Tantra teaser

My Tantra teacher sent out an email several weeks ago. It mentioned a special workshop she would be holding for those students who were ready to dive deep into the practice. Nudity would be involved. With my limited experience, I figured this nudity was attached to the gaze, and, because I don't have a problem with being seen, I was fine with it. She said to call her if we felt drawn to do this, and, after putting it off for a week, I did. She made it sound progressive and transformative, so I let a potential yes marinate. It wasn't until she sent out a reminder email, tempting us with a deeper understanding of and release from what was holding us back in our lives and relationships, that it hit me. I enrolled and was stoked that I did until a more detailed explanation of the class was sent out.

It irked me for four reasons: 1) As a raw foodie, I was concerned that I would starve at the potluck. 2) I didn't own a sarong and would have to scrounge around for one. 3) We would be practicing the art of Yoni (vaginal) massage with a fellow student. 4) There were no refunds.

Some of the girls, after hearing about this, dropped out. They thought it was too perverted, too disgusting. It's not like the rest of us didn't share those concerns, but, when we thought about it, we realized our resistance was merely a clinging to comfort, convention, cowardice, and cunt-hatred. None of these represent what I want for myself. I stopped hating and competing with other girls a long time ago, and Inga Muscio's Cunt inspired me to do it. If you have problems embracing women, read it right away. The CliffsNotes version is available via cinema through the brilliant feature Mean Girls. Our power is in our unity.

Thus, I figured, as a true vag-loving woman, how could I refuse advanced Tantric practice on the basis of the fear of another woman's body? Isn't that essentially self-hatred? If I can't embrace myself as my own reflection in another woman, how can I ever love myself? How can I ever love and be loved?

I decided to work through my resistance and fear. Besides, I wanted the distraction. My sister moved to Hawaii on Saturday, taking my 6-week-old niece with her. I could think of better things to do than hanging by the pool in my jammies, remembering her sweet baby cuteness.

More than this, I just had to do something about that tiny spark wishing to burst into a flame, to draw on Björk's Isobel. I had to feed that part of me that thrives on being completely bold and subversive.

Late Saturday night, I made my potluck slaw. The next morning, I gathered my props for the event. Then, cradling my little heart spark, I drove east toward hipster town.

That afternoon and into the night, my teacher guided me and nine other hugely brave women into the unknown. I will tell you all about it next week because this post was turning into a novelette. Stay tuned for the juicy deets. It was an amazing experience!!!