To say my relationship to OneTaste and Orgasmic Meditation (OM) is complicated would be an understatement. It’s more a chaotic, disorienting, and resistant collaboration. However, it has been four years since I OMed for the first time and I’m finally ready to “come” out (sorry, couldn’t resist the easy pun there) of the OneTaste closet.
While I haven’t quite figured out how to talk about OM without making people uncomfortable, the time has arrived for me to stop caring. OMing has changed my life and I want to talk about it. OM is my spiritual practice, my sadhana. After six months of continuous practice, I feel more like the woman I want to be than ever before.
I surrender to my body every time I do the practice...to the wild feminine within me. With each OM I feel (and trust) the enormous power of my own life force that pulls me towards everything I want. For so long I have been so out of touch with my body that I was always confused about what I wanted. Now, all of my desires are crystal clear.
This desire medicine will run me (or ruin me if it must). Not in a Buddha-desire-is suffering way, but a I’m-a-woman-that-the-Buddha-will-never-fully-understand way. My desire has been forced under so many layers of niceness I can’t suffer because I don’t even know what I want. When I do want something, I’m unsure if I want it or if someone else does and then I convince myself I do too. Or I want something and then spent the next 10 minutes reminding myself why it isn’t appropriate or why I shouldn’t want it.
OM is not for the faint of heart, it’s more shadow work than I’ve experienced in four years of therapy. It brings to the surface all the wildness I’ve worked so hard to hide. It shows me all the places I avoid intimacy. I’ve had more Kundalini experiences in two weeks of OM than I did with years of Kundalini yoga or 100s of ashram meditations. My body needed pleasure to break open my heart and my desire needed my heart to know which way to go.
Somewhere along the way, someone/something else became my authority and I want it back. And I don’t know how to get it back. Except that this one time at an OM class (read like an American Pie quote), I found it. I took OM for the first time almost four years ago when the class was only 10 people. I cried at all the breaks and I didn’t know why. The first 15 minutes I practiced with a tough, motorcycle guy and it was awkward to say the least. My second session was with an experienced OMer, I felt relaxed, lighthearted, but still nervous. However, it was after the practice ended that I knew something important had happened.
For days later I felt different, more powerful, more me.
Almost two years to the day after that class, I took it again. This time in a huge room with a lot of people and I decided not to do the practice at the end of the day during the optional lab. I told myself I didn’t feel comfortable enough with anyone from the class to do the practice, but really I was scared. Scared of the power I felt in myself from the last time I practiced. Scared of the woman I would be if I actually inhabited my body and myself.
Four years since taking the course for the first time, I stopped being afraid. Within a day of doing the practice again, the fog of confusion I’d been inhabiting (common in SF), cleared and the things I was unsure about suddenly faded away and my clarity reigned. My desire became my compass and I could move forward.
I understand now how powerful OMing is and its revolutionary potential. However, what excites me the most is how it helps women reclaim and re-inhabit their bodies, and with it their sexuality. Like many women I have a strange relationship to sex and my sexuality. I want to be desired and yet then feel overwhelmed by the attention. I want to have enjoyable sex and yet a lot of times get so overwhelmed I can’t say what I want. I feel inappropriate for wanting it, and scold myself for even wanting it. Truth is, I want to bite and scratch feel myself being turned on without checking out of my body.
For so long I followed spiritual practices that took me out of my body or required stillness, but I want a practice where I can squirm and scream.
It seems so obvious now why as a “spiritual seeker” I never found what I was looking for. I was attempting to transcend, when my spiritual path required a descent--a feminine descent into myself, my body, and my depth. I have always found it easy to access an experience of unity and lightness, what I struggled with was accessing my uniqueness and darkness. The parts of my soul that yearned for me, as the unique expression of the universe and not the spiritual being who wanted to merge with existence.
And yet, in OM I merge. I merge with the man stroking me. I create intimacy with someone without the pressure of sex. I confront a part of my body that I've been taught to hide and shame. I love that it’s a practice I can’t do alone, it requires an other, just like life. It is through partnership and others that we become the powerful beings we are meant to be.
I can no longer play the role of the woman being admired for her niceness (read meekness), instead I crave the woman who is powerful beyond measure and doesn’t care what others think. Philosopher Michel Foucault (thanks to my friend for introducing him to me…you know who you are) talks about the evolution of a woman’s sexuality from an object of desire to a subject of pleasure. OneTaste gave me this -- I now know I can own my pleasure, sexuality, and desire and it doesn’t make me less spiritual.
I still have an odd relationship to OMing itself, as my mind keeps trying to figure out if it does anything for me. I wonder if it “works,” or if I drank the “Kool-aid,” and I’m still afraid of sounding weird when I tell people about it. The practice isn’t exactly something I can talk to my parents about (though now they can read about it). Mostly, I’m tired of caring what other think about what I should or shouldn’t be doing—what is appropriate or not appropriate for a woman to talk about. Because, in actuality, the truth I need comes from my body—the proof is in my pussy (and for once, I’m not talking about my cat)…and my pussy has her power back.