditation is to open as much as possible to the
penetration and her experience of it. She dances with
this energy, letting it carry her as far and as powerfully
as it can.
The males meditation is to gather all his energy, all his
focus, to his lingam. He should let it become the centre
of his awareness and presence. All thoughts, feelings,
sensations are centred in one hot point of focus.
As with the Yab Yum, the male and female sexual energies
can be adjusted, manipulated and even reversed. The
male can move into explosive expansiveness, and the
woman into one-pointed focus.
217
Note 2
An eastern approach to
personal hygiene
Historically, traditionally, an Englishmans house has an
immaculately kept pavement, a recently painted gate and
a polished brass doorknob. The entrance hall is almost
as clean, almost as presentable. The kitchen, a little less
so. The bedroom, less so still. The bed sheets may not
have been changed for a week or more. One wonders
when the fellow last bathed.
An Indians home has a filthy street in front of it, filled
with heaps of uncollected rubbish. The exterior of the
building he lives in has an unpainted concrete finish.
Steel rods from the concrete reinforcement stick out at
ugly angles. The lift has obviously never been cleaned
nor have the stairwells ever been swept. Just outside
the door of his apartment is a pile of dirt, swept from
inside his apartment. Shoes and the dirt they carry are
left outside. Once inside, however, everything is clean.
The further in one goes, the cleaner it gets. The kitchen
gleams. The bed is covered in fresh clean cotton. The
occupants body is immaculately clean.
Naturally, in Tantra, if it has to be a choice, we prefer the
oriental approach.
Various schools of Tantra have come up with extreme
approaches to cleanliness. Some of these practices are
occasionally useful, most of them are harmless, some
are a little silly, others are dangerous and a few involve
mutilation.
Clearing your sinuses by pouring salt water through
them is fine, and perhaps necessary if you live far from
the sea and seldom get tumbled by a wave. Snorting
and sucking strings from your mouth through to your
220
221
222
223
225
Mind training
Tantrikas require a certain degree of cynicism. They need
to be immune to the Emperors New Clothes syndrome.
They need to look and see beyond the zone of that which
everyone knows. They need a precise and well-calibrated
bullshit detector.
Various practices and disciplines help. They include, but
are not at all limited to: A serious study of philosophy.
Learning other languages. Playing Go (Japanese board
game). Programming computers. A few years of Jungian,
Freudian or even Dr Phil-style therapy. EST-style Large
Group Awareness Trainings (LGATs). A study of the
Kabbalah and the early Hasidic Masters. Aikido and other
evolved martial arts.
All of these and many more can lead you to approach the
mystery of life with awareness and openness. They can
lead you to pay more attention to what is, and insist less
on what you think should be.
The first steps of mind training bring a seeker to the
point of deeply questioning data that has been absorbed
from parents, culture, peers and other sources of secondhand learning.
The initial satori that mind training provides may seem
to be the end of the quest. More truly, they are a great
start. They are transformative. They can transform you
into a seeker. They are initiatory.
The lessons of mind training can be started in a weekend
workshop. For the seed to bear fruit, nurturing is helpful.
Once you have made a start, do continue the work. Find
the depths of it. Some regular technique for processing,
reviewing and exploring your minds reactiveness is
226
227
express will come more and more into focus as your path
progresses.
Chanting mantras is not mind training, and is not
very good for the mind. Certain chants and repetitive
visualisations numb or temporarily silence some aspects
of the mind. This can be useful to get a sense of the
minds functioning. Like working out how a machine
works by making things go wrong with it. As with the
use of drugs for the same purpose, one can learn a lot in
the short term. Although drugs, yantras and mantras can
provide a glimpse, an inducement, they do not help you
to approach truth as such.
The most generally useful approach to investigating your
own minds processes is to live differently. Masturbate,
for a week, with the other hand. For a day, greet everyone
you meet. Put an In Silence badge on yourself during
breaks at work. Laugh as much as you can get away with,
every opportunity you get, for a day. Cry for an hour
or so in private every day for a week, not because you
have so much to cry about (though we all do) but as a
discipline Have fun with it and avoid stupidity. Driving
on the other side of the road, for example, involves more
than you watching your minds reaction to something
unusual.
228
Brainwashing
Many varieties of mind training, especially the LGATs,
come under criticism from anti-cult organisations.
Some are accused from time to time of brainwashing.
Brainwashing is not a bad thing. Most minds could do
with a good scrubbing. These weekend group things
often have good technique, and some are very elegant in
their setup and delivery of insights. Perhaps the greatest
contribution they make to seekers is the discipline,
common to most of them, of developing interior
honesty.
The best thing about them is their speed and efficiency.
The worst thing about them is their evangelism and
business-like eagerness to train everyone, seeker or
not. Or maybe the worst is that they sometimes present
the transformation they induce as being enlightenment
itself.
Dr Phil, the coaching phenomenon, teambuilding
workshops, sales and motivational programmes and
even some pyramid-marketing scams use the methods
and philosophy of Werner Erhards (arguably) original
brain cleansing seminars.
The cultural penetration of the LGAT teachings is very
deep, even pervasive. In the entertainment zone, so
many movie executives took the training that Warner
Brothers was known by some as Werner Brothers. Partly
thanks to films produced during those years, the core
lessons and understandings of this work are no longer
even considered strange.
Should you take one of these trainings/seminars?
Maybe. We do recommend them to students who seem
short of mind training with a couple of reservations:
229
230
Processing techniques
Some seekers gather and use a huge range of processing
techniques. Some find just one or two are all they need.
Most anything that erases the sub in subconscious is a
good idea. The following two methods are generally the
most useful that we know.
231
Verification
Consider an event you find psychologically troublesome.
Write down, in short direct statements, what your mind
has to say about the event, the consequences, the causes,
the blame, the implications be thorough. Give your
mind a good honest opportunity to make its case.
When you feel you have expressed the bulk of it, or when
you run out of paper, stop.
Take a few minutes to settle yourself. Maybe make
yourself a cup of tea.
Go through what you have written, making one
dispassionate assessment of each statement. What you
assess is:
Is this statement true? With certainty.
Is it false? Just clearly not true.
Is it unknown? Do I simply not know?
If the statement is anything other than true, definitely
true put a line through it. Be ruthless and honest. If
you do not know a thing, you do not know it. It has no
useful place in your thinking. Information is even less
valuable when it is clearly not true.
This stage can be difficult to get right without the
guidance of someone experienced in this technique. Be
as sincerely in favour of getting to the truth as you can
manage. Do not get into probabilities and percentages.
The mind deals in absolutes. If you managed to write
out something of your minds contents, reasonably
uncensored, this fact will be obvious.
232
233
Squares
Taught by Leslie Temple-Thurston, detailed in her book
The Marriage of Spirit, Chapter 11.
Consider a desire, want or craving in your life. Some
examples: To be in control, to be guided, to live more
totally, to avoid trouble, to know truth deeply, to commit
to a relationship, to disengage from or change the
parameters of a relationship, to gain wealth, to have
particular experiences, to be more liked.
Take a sheet of paper, and bisect it horizontally and
vertically, dividing it into quarters.
Headline the top left with the desire and expand on it.
The example used is kindly provided by my daughter.
234
Fear of relationship:
Breaking someone elses heart.
Just using him as a distraction.
Feeling I am not worthy.
Not getting to live freely.
Being dishonest.
Discovering that he has been dishonest with me.
Being dumped.
Dumping him.
Getting tied down.
Desire to be single:
Free to fool around and flirt.
No jealous partner.
I would not be judged as harshly if I did something
questionable.
Time to myself.
No need to consider someone else in my decisions.
More time to myself.
235
237
238
Practising strategy
This form of mind training seems counter-intuitive.
The lessons of strategy derive mostly from conflict.
Appropriate for a warrior, perhaps, but of no obvious
use to a seeker, surely?
Not so. The phrase, the title Spiritual Warrior is no
accident. A significant reason for learning about strategy
is to be able to divine your own minds strategies. This is
necessary if you are to give your mind a good fight.
Many start the study of strategy with the intention of
gaining power. The awareness gained in this pursuit can,
paradoxically, bring peace and acceptance.
Strategy teaching requires practical application. For
some this means training in a martial art, playing Go,
or trading derivatives. For most, it means learning by
applying the teachings of strategy to personal, business
and career issues.
Learning strategy has a similar effect to that of practising
exterior honesty. It makes you more and more aware of
your own minds strategies.
239
Note 3
Ejaculation issues
A Dakini of this school once suggested a Tantra T-shirt
slogan: Ejaculation is premature. She did soften in
attitude, later on, and asked me to stop attributing this
saying to her. The attribution has ceased, but the saying
goes on
It is unfair and politically incorrect to make sweeping
generalisations about gender characteristics, so here
goes:
Boys learn to masturbate from other boys, unless the
priests or teachers get to them first. They know, being
boys, that quickest is best. Some of them get competitive
with this, until it becomes too gay for them.
Heavy rapid jerking on the penis, combined with tense
buttocks, squishes the prostate gland and produces a
fast, reliable, forced ejaculation.
Because self-love is a forbidden activity, it is generally
fast and furtive. Speed is important when discovery
would be a problem.
Because a mans first sexual experiences with women
are likely to be illicit, immoral orillegal by the cultures
reckoning, speed is required and high adrenaline is an
inevitable accompaniment. By this time in a mans life,
speed and roughness are already deeply established
habits.
Because womens first sexual experiences, particularly
with young men, are rough and fast, their bodies and
minds respond as if raped.
Organically, a woman raped becomes submissive, as a
more or less instinctual survival strategy.
242
The usual explanation her mind will provide for this state
of affairs is that, somehow, even though there was no
pleasure in it, she is in love, or at any rate, has a strong
needing of this man.
Another part of the bodys response to rape is to tighten
the vaginal muscles. Some women do this so well that
penetration becomes impossible. Many do it enough to
cause themselves considerable pain.
The organic/instinctive survival strategy of the womans
body is effective. It pressures the penis back into the
males prostate gland, inducing ejaculation. This is
why rape takes on average just fifteen seconds from
penetration to ejaculation.
Circumcision is sold as a disease prevention measure.
When sex and genitals are regarded by a culture as filthy,
people ignore them and they do indeed get filthy.
When a penis is kept clean, the foreskin captures and
localises infection, keeping the body safe until an
immune response is mobilised. This also reduces the risk
of passing an infection on, as the penis will be sore, and
lovers will easily detect the signs of infection.
A circumcised penis can hide infection and nonetheless
spread it very effectively. It requires closer inspection for
safety than an uncircumcised one does.
For some, the reduction in sensation that can happen
with circumcision is a torture.
As a (circumcised) fuck-monster of my acquaintance
once put it: I know that the most marvellous things are
happening in her mouth when she goes down on me.
Exquisite and delicately delicious sensations I know
all that is happening, and I know I am feeling hardly a
hint of it.
243
244
anyway. If it feels like you may pass out from sheer nerve
overload, be willing to pass out. That did happen to me a
few times. It may happen to you. It is not unpleasant.
246
248
Note 4
251
252
Conscious breath
Breath is usually restricted by the subconscious. The
belly does not rise and fall in a natural rhythm but is held
tight. When making love, restrained breathing seriously
affects the bodys flow of energy.
To correct this, most forms of yoga, Jeru Kabbals
Quantum Light Breath, Stanislav Grofs Holotropic
Breathwork, Mantak Chias energy cultivation practices
and other teachings which involve conscious breathing
are useful.
Variations of pace, intensity, depth and even nostril order
are worth exploring. Some breathing patterns enable
altered states of consciousness. Others work as a time
machine, opening areas of suppressed awareness and
memory. A deep, relaxed breath allows sensations to be
experienced to greater depths.
Bear in mind that the objective is not to master these
practices. Use them to find your natural, unrestricted,
responsive breath.
When fucking, drop the jackhammering and slow down.
Slow right down, until your stroke pace is compatible with
an easy breathing rate (no panting). On the in-stroke,
the penetrator breathes in, optionally contracting the PC
muscles. The penetrated partner breathes out, relaxing
the PC muscles, opening to the penetration. On the outstroke, the penetrator relaxes the PC muscles, breathes
out and relaxes deeply into sensation. The penetrated
breathes in, optionally contracting the PC muscles.
When touching, massaging, being massaged or making
love, let your breath be responsive to and expressive
of what you feel. Breathe in when feeling tension and
253
254
255
1 1 1 2 2 2 2
1 1 2 2 2 2 2
1 2 2 2 2 2 2
2 2 2 2 2 2 2
Do not be concerned about accuracy. The basic intent
is to move from one intensity to another by switching
between them, while increasing the frequency of the new
intensity. It is fine to use the numbers just as a rough
guide.
This is as far as you need to follow the count. You can
keep things as they are for a while, and then use the
count to change things again.
Sexual athletes may enjoy the full count, especially when
applied to penetration intensity. When used this way, the
pattern continues thus, with 3 indicating a third level of
intensity:
2 2 2 2 2 2 2
2 2 2 2 2 2 2
2 2 2 2 2 2 2
2 2 2 2 2 2 2
2 2 2 2 2 2 2
2 2 2 2 2 2 2
2 2 2 2 2 2 3
2 2 2 2 2 3 3
2 2 2 2 3 3 3
2 2 2 3 3 3 3
256
2 2 3 3 3 3 3
2 3 3 3 3 3 3
3 3 3 3 3 3 3
257
Note 5
Psychological suffering
Priests, pastors, rabbis, lamas, gurus, psychologists,
ESTies, scientologists, personal coaches, encounter
therapists, western buddhists and even the occasional
mormon have models for understanding human
psychopathology. Where they diverge in their
understanding, it is not so much a matter of a true
difference as their need to distinguish themselves
from each other in the self-improvement marketplace.
Other variations in their understanding arise as their
approaches have different intentions and areas of
appropriate application.
Here is my view. Simple and practical enough, I hope, to
be useful:
When something is emotionally too intense or too large
for us, we put something of the experience away. We
suppress the experience, or part of it.
Resisting the fullness of our experience hurts. The hurt
needs a focus of blame. A layer of anger is laid down over
the hurt. The anger is resisted and denied. Numbness,
hypersensitivity and emotional confusion are the usual
results.
This ability to suppress difficult feelings is valuable and
positive for survival. It enables us to pass through the
horror of a difficult moment and to address the feelings
around it later on.
It is important for our own mental stability that we revisit
the problematic moment and face our feelings. We
generally do not do this. Mostly, we prefer to suppress
them even more.
This hurts. Avoidance of truth always hurts.
260
261
An example:
It is true that a child is a serious inconvenience to the
adults who raise it. No matter how much love, adoration
and tolerance the sainted parents may have, the anklebiters and rug-rats will get underfoot. There is nothing
preventable about this. Small children are inconvenient.
They even interfere with adult technology. A bathroom
sink becomes a midnight Niagara Falls. A candle becomes
an inferno in minutes. A mobile phone becomes a deeplevel sewerage explorer. If you doubt any of this, talk to
parents, perhaps even your own.
At two to three years of age a child is likely be confronted
with the fact of their inconvenience. It is not a fact that
most young children can allow themselves to know in
fullness, or even anything approaching fullness. The
feelings that a child has about being an inconvenience
and a nuisance to its parents are far too scary to feel. To
cover the feelings, the truth has to be denied. This makes
a wound in the psyche, a no-go area in the mind. To
prevent the mind from inadvertently going into the no-go
area, pain surrounds it. The pain is a sentry, a guard. It is
an alarm which is triggered by any approach.
To protect the hurt, the mind blames. It makes the
perceived source of the pain an external one. It claims
that the pain which arises is an unfair suffering which
should be balanced by vengeance. Anger arises.
The child rapidly discovers that anger is not an acceptable
feeling to express and learns to suppress it more or less
successfully most of the time.
Later, when the person is an adult, if the feelings are
faced and the truth discovered, the original suppressed
truth is understood in context and is hardly frightening.
262
263
265
266
Note 6
Kissing
269
270
Note 7
Extreme techniques
Sometimes an eroticism is so deeply rooted that it has to
be explored more or less in actuality. Sometimes this can
be scary. Sometimes it can be physically dangerous.
Always maintain your awareness and your intelligent selfregulation. That said, play nice and have fun.
272
BDSM
This genre of eroticism is no longer a shameful secret
and nowadays more of a lifestyle choice. At some times
and in some places it was and is even fashionable.
The lifestyle, as it is often called, has its own language.
BDSM is an acronym for bondage, domination, sadism
and masochism. It is a world in which those of a dominant
and/or sadistic inclination are called Tops, Doms,
Mistresses and Masters and do all sorts of things to and
demand all sorts of service and obedience from those of
a submissive or masochistic inclination: their bottoms,
submissives, slaves, subbies and even house-puppies.
Relationship styles vary. Polyamory is popular and so
is the old-school marriage contract which still contains
the words To Love and Obey. Some people are lifetime
Doms, some are lifetime submissives or slaves. Many are
a switch, which means that they have an eroticism which
likes a bit of both sides of things.
Doms hold overt power, but the covert power of the subbie
sometimes results in a phenomenon called topping from
below. A variant of this phenomenon, the SAM, meaning
Smart Ass Masochist, is pretty much universally disliked
and apparently quite common.
If elements of power (over or under someone else),
ownership, control, and/or giving or receiving pain feature
strongly in your fantasies or show up noticeably in your
erotic response, this area is worth some exploration. If
you hardly have fantasies without these features, the
area is worth some serious exploration.
Much of the range of kinks and practices of the BDSM
community quite obviously have their origins in
parenting and schoolyard traumas. Some sectors of the
273
274
275
Safewords
A safeword enables a sub to squeak, beg, struggle and
so on without the Dom having to worry about them being
in serious distress.
A safeword (or safe-gesture if gagged) should be
unambiguous and should not sound similar to some
other common phrase. The rule when it is used is: The
scene is over. Done. Pack up and clean up over.
A safeword is a measure of last resort. It should never
need to be used. When it is used, something has gone
wrong or someone is in distress.
This rule also prevents a subbie from using the safeword
to manipulate the Dom.
276
Writing a petition
The petition is a great aid to awareness. For some, just
the process of writing it brings much insight and clarity
to an otherwise murky eroticism. The petition is a letter
from the sub to the Dom requesting the scene.
Express your willingness as specifically and as totally
as you can.
Make your best effort and then some, to expose the core
of your eroticism and what you want to experience in the
scene.
Part of the freedom and delight in being a sub in a BDSM
scene is that you arent responsible for what happens,
what you enjoy, dont enjoy, or anything else after you
have committed to your petition.
Your petition therefore is an opportunity to participate
in your downfall by revealing particular things which you
(shamefully) delight in, and things you (excitedly) fear.
Of course, it is not as if your petition is a wish list for an
M (Mistress or Master) to fulfill.
An M worth calling an M will surely do a few things to you
that you have not thought of. They will almost certainly
get you to do some things you would absolutely never
do, to test your submission, to explore your erotic
capacities, to punish you for bad behaviour or just on a
whim.
Work on giving yourself away as much as possible.
Expose your vulnerabilities so that your M can make the
bestuse of you.
Brag about your capabilities.
277
279
Anal sex
This is not on everybodys erotic agenda, but for many
of us, it is (even outside of hip hop circles) an important
area of interest.
If your own, or anothers anus is not fascinating and
alluring to you, just skip this section really.
Anal penetration in some form or other is very often at
the centre of fantasies of being forced to submission.
The anus is where anxieties and tensions at survival level
are held. It is, quite literally, the centre of vulnerability.
All satoris of deep submission are valuable for a seeker.
One day, we will all have to submit to death.
In the process of dying, we will have to feel the loss of
everything we are attached to, the hurt of everything
we have left unexpressed and the sadness of every
opportunity we have missed.
Tantrikas aim to manage this completion before the
physical death of the body.
Being penetrated anally can take you into and through
to the other side of feelings like hopelessness, despair,
abandonment, worthlessness and defeat.
If it so happens that you find yourself the penetrator,
be ready for the beloved to move through some intense
and perhaps even unpleasant and fearful feelings and
memories. Tears should be expected and welcomed if
they flow.
Do not stop penetration unless the beloved asks you to
stop. Do hold the beloved close and comfortingly. Do let
your tears flow in empathy, if that happens. Do let your
280
and outside. Squeeze the lower wall of the yoni and the
anus between the base of the thumb and the base of the
forefinger. Bring thumb and finger closer, so that the
direction of the squeezing is into her body. You should
be able to feel the walls of the anal passage pressed flat
between your finger and thumb. Massage it gently but
steadily, keeping the waves of pressure moving in an
inward direction.
Some will find these techniques sufficient and actual
penetration unnecessary. If someone does not know
what you are doing they will probably not believe that
you did not actually penetrate their anus.
Penetration
If there is a lot of eroticism connected to the anus, if it is a
really strong feature in the fantasy, these techniques may
be insufficient. Buy some condoms, perhaps disposable
examination gloves and some glycerine-based (oil-free)
lubricant.
Feelings like revulsion, squeamishness, disgust and fear
may be mixed with the erotic feelings. Do not ignore or
resist them. Whatever is associated with the erotic is best
accepted and explored.
You may have judgements about the naturalness of it.
Stop that nonsense right away. Nature is not only wilder
and kinkier than you imagine, it is wilder and kinkier
than you can imagine.
Meat eaters should consider going vegetarian no eggs
or dairy vegetarian, for a week or two before attempting
anal sex in the passive role. Lots of fruit and vegetables.
Either that or the highly recommended ten-day brown
rice fast.
282
285
Erotic asphyxia
Probably less popular than anal sex and certainly more
dangerous, this practice has killed a lot of people,
including some of our favourite Hollywood personalities
and rock stars. Officially, the deadly accident associated
with it is called Fatal Autoerotic Asphyxia.
Around this particular kink, psychologists and other
medical professionals can get quite unreasonably
alarmist. They sometimes exhibit a tendency to overreact and look to heavy chemical intervention or even
(no, I am not kidding) forms of castration as a cure.
This is because the only cases they encounter are solo
players for whom things have gone horribly wrong.
Fatally wrong. It is hard for medical professionals to be
rational around this topic. Be patient with them rather
than being their patient.
There is now greater awareness that this is not such an
unusual practice. There is a perception too, also probably
on account of celebrity deaths, that it is hideously kinky
right out there, on the fringe.
And it really is dangerous, the way many do it.
By messing with your air supply and your carotid arteries
you are risking a few seconds, even a few minutes, of
unconsciousness.
The most important thing to consider is: What will happen
to your body if you pass out?
If passing out means you will be strangled to death you
clearly have not thought things through with sufficient
rigour.
286
287
288
Golden showers
Many regard this as extreme because they believe it is
dangerous. It is not. The urine of a healthy person is
more or less filtered blood, and fairly harmless. Many
cultures have used urine (though usually babies urine)
as a medication for a range of ailments.
289
290
Note 8
Meditation
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
Note 9
Chakras
The energy that is felt at the chakras, and the sense with
which we detect it is completely natural, but latent or
underdeveloped in most of us.
The nearest most people come to being aware of this
sense is when someone hugs or touches them more is
felt and more is experienced than changes in heat and
pressure can account for.
The sensory mechanism that responds to the subtle
energies of the body awakens quite naturally when
obstacles to its perception are removed.
At first, the newly perceived sense information maps
into some combination of visual, auditory and touch
experience. As the sense becomes more familiar, the
brain learns to map and render it as a sense in its own
right.
This is why chakras are usually described and illustrated
as having colours, shapes and sounds.
The chakras are the first feature detected, in much the
same way that water is seen by its ripples. They are the
places in the body where the energy of life is most easily
noticed.
The experience of energy flowing or being constricted
at the chakras is remembered in our language. This
knowledge is just not acknowledged or studied much in
our culture.
When the need to communicate something difficult
occurs, we may feel a tension or obstruction in the throat.
We say that it takes guts to face our enemies. We know
there are things we cannot stomach. We open our hearts
in love and harden them in rejection.
302
303
Root chakra
Felt more or less in the area of the PC (Kegel) muscles.
Centred in the perineum.
It opens and closes on the basis of survival.
Pair bonding is felt most acutely at the root chakra. We
find our reason for living in the other. We say we would
die without them. Some of us die for love, some of us
kill for it.
When we have resistance in this chakra, it most usually
has to do with fears around survival which we have
suppressed. When it is seriously blocked or constricted,
very little energy can build before the release of orgasm
becomes imperative.
It can be a very minimal orgasm a genital sneeze. Men
almost always notice it because it is usually ejaculatory.
Women sometimes notice it as a momentary deep tremor
and a sudden end to arousal.
The root chakra is in its happiest condition when ones
fears of death have been faced and accepted.
The root chakra is the generator, the engine room, of our
energy system. When it runs strongly, it builds energy
that reaches upward to the other chakras or finds wild
and explosive release.
To allow energy through your root chakra is to accept all
your feelings about your physical vulnerability and the
inevitability of your death.
304
Belly chakra
Located above the genitals, a couple of inches below the
navel.
This chakra is noticed around tribal issues, particularly
status-advancement and belonging.
It can become constricted by a judgement of the lovers
inappropriateness and is obstructed by fears of damage
to ones reputation.
It can be fuelled by striving to impress a lover, especially
with the hope of making a strong impression, and being
quietly talked about. Rating ones lovers, or ones own
performance as a lover, on a score chart of orgasmic
intensity and frequency is typical of second-chakra sex.
The belly chakra challenges us to claim our autonomy,
to claim our individual path, free of tribal constraints.
When we declare ourselves to be a tribe of one and take
personal responsibility for our own preferences, habits,
secrets and beliefs, it opens.
When it is open, lovemaking feels more co-operative and
more sharing than root chakra sex. Orgasms are less
depleting, and much higher intensities of energy can be
experienced.
Strong energies at this chakra can evoke satori of ones
deep connection and empathy with all of existence.
305
Stomach chakra
This nerve cluster is known in the West as the solar
plexus. It is the soft spot just below and slightly under
the sternum.
It is the centre at which we feel aesthetic issues:
beauty and ugliness, wonder and horror, attraction and
revulsion.
It opens or closes depending on the aesthetic judgements
we make about our own body, the lovers body, the lovers
artistry, eloquence, elegance, refined taste in decor, the
story of the lovemaking occasion and the clothing and
fashion accessories involved.
When energy is obstructed at this third chakra, sex may
be motivated by need or compulsion, but not by delight.
The challenge of the stomach chakra is to expand ones
range of aesthetic appreciation. Breaking the confines
of culturally defined aesthetics and looking deeper for
beauty itself is recommended.
When orgasmic energies reach to the stomach, feelings
of fondness and an urge to deep intimacy arise. Satori
revealing the intrinsic beauty of existence can occur.
306
Heart chakra
In the centre of the chest.
The heart is the centre at which we feel love. Love that
is undisturbed by a fart (aesthetic), forgetting a birthday
(tribal) or risk (survival). Love that is direct, honest, real
and, in full expression, unconditional.
When the heart chakra is closed, life is felt to lack rasa
(juiciness). It hurts when energy reaches it.
The heart chakra challenges us to accept the hurts of
life without reservation. It is the gateway to bliss, the
synthesis of existential agony and ecstasy.
When the energy of life flows through the heart,
unobstructed by our aesthetic, tribal or survival concerns,
we become capable of truly loving and being loved.
307
308
Throat chakra
The throat expresses through word, song and sound.
When powered by the brain, it may exhibit skill, even
masterful skill, but a contrived, trained quality is usually
apparent.
When energy reaches it from the heart, the expression
is authentic.
309
Third eye
Located at the bindi spot on the forehead between the
eyes.
Running on its own energy, it is a focus of concentration
and a source of imagination.
When the energy of life flows up and through it, it enables
unusual degrees of perception.
310
Crown chakra
The crown chakra is almost outside the body at the top
of the head.
It connects us to existence-as-consciousness, commonly
called God.
Usually in the second year of life the fontanelle closes.
This physical change is concurrent with the start of our
ego development and individuation.
Becoming clear enough so that energy can reach the
crown is the most a tantrika can do. It is the nearest we
can come to the condition called divine by what seems to
be our own effort.
When our energy flows unobstructed to the crown, we
become available to being lived by existence itself.
311
Kundalini
Kundalini energy is also known as the shakes and the
tremors. Its name refers to the kund (a vessel or yoni),
from which the English word cunt derives. It refers to
energy which originates in the bowl, the vessel, of our
hips and sacrum.
As we clear the obstacles of our ego and learn to open
our chakras, the current of energy in our body gains
momentum and increases. This brings greater pressure
to bear on any obstructions that remain.
A partially blocked pipe, or one too narrow for the
pressure applied to it, will often develop an alarming
vibration, creaking, groaning or shuddering when a tap
is opened.
Almost-open chakras can create severe turbulence in the
flow of strong energy through the nerves of the body.
This can feel like electric shocks in the lower spine
and manifest as a physical shaking that is difficult or
impossible to control.
It seldom lasts long or does any damage. The quickest
way to move through it is to allow the shaking to happen
without restriction.
When all the chakras are unrestricted, the flow of energy
moves towards the spine. A second shaking phase takes
place as the energy settles into the spinal channel, which
is called the shushumna or column of light in some
traditions. This phase of shaking is less startling, less
physically severe and has a smoother, more regular
frequency.
Afterward, energy is no longer cultivated at the root
chakra but flows smoothly through the spinal channel.
312
313
Thanks and
acknowledgements
Carl Sagan once said that to make apple pie from scratch, one
would first have to create the entire universe.
I thank the whole of existence for making this book possible, and
for the wonderful people who have been involved, especially:
Dakinis of the Advait Tantra School: Crystal, Shakti, Shekina,
Shima and Wendy, who requested its creation and endured many
rough drafts of the early work.
My daughter Alia, who contributed an example of her mindprocessing work to the book and a lot of artwork, almost none of
which was eventually used.
The forty or so people who read the book in the rough and
provided many good suggestions and much encouragement.
Richard OBrien and everyone involved in the production of any
Rocky Horror Show or screening of the movie. You have kept a
light of awareness going for many who might otherwise have lost
their way.