Love, Sex, and Awakening: An Erotic Journey from Tantra to Spiritual Ecstasy

ride.

Introduction

This book is the fulfillment of a quest to discover how to be an orgasmic woman sexually and a blissful woman spiritually. In trying to bring the two together, I became a bliss hunter for thirty years, searching for a hidden treasure within my mind, body, and soul.

In this book, you will get to discover what I found. You will learn everything you always wanted to know and I never dared to tell you, all the secrets I never wanted to share, the escapades I never dared to relate … until now.

This book recounts the mad adventures, the turning points, the breakthroughs on my path from sex to awakening.

How did you discover Tantra? people ask me.

It happened on my first orgasm, I answer, and it’s true.

The first time I made love was a cosmic revelation, a direct transmission of the illumination of the spirit, which I called a sexual illumination.

It was such a phenomenal experience, so above and beyond my cultural and world view, that I had to search for a way to bring this fleeting taste of grace back into my life in a more permanent way.

I set out to understand the connection between sexuality and spirituality. It became my life’s mission. The search became a lifelong quest.

Now, after so many years, I have written this book to offer answers to the questions I had then and that so many people have asked me since:

• What is Tantra? Is there a spiritual connection to the sexual experience?

• What happens when we break the rules of mainstream society and live outside the box?

• Do we need a spiritual teacher?

• What does a woman really need to fully realize her multi-orgasmic nature?

• What does it mean for a man to be a Tantric lover and a teacher?

• What happens when we make love with two partners at once?

• What is a Tantric initiation?

• What is awakening?

In order to find answers, I will take you backstage in the theater of my Tantric drama, where I reveal my hidden secrets and also some outrageous episodes that had a deep and lasting effect on my evolution and on the rediscovery of an ancient Tantric path that I named SkyDancing Tantra.

In each chapter, I have attempted to weave three components:

1. A true adventure that was a key moment in my sexual and spiritual evolution and also in my development as a teacher of Tantra

2. Reflections about this adventure, asking myself, What did I learn?

3. A short and easy practice to offer you, the reader, a way to recreate these experiences in your own life

However, this book, Love, Sex, and Awakening, is not a Tantra teaching manual. I have produced five books of Tantric practices and it’s time to move on. Should you wish to explore the Tantra practices in more depth, please check out my previous books, which contain thorough and detailed guidance for personal Tantric practice.

In this book, I invite you to wholeheartedly enter into my exotic and erotic saga. The book will take you beyond what most people think is possible in sex. It may also carry you into shocking, unimaginable realms, as Tantra invariably does.

In order to break through the boundaries of sexual ignorance, I had to have—from the beginning—a strong rebellious side that was not afraid to follow the guidance of the guru between my legs. I learned that my sex center has a voice … and I learned to listen to her.

My work tends to polarize people. This split happens all the time and is best illustrated by what happens when I travel. Typically, when I board a plane and take my seat, the person next to me asks me, What do you do?

I am a writer, I reply.

Ah, really? What do you write about? the person asks.

Then I say, "Well, I wrote a book called The Art of Sexual Ecstasy."

The moment I say this, I know that either the person will never speak to me again for the rest of the journey or they won’t stop asking questions and sharing confidences.

Even though some stories in this book sound unbelievable, I did not invent them. They really happened. I am sharing them because I believe each story holds a message of wisdom, not just for myself but for others. Put together, these adventures serve as a jumping board from which you can, if you wish, dive into the experience of love, sex, and awakening, discovering how they are connected.

In addition, I offer these stories as part of a calling to eradicate sexual ignorance and to alleviate the suffering that this ignorance has created for so many people around the world.

The stories are presented in a loosely chronological order. Yet, as you will see, each story feels as if it is happening now, so that I can more easily take you with me on the journey.

In recalling each story, and writing it, I had more of an emotional reminiscence than a factual one. This is why my focus is not so much on timelines and chronology but more on the impact each event had on my perception of reality and the inspiration it gave me to share it with others.

The journey starts in Paris, France, where I grew up. The book begins with the story of the first time I made love and the mystical experience that gave new meaning to my life.

It continues with my decision to move to London in order to study humanistic psychology, including revelations that emerged from a weeklong experiment in sensory deprivation, exploring the crucial question Who am I?

Next, we go to New York, where I look for someone to guide my first LSD trip. I also discover what appeared to be a past life in the perfect Tantric realm of Shambala, the abode of the gods.

From there, I take part in the legendary Woodstock Festival and witness the birth of a loving, wild American counterculture.

In New York, during a Zen meditation evening, I experience love at first sight with a handsome African jazz musician. We live together. I join the Arica mystery school and discover the mystic Oscar Ichazo.

After many years, and a heart-breaking divorce, life takes me to India, where I meet Osho, a master of crazy wisdom and a great teacher. Osho guides me into several powerful realizations, one of them being the transmission of cosmic laughter—the gift of seeing myself as separate from my egoic concerns through the power of laughing at them.

Osho invites me to lead the first Tantra groups at his ashram, which confront sexual taboos and explore uninhibited sexual freedom as a way of unburdening people of shame, guilt, and fear. These radical experiences provided a foundation of trust and strength for my own teaching work.

Next I start to travel, leading Tantra groups in Europe and the United States. On the way, I find myself in a sexual threesome, which gives me deep insight into why the female gender has been—and in many countries still is—oppressed by the male gender.

In the course of helping others, I allow myself to undergo a demonstration of public vaginal massage, or yoni healing session. This leads to a spectacular release of Kali-style rage, followed by a deep sense of liberation. This work becomes the first cycle of my Love and Ecstasy Training (LET), focusing on sexual healing.

I meet an accomplished yogi, and together, in a full moon ceremony by the ocean, on a Hawaiian island, we explore the transmutation of sexual orgasm into bliss through the practice of the Tantric YabYum meditation, which becomes the third cycle of the LET, called riding the Wave of Bliss.

In California, I investigate all the teachings available regarding sexual orgasm. I describe these practices and how they provided me with the inspiration to develop a method for honoring both men and women equally. This becomes the second cycle of the LET: developing the multi-orgasmic response.

The three stages of my training are complete and my work becomes popular and widespread. Now it is time to shed light on the dark side of Tantra and attempt to find answers and solutions to these questions: Why do so many Tantric teachers abuse their power and position, exploiting their followers and disciples? What are the solutions?

Finally, moving to the light side in the last chapter of the book, I describe my personal experience of spiritual initiation and an unexpected awakening.

To conclude, we are all bliss hunters. We have all experienced moments of great joy and supreme realization, if only for a short time: while doing yoga, listening to sublime music, giving birth, or falling in love on the beach. In every life there are such peak experiences.

From these privileged moments we start our quest, looking for a method, a teacher, a geographical location, a partner, a situation that will rekindle such sublime moments.

Patiently we remove the veils of ignorance that hide our soul’s light. We drink more of the truth and look deeper into the web of life, realizing that we are responsible to create the reality to which we aspire, and then, having attained it, to help others who are also thirsty.

Sharing the teachings of my Tantric path with thousands of people around the world has given me firsthand experience of our common human purpose. I hope you will recognize that my concerns, my pitfalls, my difficulties, and my search are not very different from your own.

I hope you will feel entertained and inspired by this Tantric saga and that it will bring a sense of the sacred into your love life and a taste of awakening into your spiritual life.

[contents]

Chapter One

Virgin Revelation

For the first time in my life, I was dancing in the arms of a prince. But he was not my prince. The orchestra was playing a waltz, and the violins surrounded the dancers with romantic crescendos. But this romance was not for me.

The setting was exquisite. Gilded mirrors lined the walls of the elegant ballroom and reflected the dancers whirling about. Hundreds of white roses and orchids in majestic marble vases decorated every corner of the room. My escort, Prince Hubert de Polgnac, a young man in his mid-twenties, held my waist firmly as he guided and glided us on the dance floor. He had deeply set blue eyes and unruly brown curls that crowned a high forehead above a long, aristocratic French nose. His eyes were shining and he had a mischievous smile, as if he were about to reveal a secret. He whispered tender words to me. He was obviously smitten.

And that, of course, was the plan. After all, I was almost eighteen, a well-educated, elegant, attractive debutante wearing a long billowing gown from Christian Dior.

I was leading the golden life of a young French socialite groomed to marry rich into a good family that would afford class, money, castles, servants, and protection. My mother, herself a contessa and a grande dame, had seen to it that I was primed for the part.

As I looked around, I noticed how magical, how perfect this evening was, and yet it seemed so unreal. Some mysterious part of me felt utterly uncomfortable. There was a contraction in my stomach—a familiar sensation, as if something in me wanted to run away, as if I had been set on the wrong stage, in the wrong play. No matter how well I played the part, my soul did not belong here.

I secretly belonged to the world of the Paris underbelly, in the dark alleys of the night, where prostitutes bargained temptations, drunks argued, and artists stalked the muse. I smiled prettily, of course, in this high-society setting, but oh, how I longed to break out of that golden cage.

My escape was already beginning. Secretly I was leading a double life. At midnight, I gently asked permission to go home. Regretfully, Hubert called his chauffeur and sat beside me in the car. I gave the chauffeur another address. I was not going home. But nobody knew.

I said I was staying with my aunt.

This was an easy subterfuge. Young debutantes were expected to live with their families in an honorable, virginal, chaperoned lifestyle. Those who wanted to marry well played the game. But I didn’t care. I had other plans.

My parents invited us for dinner at Maxim’s tomorrow evening, said Hubert, taking my hand. Are you free?

Yes, I said, I would be delighted. Maxim’s was the most elegant restaurant in all of Paris. Why this invitation? What if it were a preliminary step in asking for my hand in marriage?

I could never accept such a marriage for one simple reason: I was in love with someone else. I was in love with Richard, my crazy, wild, bohemian American painter and flamenco guitarist. Every fiber of my being desired him. One touch of his hand sent shivers up my spine. Our chemistry was irresistible. But he was not of my world and the passion he unleashed in my being was not allowed in my world.

The chauffeur stopped in front of the building at 52 Avenue Foch. I was lucky, as this was one of the fanciest avenues in Paris. The address looked good. One could believe my tale about the aunt. After a platonic yet tender hug, I left the prince and walked through the imposing front door of the building, toward the elevator. I stopped and looked around. The street outside was empty. Hubert’s car had gone. I tiptoed to a door in the back marked porte de service and stepped into a narrow, gray, rather dirty and unattractive staircase that led up to the servants’ quarters.

Climbing the stairs all the way to the seventh floor without an elevator was a challenge. I was wearing a long white ball gown and absolutely needed to avoid getting even the smallest spot on the billowing folds of the long skirt. Nothing must betray my secret.

I was already taking a big risk. I was supposed to be home by midnight. Father might be waiting to check on me. It wouldn’t do to arrive home late in a white dress streaked with soot and the dregs of people’s garbage and deliveries. Hugging the folds of my dress against my heart, I climbed the stairs, slowly and silently. My heart was beating faster with every step.

Behind me stalked a dark vision of the Ogre, my powerful, patriarchal father, the guardian of my virginity, keeping watch over his daughter’s activities like a hawk while—and I knew his secrets—he himself spent many a night seducing girls my age.

I sensed the hypocrisy of the world in which I’d grown up. I saw it at home, watching my mother, the upright, perfectly elegant contessa, hold the fort and maintain the honor of the family as my father acted the part of the impeccable diplomat during the day only to become a wild reveler and womanizer by night.

I watched my proud, silent, dutiful mother sit alone at night with the cat purring on her chest while my father danced through the Parisian night life. That was the moral code by which they lived. That was the way it was supposed to be in a world created by powerful, macho aristocrats. Was I ready to join the club?

With every step up the back stairs, it seemed to me I was climbing beyond the tyranny of class and the oppression of the patriarchy. Yes, I had lived like a prisoner in my own home, not seen or loved for who I was but for how I performed in school, how I dressed, how I played the good daughter role and fulfilled my duties. Life had been a long series of rules and carefully learned behavior that must be obeyed as an invisible code of social ethics. I did not know another world yet, but I certainly knew that I no longer wanted to be imprisoned in this one.

In front of me was the unknown, the promise of a new life, even if I could not know what it would be. I was driven by the feeling that I must hurry there, that this moment was of the utmost importance. With every step I climbed, I seemed to conquer a new world of freedom and passion and heart-filled abandon, not over what I should become but over who I had been up until that very moment.

Step after step I climbed, moving beyond the gray, hidden world of those who worked so hard to serve the will of others. I hugged my Cinderella dress and felt a shiver of fear. Maybe I would end up paying dearly for the price of my freedom. Would I be thrown out on the street and be forced to live in such a place, in a tiny attic room, with no money?

Another step. And then, in front of me, finally, was the door to Richard’s student apartment. I hesitated for a moment, and suddenly the door opened wide and there he was. As I looked at him, so much joy flooded my being that I could hardly stand upright. Seeing him was like looking directly into the sun.

I felt you! he said, opening his arms wide and hugging me.

I have come home now, I told myself. I can rest my worries and drink in the glory of being loved, admired, accepted, and I can give everything in return.

Richard’s tiny apartment was a converted servant’s quarters—small but bright. I had gone there many times to enjoy his company, listen to his passionate flamenco serenades, and rest in his arms. Until then, we had flirted and kissed, but I had not undressed and he had been respectful of my boundaries.

Every time I visited his home and snuggled in his arms, the longing in me for freedom and abandon grew. But so did the threat of my father’s wrath. Why couldn’t I have the best of both worlds: be a debutante on the front lines and a wild woman behind the scenes? Was not tasting forbidden fruit the ultimate excitement?

I certainly felt it, in that moment, as I breathed in Richard’s special smell: a mixture of the resin in his paintings, the tobacco he smoked in his pipe, and the sweat of a man who was excited about life. His smell was so sensually inviting.

Richard opened his arms, released me, and took a few steps back.

Let me look at you, he said.

I put on that smiling pretty face I’d worn at the ball and twirled about, showing my dress. Why did I feel so hot, and shy, in front of him? I didn’t feel that way with the others. I tried to imagine him as my escort at the ball, in a tuxedo. How I would have loved to have him there, by my side, instead of feeling split between two worlds. But it wouldn’t do. He did not have the name, the family lineage, the money, the manners. Yet he was so much more sexy and fun.

You are gorgeous, he said. "A regal jeune fille bien rangée." ¹

He curtsied, laughed, and gave me a kiss that tasted like wine and tobacco … and shot though my body straight to my loins.

He offered wine. I wanted water. He sat me down and played guitar and sang flamenco while looking in my eyes. I sang with him, in long, deep, throaty wails, and little by little we began a duet, flamenco style, of passionate laments and moans, like two Spanish lovers longing for each other from afar.

We were like two instruments tuning to the right pitch before a concert. Each time we reached a common note and could extend it to a tune, our two voices became one, our energies relaxed in this playful communion of our souls. Richard was so bright and ardent, I felt inspired and I longed to touch him.

I hadn’t told him yet that I had a midnight curfew and was already overstretched. As if reading my mind, or my heart, he put his guitar aside and took my hand.

Can you stay tonight? he asked.

I was surprised. He knew I had to go home. I always did. Yet this novel idea suddenly became irresistibly attractive. A free night, beyond rules, beyond limits.

Father would kill me, I said.

He doesn’t need to know, he answered.

How do you mean?

Well, go back the way you came here, he replied.

True, I said. We have a service staircase at home as well. I could go in that way.

After further discussion, we agreed on a scenario that would have me home by 6:00 am. As for the consequences, if I was found out, Inshallah, as they say in the Middle East: It’s up to God.

Then I relaxed. He took me in his arms. But the corset of my dress was stiff and tight. He started to unzip it while kissing me. I let him do it. Slowly, kiss after kiss, caress after caress, he skillfully opened my dress and pulled it down to my waist. It was the first time in my life that I had been so close to a man while so scantily dressed. We did not show physical affection in my family. My parents did not hug in front of me. But now, this contact awakened such longing in my body, as if I had been thirsty all my life and didn’t know it.

When his hands glided over my skin, his gentle touch swept away years of anxiety. His tenderness healed the sense of being on trial, watched and judged by my father, the family lawyer, while I was rarely hugged or touched by my mother—she had long ago given up on physical contact. I felt sad, because I lived with my parents. I loved them, and it was this love that made it so painful to be with them. My soul felt stifled in their company. I loved them, but that love had nowhere to go: I didn’t know what to do with this love, where to put it, how to express it.

But now, with the stroke of one hand, all this was erased, healed, made right again, as life came back to its warm, relaxed source.

Richard came closer. His smiling gaze poured into me. There was so much acceptance in his eyes that I felt there could be no evil lurking in this man’s heart. His arms were safe. Regardless of the reproaches that might ensue at home, all I could do was follow my heart and my body, and both were drawn to him, closer, deeper, beyond thoughts, beyond all concerns of the future. At that moment, that was all that counted.

I love you, he whispered.

Yes, I said, And I love you.

Those words. We’d heard them in every song, on the radio, in the movies. But now, they were ours. They meant: You are the one that my soul and my body want to join with.

I relaxed in the joy that expanded in my heart and let go of any last vestige of hesitation. As I turned my head toward the window, next to the bed we were lying on, I saw a round silver moon shining through.

The moon is full tonight, Richard whispered, his lips coming closer to mine. It is our night. I could taste his breath. His lips rested against mine and his mouth opened, mine also, and our tongues met and we drank of each other deeply. My spine started to shiver and undulate as the kiss triggered an electric reflex, a current shooting down my back all the way to my sacrum. Now I knew there was no going back. I had been waiting for this moment all my teenage life, fantasizing about the way, the time, the manner in which I would become a woman.

Now I would finally relinquish that so-called precious virginity—precious at least in my father’s eyes, since he was fond of repeating: Always remember, stay a virgin until you marry, or you will lose men’s respect. What a cumbersome state, this business of being a virgin to gain the approval of others. After all, why should I need anybody else’s respect? Surely my self-respect was enough.

With every delicious kiss, something unknown and powerful was awakening in me. Every caress was an opening, a liberation. And just as Richard had slipped my dress away from my body, so his loving touch relaxed and healed the armor in my mind, melting the contraction in my psyche.

And then suddenly a hesitation. I knew why: until now, I had belonged to another man. To my father. It was Father who had introduced me to the Paris night life at sixteen. It was Father who had taken me to dance in the discos. When we met his friends, he instructed me to call him by his name, Boris. He didn’t want people to know I was his daughter. He liked people to think I was his girlfriend. There was something unhealthy and intimidating in all this, and over the years, Father had become unusually protective and possessive of me, as if I were his thing … almost a second, younger wife.

Richard continued to undress me. I realized that I was wearing the same dress I’d worn at my first debutante ball, when Father, grumpy and bad-tempered, had to officially release his younger wife into the social world and company of other men.

It had been a prestigious affair. It had taken place at the Palais de Versailles, the sumptuous residence of King Louis XIV—le Roi Soleil, the Sun King. As we arrived in the majestic courtyard of Versailles, we stepped out of the limousine onto a red carpet. We walked between two rows of republican honor guards mounted on horseback and dressed in full regalia, their swords in hand (sabre au clair) saluting the tout Paris who were attending this rare occasion. Eventually I was presented to Princess Marie de Bonaparte, the great-grandniece of Napoleon himself, and curtsied.

Somehow, it was that debutante life, that night, that moment of emerging into the promised land of high society that Richard was peeling away, as he slowly took the long ball gown off my body. The empress’s clothes were being stripped off, her nakedness slowly revealed.

Richard was taking his time. I liked this slowness. I could feel his respect. He knew I was a virgin. He did not want to rush things. I could take the time I needed to taste each step and let my body adjust. Oh, my body was on fire. I wanted him. I wanted him right then. I had wanted him for months already. My difficulty came from the fact that, as the intensity of our excitement grew stronger, I was getting caught up