I died as a mistress to be reborn as a Mistress

The reflection of my brooding eyes trying not to ignore the wisdom of my reflective mind while window shopping; Why are there as many female mannequines in sex shops as there are male Masters in the world of Tantra courses? So many painters who don't paint, yogis who don't practice sadhana, tantrics who don't have sex... and tantrics who only know how to have sex. I don't want to be a reflection of them and larger trends they belong to. I know how to be one with everything but still I see myself beyond entertainment and performance. I do an exception when I'm enjoying the company of my neighbour from the past whose name is Eric and who calls me Erica (he says I'm destined to be Erica Jong of 21st century-Bless him!). He would say Brave New World. I'd add brave in everything except being your authentic self. Then we'd laugh and have a glass of wine. Those days are gone, we don't drink wine anymore. We're being moderate. We're brave to be ourselves. We're brave to be and the memories of our kisses are sweeter than wine. We both know that sexual connection is not about orgasms. It's about sexual energy accumulated during our courses. He's trying to teach me how to balance my life with work and play (lila).

But he's only a man. Sometimes I find his rhetoric destabilizing and inherently dangerous.

Sometimes I wish there would exist an idea of an androgynous womb that would help him to

cultivate wholehearted dedication instead of his desperate clinging to fantasies of a ready-

made perfect woman- a younger version of me on contraceptive pills.

He's lucky. He doesn't need to prove himself. He's a man.

But then again, Do I really need to prove myself? No. I don't need to prove, I don't need to

fight to establish my reputation and make a living. I don't need to prove in order to be living

and loving.

I slip into my depths. Yoni mudra. My ears and eyes are closed hence I see and hear everything. More than me and more than him. I hear the painful truth.

We are not claustrofobic neighbours anymore but Hampstead Heath still works as our

spacious learning room. We never used it as a bedroom as I recently decided to keep that

space only for beyond special person- The One who will accept and love me wholly.

My sexual relationships won't be pointless and worthless. I'm not pursuing empty and

fruitless endeavors with men who love my sexual desire but reject my fertile

womanhood (or my Higher Self).

He says my yoni is unique but he ignores that it comes in a package with pro-creative

potentials of my womb. I still remember the day I've got morning Sickness because of listening to his tone of voice in the message he sent me. He was terrified I might have been pregnant and so was I. I hoped I've got my morning sickness because he dared to legitimate himself as a superior overseer of my

gestational body.
It hurts to love a man in patriarchal culture. It kills to love a man who doesn't challenge himself and patriarchy- by accepting and loving Woman wholly.

I've lost my voice too many times. I envy him and all the men because they haven't. I envy

their every-day world of sexual attractions. But then I look deeper and see there is nothing to

envy. The majority of men never reach sexual maturation. Never, because they're too

ignorant to connect sex to spirit. Never, because they're afraid of the wisdom of our wombs.

Never, because they want to shut it off for them to enjoy careless irresposible fuck (even if it

comes from "love").

I made a pact to become self-sufficient without the need to prove myself to anything or

anybody, including him. And I am me again. Me, the non-envious. Me beyond assessing

mind.

Me trying to be deeply satisfied on my own. Deep in my nature I'm a mystic. My deepest

heartfelt mission is fully welcoming a deep union. And yes, we are equal- men and women-,

at least in a sense of equally adamant. My sexuality is finally getting liberated from any

compromising ways.

So where are all the male mannequines and the Mistresses? We set aside all concerns

with self-promotion and concentrate on healing.

We're the hidden gems of this merry-go-round global capitalist society.

I died as a mistress (hidden lover) to be reborn as a Mistress (a feminine form of "Master").

From hamster wheel to The Wheel of Life. My experience, heart-felt faith, love and support

give a strong jump start to anyone interested in tantric spiritual practice and The Art of Loving. 

(written in Hampstead London, November 2018)