The (Forgotten) Key Ingredient to Orgasmic Bliss

Wisdom. Compassion. That snake is bound to bite ya. ~ Sean Hayes, "33 Fool"

I feel like I am burning in fire of my own fear. All these little demons pour into my brain and whisper their frightening tales:

You're not good enough
You'll never succeed
You're too old for this
You're no expert

On and on the story goes until I am paralyzed in a sea of negativity.

But I have the (forgotten) key to freedom. And it not only supports me in daily life, but also works wonders in the bedroom:

Compassion

"Seriously?" you ask. "Isn't that some sort of hippy-dippy, Buddhist, spiritual thing?"

Well, yeah! Compassion shows up in Buddhist philosophy, but it's a universal principle that serves all of us.

On the surface compassion is the ability to feels another's suffering and to be moved to alleviate the suffering. But it goes much deeper than that. When you feel yourself in the midst of your own suffering, you invite in healing by acknowledging and loving that part of yourself that is in pain. It reminds us that we are whole and perfect as we are when we have forgotten the steps to the gloriously messy dance of being human.

On a biological level, when we experience compassion, our heart rate slows and stress level decreases, we secrete more oxytocin (the bonding hormone) and we activate the parts of the brain that are also connected to empathy, caregiving and feelings of pleasure.

That's right: pleasure.

Often while having sex, our grimy little demons arrive, spewing their poison into our ears (telling us that we are a fat loser, not orgasmic enough or can't last more than five minutes) and cutting us off from pleasure. The usual response is to reach for techniques or masks to cover the tender vulnerability yearning to rise. 

We have been conditioned for achievement and external validation; so we grip harder, run faster or make a hasty retreat from anything that may threaten our fragile little ego's perception of itself. Our climaxes have become trophies that we pass back and forth to each other, reminding us that we are "winners" in the bedroom and that we are "doing a good job."

When we are covering for our own perceived shortcomings, we are blocking and numbing our own capacity to feel, both the pain and the pleasure. Or we become so sensitive that the slightest touch causes us to jump in our skin and do anything to get rid of the sensation (as in premature ejaculation). 

Many of us are lying during sex. We feel we don't deserve what we want, so we don't ask for it. Or we don't know how to communicate it in a way that our partners can hear, understand and easily follow. Or we haven't taken the time to cultivate an awareness of our desires and have no idea for what to ask. 

We don't want to hurt each other's feelings, so we hold back from the truth until we either implode in a barren wasteland of sexlessness or explode in a vitriolic game of blame and victimhood. 

I will tell you this: the best sex I've ever had was when I didn't know what the hell I was doing and I just surrendered to the moment-to-moment unbridled expression emanating from my deepest truth. 

I simply got naked, in every way possible, and revealed the burning treasure within. 

I stopped performing and started feeling.

And when the voices arose, I had compassion for myself. I was honest. I told my lover(s) that I was afraid that I wasn't hot enough for him. I told her that I was afraid that my pussy smelled. I told him I was afraid that I would get too attached and that our relationship would get awkward.

Most of the time, this opportunity for compassion opened the door for my partner's deepest fears and wounds to arise and be witnessed.  The benefit was a level of intimacy that we would have never discovered had we stayed hidden behind our masks. 

And any lover that couldn't accept all of me--well, I tapped into my capacity for compassion and opened my heart wider to their pain (which he or she was obviously trying to mask) and my own feelings of rejection. I blessed them, didn't take it personally (as best I could) and walked away.

Compassion allows us to cast the net of acceptable experiences so wide that everything that arises is not a hindrance to our happiness but an opportunity for evolution. We become erotic alchemists and step into the tantra of everyday life. Every sigh, whisper and moan is born from our erotic truth. We relax our monkey minds, soften into presence and surrender into the delicious, erotic yearning that comes (wink, wink) when we are a "yes" to all of creation. 

This is what it means to truly live an orgasmic life.

So next time you are feeling the need to reach for a technique or solution to your suffering, both in and out of the bedroom, see if you can simply step back and see your situation not as a "problem," but as a chance for greater intimacy. Remember your humanity, find compassionate acceptance and allow the gifts of your heart, hands and genitals to arise in service to your highest calling and deepest desire. 

How Humility Breeds Confidence

In my meditation this weekend, I connected to a very young and tender part of myself needing love: the terrible two-year old who is in a constant bratty fit, never likes what she has and feels entitled to her every whim.

I sat with this girl and, in the midst of deep embarrassment, found compassion for her. I discovered that even if no one in the world likes her, there is always someone out there who loves her: myself.

I noticed how she often resorts to emotional violence and acts "smarter than everyone else" in order to mask the deep insecurity that she isn't "good enough."

Meeting her in this way taught me much about the power of humility.

Humility isn't about self-deprecation or lowering oneself: it's about the willingness to say "yes" to whatever arises and surrender to the great mystery of our lives.

This becomes the breeding ground of true confidence--for when we are living in our deep "yes," we recognize that whoever we are now and whatever we have to offer is exactly perfect in the moment. We no longer need to "fix" or "adjust" ourselves in order to fit some pre-ordained structure of how we "think" we should be.

From here, gratitude and wonder become our natural state of being and the unknown no longer represents where we are "lacking," but where we are abundant with possibility.

Completely in Tears After Reading this Sweet & Heartbreaking Comic.

“Animals don’t hate and we are supposed to be better than them.”

~ Elvis Presley

 It’s often said: that which we despise in others is what we despise in ourselves. We see this kind of hatred all around the world: warring religious factions in The Middle East (descending from the same ancestry) fighting over what’s the “right” name for “God”; Christian leaders who preach against homosexuality while having affairs with male lovers; even just the everyday battle of the sexes between women who think all men are pigs and men who think all women are b*tches—when really what everyone wants from the other is simply love and acceptance.

“In time we hate that which we often fear.”

~ William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra

We are more alike than we like to admit because that means we have to do the hard work of accepting all of who we are, especially the dark and shadowy bits—the bits that we fear will prove that we are unlovable. This is where the power of unconditional love shines the brightest.

Imagine truly loving ourselves without having to prove our worthiness.

Imagine if just our very existence merited that we are lovable? What if we are, in fact, love itself? And what if that radical self-acceptance inspired the same in others?

Animals exemplify this concept with such touching purity. There have been numerous studies to suggest that living with pets helps with health and happiness. Animals are empathic creatures and can feel us. They know when to come near when we need them the most. They offer companionship and love, while asking for nothing in return.

The Brazilian comic below deeply touched me with its message of compassion and self-acceptance. May we continue to heal and grow from the unconditional love of animals and may we humans soon be the face of unconditional love itself.

The Cancer of Hopelessness: How one crazy dude and two rock bands whacked me from despair

I’ve been rather low these past few days with this feeling of “why bother?” I can work hard my whole life and will it really make a difference? Am I just a dreamer who has lost touch with reality? Who cares about my selfish little dreams when there are people on the planet who are starving, being beaten and mutilated, and who don’t have the freedom to speak their minds? Shouldn’t I just shut up and be thankful for all that I have?

Well, no. First of all I know that all that talk is just my fear and my shame around asking and receiving what I want. Those voices provide a strong argument for me to NOT do the scary, hard work of being an advocate for the dreamers and the optimists and for the people who believe that if I touch just one life today, even anonymously, then that will be “enough.”

Technology is advancing at an exponential rate. Will social progress come along for the ride and bring issues like gender equality, global poverty, religious freedom and environmental conservation to light? To my surprise (and despair) an overwhelming number of people I know do not think so.

There seems to be an all-pervading cancer of hopelessness that is seeping into our culture and keeps us from living our natural state of joy, grace, pleasure and abundance. It disguises itself in many forms. There are those who sit back and say “There’s never gonna be peace anyway, so might as well let the bastards blow each other up.” Another group may say, “That’s happening over there. It doesn’t affect me. I’ve got my own to take care of.” And then there are others who are aware of what’s happening but get stuck in their anger, righteous indignation, and separation from humanity. “How dare THOSE people shit all over the planet and ruin it for the rest of us.”

We’re all stuck. For every tweet that goes out to topple the repressive regime in one country, there is another self-serving group waiting to grab power. For every step forward, it feels like we end up twenty steps back from where we started. We are all living life as fast as we can in the hopes to die number 1.

And yet…I can’t help but return full of hope. There is something in me that won’t let me quit. Call is purpose. Call it orgasm. Call it the silly dreamer sickness. Yes, we are bombarded with images of despair now more than ever. But that is in fact exactly what we need to take the first steps towards healing. GLOBAL AWARENESS. 100 years ago, someone in a third world country would not have even known that riches exist for someone like him. Now he knows it’s possible. A woman who is forced to hide her sexuality in an extremely oppressive society now knows that somewhere in the world exists a place where she could express herself. A gay kid trapped in the reddest of red states now knows that somewhere is a place where his love will be legally honored. And we can no longer turn our eyes away from the truth that another person’s pain is our own. We can now put a face to the “global issue.”

Awareness leads to possibility which leads to hope. And hope is what keeps us alive in the darkest hours. Yes. It’s gonna get messy at first. Anytime you start airing out dirty laundry, the resentments will spill out all over yourself and others. In fear we try to hold onto them and cast them onto others in blame. It may feel safe and comfortable in the moment, but that’s the easy way out. The path sustainable change is to recognize those resentments as unexpressed desires, take responsibility for them and ask for forgiveness from those we have hurt along the way. Only as the old energy passes through us are we able to clear a space for the frozen pain to melt and the wounds to heal.

A final story: I walking home this afternoon. I had my ipod on. Beautiful day. I was just starting to emerge from the feeling of hopelessness that had being weighing me down when out of nowhere: WHACK! This homeless-looking man passes me and (intentionally) hits me hard on my upper arm. I stand there. Shocked. People are staring at me with looks of confusion and concern. One girl asks “Are you OK?” I touch my arm to check for bruising or blood and nervously laugh. “I’m fine,” I say. I turn to look at my attacker and he is mocking me. The way I touch my arm. The way I am laughing. As if I am some stupid bitch. Again, I am shocked. I can see this man is clearly unstable. I drop into him and feel not anger, but a deep sadness at how far gone he is. What amounts of pain must he have experienced that he must completely check out of life in order to cope? I turned away and kept walking. One man looked at me and in solidarity said, “What a douche.” But I didn’t feel like dismissing the attacker. He was alive and real, just like me. I softly said, “He’s obviously not in his right mind.”

I continue on and notice a deep welling in my throat. Hmmm…hope. Is there any hope of help for him? And if not, what about the millions of others around the world? If hopelessness is right here in my neighborhood, how the hell can I even think to be of service to those around the planet? I feel the despair creep back in.

And that’s when the universe steps in. At that moment Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” starts to play on my ipod. OK, I know. It feels like a moment out of cheesy movie. But as I turned the corner onto empty Newtown Rd, the tears began to pour out of me. I suddenly had this rush of gratitude. Of remembrance. Oh yes, belief and hope are who I am and I am here to walk through the shadows to help others see what is possible. That there is life on the other side. That dreamers are not unrealistic fools. The crying overpowered me. My heart cracked open in the middle of the street. And then (just when I thought it was over), Ben Harper starts up next with, “When She Believes.” Now if that ain’t a sign from beyond, I don’t know what is. The tears start up all over again. Cleansing, sweet, open, grateful. I am finally in communion with that part of me that knows I am exactly where I need to be in this moment.

Next time I see that guy, I am going to say, “Thank you for waking me up! May your journey bring you freedom. There is hope yet.”

Photo of artist Aaron Bohrod's painting Dreams. Courtesy of SIUC Museum.

“I am a Selfish, Judgmental Bitch” (and Other Declarations of Love)

YouTube has a video of Pema Chodron discussing the 5 Slogans of Machig Labdron, which are instructions for waking up so we can alleviate the suffering of others. One of the slogans is “Approach What You Find Repulsive” (or as I like to say, “Love the Unlovable”). Well of course I am a loving, open-minded, spiritual person…until I discover that unlovable lives inside of me.

I was on the train the other day, playing the role of “devoted yoga student”, when I found myself sitting across from an obese, homeless, black man. Unfortunately, this is an all-too familiar scene in NYC, so my jaded self would have either surreptitiously covered my nose or moved to the next car once the train had stopped.  Except that I was instantly captivated by one fantastic oddity: he wore a set of neon green, acrylic, one-inch fingernails (with one nail missing from the middle finger of his left hand).  Afterwards, I couldn’t help but study him: the wooden cane slung over the seat railing, khaki linen pants and matching shirt, a navy-blue fringed flannel scarf over both shoulders, white tennis shoes with laces loose on the left one, a reusable Walgreens bag to his left, the smell of day-old garbage emanating from his corpulence.

And then I discovered his penetrating stare.  To my chagrin, I realized that for as much as I was openly observing him, he was observing me…and he could see that I was watching him. I felt exposed. I instantly wanted to contract in fear. I couldn’t let him (of all people) see me like that. Then I felt guilty for being judgmental…and I feared he would see that ugliness in me too. I thought to myself, “What can I do to help him? Food? Money?” But I recognized that thought came not out of service to him, but out of a desire to alleviate my discomfort. The most intimate thing for me simply was to sit and approve. I didn’t have to change or fix anything. Just notice his eyes boring into mine and allow him to look at me that way. And then it came to me: we were not separate beings. Not at all. This man. This subway car. This air. These rats trembling below. We were all part of the same universe-organism; we simply have our own unique roles to pla, like different organs within the same body.

Because the truth is, his path is perfectly designed for him. My path is perfectly designed for me. The rats’ path is perfectly designed for them. And what’s more: all these different beings on different paths make exquisite mirrors for helping me get to know the many (and often disowned) parts of myself. My guilt. My judgment. Normally I want to tuck them away. Give ‘em a spare dime, send ‘em packing and sit back in my righteous nobility. But it’s through creating a loving relationship with my guilty self that allows me to know my purity. Creating a loving relationship with my judgmental self allows me to know my tolerance. And by gently inviting a relationship with this curious being (even if for only two minutes), I walked away knowing a piece of my soul a little bit better. My impenetrable heart softened.

That is, until I unfurled my mat and rolled my eyes at the selfish, uppity, white bitch yammering on her phone (in the yoga studio of all places!) about her stupid, petty life.

I still have so much to learn about love…

Photo copyright Candice Holdorf. 2 train in Brooklyn.