No
If I trust you with your boundaries, we can both relax. Let me know you can say no, make a choice, express a preference, and hear a no and not be offended.
If I trust you with your boundaries, we can both relax. Let me know you can say no, make a choice, express a preference, and hear a no and not be offended.
Goldfish
Listening to men matters. I once took part in a ritual where women sat unobtrusively at the edges of the room, goldfish bowl style, overhearing a men’s circle of voices. Gently witnessing each man sharing their own journey through sexuality, shame and freedom. Patriarchal conditioning screws everyone over.
Listening to men matters. I once took part in a ritual where women sat unobtrusively at the edges of the room, goldfish bowl style, overhearing a men’s circle of voices. Gently witnessing each man sharing their own journey through sexuality, shame and freedom. Patriarchal conditioning screws everyone over.
Razor
In a good relationship, you’re each working on yourself and on the partnership; it’s there to help you grow; a way to enlightenment along the razor’s edge.
In a good relationship, you’re each working on yourself and on the partnership; it’s there to help you grow; a way to enlightenment along the razor’s edge.
Gaze
The first time I experienced Soul Gazing, Great Spirit gave me a partner I’d chatted to briefly the previous day. We’d exchanged a brief kiss, sharing a piece of mango. I’d felt an electric shock go through me at the mango lips. Sitting in front of me, sarongs on, we Namaste’d in, soft tantra music in the background, silence between us. Gazing at each other gently. I smiled weakly for a few minutes and dissolved into tears. Gazing at him, I cried tears for all the things I hadn’t known, hadn’t allowed myself. I cried for myself at a life of achievement but little intimate pleasure. It’s the first time I’d ever been vulnerable like that in front of a man, crying for fifty minutes of the soul-gazing hour. I snivelled and sobbed, and he gazed at me with softness, his presence unwavering, occasional tears in his own eyes. We Namaste’d out to close the structure. I snivelled in the group closing circle. As we left the workshop, he gave me his number.
The first time I experienced Soul Gazing, Great Spirit gave me a partner I’d chatted to briefly the previous day. We’d exchanged a brief kiss, sharing a piece of mango. I’d felt an electric shock go through me at the mango lips. Sitting in front of me, sarongs on, we Namaste’d in, soft tantra music in the background, silence between us. Gazing at each other gently. I smiled weakly for a few minutes and dissolved into tears. Gazing at him, I cried tears for all the things I hadn’t known, hadn’t allowed myself. I cried for myself at a life of achievement but little intimate pleasure. It’s the first time I’d ever been vulnerable like that in front of a man, crying for fifty minutes of the soul-gazing hour. I snivelled and sobbed, and he gazed at me with softness, his presence unwavering, occasional tears in his own eyes. We Namaste’d out to close the structure. I snivelled in the group closing circle. As we left the workshop, he gave me his number.
Ladder
There’s a time when we may realise that not only do we have our ladder up against the wrong wall, but that it’s in the wrong foundations; that our fundamental beliefs about who we are and how the world works are blinkered and limited conditioning. These moments of truth are turning points in our lives, raising questions of new beliefs and directions. How do we find our north star when it’s not what we used to aspire to?
There’s a time when we may realise that not only do we have our ladder up against the wrong wall, but that it’s in the wrong foundations; that our fundamental beliefs about who we are and how the world works are blinkered and limited conditioning. These moments of truth are turning points in our lives, raising questions of new beliefs and directions. How do we find our north star when it’s not what we used to aspire to?
Lilo
The overwhelming feeling that there’s always more to do flummoxes me. What to do? How to stop? Especially when what I’ve chosen is broadly satisfying. It’s the bloody life admin. I have a friend who thinks all the creatives should be allowed to float around on lilos dreaming, while all the people who love the order and minutiae could get off on that.
The overwhelming feeling that there’s always more to do flummoxes me. What to do? How to stop? Especially when what I’ve chosen is broadly satisfying. It’s the bloody life admin. I have a friend who thinks all the creatives should be allowed to float around on lilos dreaming, while all the people who love the order and minutiae could get off on that.
Fake
“You don’t have to like everyone, Alison.” Another of my Tantra teachers' fine phrases, which, although maybe stating the obvious to you, wasn’t to me. The wave of relief at the simplicity of that understanding saved me from having to be craven to a woman my ex wanted to open up our relationship to. He did it anyway, but I was spared having to fake compliance. I left that to her.
“You don’t have to like everyone, Alison.” Another of my Tantra teachers' fine phrases, which, although maybe stating the obvious to you, wasn’t to me. The wave of relief at the simplicity of that understanding saved me from having to be craven to a woman my ex wanted to open up our relationship to. He did it anyway, but I was spared having to fake compliance. I left that to her.
Lofty
I love plain English and despair at artifice. A couple of my recent bugbears come from the sudden guru nature of the overuse of phrases such as ‘I’ll speak to…’ or ‘I’m pointing at …’. Since when did ‘I’m going to talk about…’ become so elevated or lofty? It’s the same with the two-sentence paragraphs and pauses in AI writing, and phrases like ‘let that sink in’…’ which come over as extraneously portentous or self-importantly solemn. As well as being quickly unoriginal.
I love plain English and despair at artifice. A couple of my recent bugbears come from the sudden guru nature of the overuse of phrases such as ‘I’ll speak to…’ or ‘I’m pointing at …’. Since when did ‘I’m going to talk about…’ become so elevated or lofty? It’s the same with the two-sentence paragraphs and pauses in AI writing, and phrases like ‘let that sink in’…’ which come over as extraneously portentous or self-importantly solemn. As well as being quickly unoriginal.
Squish
Getting love right in messages is an art form. Please don’t send me long squishy hugs or smoochy kisses, I’ll recoil. Extra declarations of love confuse me; I don’t know what to do with them. While the ‘hugs if you want them’ can initially feel contrived, on balance, I find there’s more space around the latter. I generally use Hugs xx. I wonder who I’m underwhelming or giving the ick to?
Getting love right in messages is an art form. Please don’t send me long squishy hugs or smoochy kisses, I’ll recoil. Extra declarations of love confuse me; I don’t know what to do with them. While the ‘hugs if you want them’ can initially feel contrived, on balance, I find there’s more space around the latter. I generally use Hugs xx. I wonder who I’m underwhelming or giving the ick to?
Breasts
In the days when I was more often in rooms naked, I was surprised when one of the Shaktis said, “You have magnificent breasts, Alison”. I hadn’t realised. They’re like comforting pillows and preferred better touch than twiddling-nipple radio operators. Long, slow palm strokes up from my sides to under my breasts have a sensuality of solid dreaminess.
In the days when I was more often in rooms naked, I was surprised when one of the Shaktis said, “You have magnificent breasts, Alison”. I hadn’t realised. They’re like comforting pillows and preferred better touch than twiddling-nipple radio operators. Long, slow palm strokes up from my sides to under my breasts have a sensuality of solid dreaminess.
Prodigal
Impossible mothers beget impossible daughters, eggshells scattered instead of confetti. Being the prodigal daughter has and hasn’t been easy, exiling myself, and returning later to heal and make peace. Perhaps there’s a greater appreciation of finally finding the long-missing feeling of mother and daughter in mutual support. Yet loss, of what might have been and wasn’t, surfaces amid the relief and gratitude. Wondering what difference more years of belief and friendliness might have offered; perhaps fewer years of hoping for favour or acceptance on both sides. Realising the depth of impact, while finding compassion for someone else’s shoes, is the love it becomes.
Impossible mothers beget impossible daughters, eggshells scattered instead of confetti. Being the prodigal daughter has and hasn’t been easy, exiling myself, and returning later to heal and make peace. Perhaps there’s a greater appreciation of finally finding the long-missing feeling of mother and daughter in mutual support. Yet loss, of what might have been and wasn’t, surfaces amid the relief and gratitude. Wondering what difference more years of belief and friendliness might have offered; perhaps fewer years of hoping for favour or acceptance on both sides. Realising the depth of impact, while finding compassion for someone else’s shoes, is the love it becomes.
Neediness
I’d have rather stuck pins in my eyes than express vulnerability. It felt like neediness and I struggled with that in my preferred self-reliance. Neediness scares me. It’s been a great lesson. I danced neediness once, it was a massive relief to express the desperation, tears and clinging openly. Being seen, being understood, being witnessed are great gifts. In the mutuality I’m less alone, the generosity of spirit of friends holding space when I’ve been wobbly, of someone saying “that sucks” when my heart had yet another little fracture line, melted my harder edges.
I’d have rather stuck pins in my eyes than express vulnerability. It felt like neediness and I struggled with that in my preferred self-reliance. Neediness scares me. It’s been a great lesson. I danced neediness once, it was a massive relief to express the desperation, tears and clinging openly. Being seen, being understood, being witnessed are great gifts. In the mutuality I’m less alone, the generosity of spirit of friends holding space when I’ve been wobbly, of someone saying “that sucks” when my heart had yet another little fracture line, melted my harder edges.
Grey
Fixations are calling for something beyond the compulsion. Jack Morin identifies some steps to getting out of old patterns that become troublesome turn ons - the erotic drivers that bring diminishing returns. They may be exciting yet over time ultimately unsatisfying; habit, dick-driven leading to disappointment, rejection and emptiness. The steps that lead to erotic change include clarifying your intentions, cultivating self-affirmation, stopping old patterns & being in the grey zone. Mourn your losses, learn & feel sensations of embodied pleasure, then risk the unfamiliar and integrate your discoveries. Change takes desire, courage and practical action. It doesn't mean wholly letting go of your core erotic theme or your fantasies, but having more wisdom and space around these so that you can be more aware and enjoy other pleasures as well.
Fixations are calling for something beyond the compulsion. Jack Morin identifies some steps to getting out of old patterns that become troublesome turn ons - the erotic drivers that bring diminishing returns. They may be exciting yet over time ultimately unsatisfying; habit, dick-driven leading to disappointment, rejection and emptiness. The steps that lead to erotic change include clarifying your intentions, cultivating self-affirmation, stopping old patterns & being in the grey zone. Mourn your losses, learn & feel sensations of embodied pleasure, then risk the unfamiliar and integrate your discoveries. Change takes desire, courage and practical action. It doesn't mean wholly letting go of your core erotic theme or your fantasies, but having more wisdom and space around these so that you can be more aware and enjoy other pleasures as well.
Get
Giving to get is horrible. Please just stop it. It’s easy to see through it, the desperation is a give away. Ask for what you want instead, it is okay for you to have needs. Someone may be happy to help you. Or if it’s the search for validation or affirmation, it’s time to believe it in yourself. While giving to get is tough to recognise, it is liberating to stop. Having boundaries while respecting the limits of others stops the intrusion, control and guilt tripping.
Giving to get is horrible. Please just stop it. It’s easy to see through it, the desperation is a give away. Ask for what you want instead, it is okay for you to have needs. Someone may be happy to help you. Or if it’s the search for validation or affirmation, it’s time to believe it in yourself. While giving to get is tough to recognise, it is liberating to stop. Having boundaries while respecting the limits of others stops the intrusion, control and guilt tripping.
Grass
Kicking things into the long grass becomes a forte. Everything gets done, or not, over time, organised into the to do list and the should have done list. The gap between what I intend to do and what I actually do is widening. I don’t know whether to worry or rejoice?
Kicking things into the long grass becomes a forte. Everything gets done, or not, over time, organised into the to do list and the should have done list. The gap between what I intend to do and what I actually do is widening. I don’t know whether to worry or rejoice?
Tedium
It’s a tedious thing to feel responsible for a man’s arousal. Or a woman’s elusive turn on. You’re not. One of the early freeing things we learned in tantra was that you’re responsible for your arousal and I’m responsible for mine. When an ejaculation becomes an expectation, it’s a prison with a teeny escape hatch for everyone involved. What if release is not the end point, but raising, using and enjoying the life force energy of arousal is?
It’s a tedious thing to feel responsible for a man’s arousal. Or a woman’s elusive turn on. You’re not. One of the early freeing things we learned in tantra was that you’re responsible for your arousal and I’m responsible for mine. When an ejaculation becomes an expectation, it’s a prison with a teeny escape hatch for everyone involved. What if release is not the end point, but raising, using and enjoying the life force energy of arousal is?
Arrangements
What if there are no rules in a relationship? What would you create that was freeing and loving? Meeting another and consciously creating a new way of relating, ignoring convention - unless you choose it. You may live together - or not. Share money - or not. Meet children and family - or not. Open relationship - or not. What if everything started from a new base of bringing who you are, rather than jumping onto the relationship escalator of societal expectation? Ageing brings new possibilities for creating different kinds of arrangements. I don’t know if I want someone in my bed every night, though languorous afternoons would be welcome. I doubt anyone would want to share my finances or responsibility for my business; I’m not looking to be a step-parent or grandparent any time soon. Wouldn’t that freedom from assumptions be a dream?
What if there are no rules in a relationship? What would you create that was freeing and loving? Meeting another and consciously creating a new way of relating, ignoring convention - unless you choose it. You may live together - or not. Share money - or not. Meet children and family - or not. Open relationship - or not. What if everything started from a new base of bringing who you are, rather than jumping onto the relationship escalator of societal expectation? Ageing brings new possibilities for creating different kinds of arrangements. I don’t know if I want someone in my bed every night, though languorous afternoons would be welcome. I doubt anyone would want to share my finances or responsibility for my business; I’m not looking to be a step-parent or grandparent any time soon. Wouldn’t that freedom from assumptions be a dream?
Mistake
I get worried when I’m challenged. Whether I have screwed up or not, I feel the fear of making mistakes or of being accused. It’s an impending dread that I’m just getting away with it. Not good enough, not right enough, too much, too little, the inner critic is a tedious little fucker with a put-down on every move.
I get worried when I’m challenged. Whether I have screwed up or not, I feel the fear of making mistakes or of being accused. It’s an impending dread that I’m just getting away with it. Not good enough, not right enough, too much, too little, the inner critic is a tedious little fucker with a put-down on every move.
Gold
A decade ago, I met a man on a packed train leaving Hebden Bridge, twinkly eyes, nattily dressed in a gold scarf. He was on his way to Spain, we swapped numbers. Arranging to meet weeks later in a tearoom in the village, I walked to our meeting, wondering if I could tell him what I’d done and not done at my first mixed tantra weekend, and if he’d still like me. For the first time, I realised I didn’t have to care. It was just a coffee, and whether he approved or disapproved of my weekend, liked me or didn’t like me, it simply didn’t matter. Still wearing the gold scarf, putting down a book as I arrived, he ordered us a coffee, and we settled, talking about Spain and his quiet joy walking the Camino. “And what have you been up to, Ali?” Deep breath, “I was at a Tantra course”. A flicker of interest lit up in his eyes, and he asked me to share. “I learned about Yes, No and Maybe.” We’re still friends.
A decade ago, I met a man on a packed train leaving Hebden Bridge, twinkly eyes, nattily dressed in a gold scarf. He was on his way to Spain, we swapped numbers. Arranging to meet weeks later in a tearoom in the village, I walked to our meeting, wondering if I could tell him what I’d done and not done at my first mixed tantra weekend, and if he’d still like me. For the first time, I realised I didn’t have to care. It was just a coffee, and whether he approved or disapproved of my weekend, liked me or didn’t like me, it simply didn’t matter. Still wearing the gold scarf, putting down a book as I arrived, he ordered us a coffee, and we settled, talking about Spain and his quiet joy walking the Camino. “And what have you been up to, Ali?” Deep breath, “I was at a Tantra course”. A flicker of interest lit up in his eyes, and he asked me to share. “I learned about Yes, No and Maybe.” We’re still friends.
Doormat
The Wheel of Consent changed my life. When I first learned it, finding myself outside the Allowing quadrant as a doormat jolted my whole being. Since then, coming back into trust in myself, and expressing limits and desires has been a gradual growth in courage and honesty.
The Wheel of Consent changed my life. When I first learned it, finding myself outside the Allowing quadrant as a doormat jolted my whole being. Since then, coming back into trust in myself, and expressing limits and desires has been a gradual growth in courage and honesty.