Coming with God
“Is this the way you’re going to show up at your publisher’s office, dressed like that?”
Michel was barely awake, squinting at me from beneath the bedcovers yet scowling with disapproval. The top of his head was barely visible, his salt-and-pepper hair covering his forehead, his normally piercing blue eyes half-closed with sleepiness. Eliane, his wife, lay next to him, also half-awake, her brown hair covering most of her slender, pale face.
I was standing in the doorway of their bedroom, dressed carelessly in old blue jeans and a t-shirt, completely identified with the left-wing, hip, don’t-give-a-damn-how-I-look, young Parisian intellectual mindset.
“Well, what’s the problem?” I replied, defensively. “After all, I’m delivering a manuscript to a publisher, not entering a fashion contest.”
“Wrong,” said Michel. “It is a fashion contest, and you have to win. Don’t you want your book to be published? Don’t you want a big advance?”
“Yes,” I said, “but I don’t see what my dress code has to do with it.”
Michel sat up, now fully awake.
“It has everything to do with it. You must show up there like the most gorgeous and affluent princess he has ever seen. You must walk in there like you are doing him a favor, not the other way around.”
“Hmm,” I mused, not quite getting it. “Me doing him a favor by asking him to give me carte blanche on the design, plus 30,000 francs?”
“It’s all in the costume,” Michel explained. “You must play the part, as if you already have it all. Eliane, shall we dress her in one of your Russian princess coats?”
“Yes,” said Eliane, now also sitting up, looking thoroughly amused. Pointing to her walk-in closet, she added, “Open that first cupboard on the right.”
I did, revealing a collection of the most gorgeous fur coats. It was winter in Paris and here were minks, silver foxes, astrakhans … oh my! Nowadays, of course, it’s politically incorrect to wear such things, but back then it was still okay. And I was just a young woman overwhelmed by the sight of so much extravagance.
Eliane certainly had the means to support her wardrobe. She was one of the wealthiest women in France. Years earlier, she’d heard about Michel Sokoloff’s skill as an astrologer and went to see him for a session. She rang the bell. He opened the door. It was love at first sight. She knew right away he was the one.
And now, many years later, she was his beloved wife and guardian angel. I didn’t blame her for falling in love with Michel. He was a truly extraordinary man. Of Russian descent, Michel had been left for dead on a battlefield in France in 1944 during the liberation from the Nazis. The Americans found him. He was taken to a hospital and came back to life, paralyzed from the waist down.
The doctors said he would be in a wheelchair for the rest of his days and would not be able to produce children. He was given a full disability pension from the government.
But Michel did not believe the doctors’ diagnosis. He was convinced he could cure himself. He studied ways of healing through energy circulation. He worked with many teachers, healers, masters, and shamans. After a series of adventures, including being dipped in the Virgin Mary’s holy waters at Lourdes and emerging “unparalyzed,” he became known in Paris as an amazing lover who could take a woman to heaven and back.
Eliane was totally devoted to him. Her best friend, Tama, lived with them. I was invited to join the household as the third concubine and accepted gratefully. First, because these people were my dear friends. Second, because they were mature spiritual beings. Third, because I wanted to train with Michel in underwater rebirthing, which he taught.
And fourth, because I loved being around them. The whole intelligentsia of Europe showed up at their house to have lunch or dinner or to hang out in their round, spacious living room shaped like the dome of Sacré-Cœur Basilica—much smaller, of course—with a great cupola as a ceiling and walls decorated with colorful Moroccan mosaics.
And last but not least, I was just back from India, I was broke, and they invited me to stay for free.
Our life was wonderful. The maid cleaned my room, the butler made sure the household was properly managed, and the cook from Sri Lanka made delicious curries, while I mulled over my book.
I wanted to design this book myself. I wanted the fonts, the format, and the illustrations to be supervised by me. I wanted carte blanche on the artistic as well as the financial side.
Nobody in Paris in the eighties had published a book like that. It was a large album format, inspired by the American Whole Earth Catalog—the new and upcoming information book published in California.
People in Paris thought I was crazy. How could I charm my publisher into a yes and get him to foot the bill?
“Now,” said Michel, “take the long silver fox coat over there …”
I did. Soon they had me dressed to the nines, with matching hat, diamond earrings—the works. I was sent back to my room to discard my t-shirt and jeans in favor of smart black pants and a pretty beige silk blouse with frills around a deep neckline.
“And be sure to use elegant makeup,” Michael called after me. “I want you looking like a princess.”
I did everything he suggested, and when I presented myself to Michel and Eliane for final approval, they applauded, exclaiming, “Bravo! You got it!”
Michel was right. When I walked into the publisher’s office, his jaw did indeed drop. During our last meeting, he had played hardball—no concessions. This time, he was all smiles, and an hour later we had signed the contract and he had agreed to all my requests. Amazing what the right costume will do! The book was a success. It is still in print today, in Paris, thirty-five years later.20
But success had required a certain sacrifice on my part. I’d stayed a long time at Osho’s ashram in Poona, running one, then two, then three Tantra groups a month. When the time came to go back to Paris and publish my book, Osho called me to darshan. He invited me to stay with him in Poona, saying that the glitz and glitter of the world was not what my soul really wanted, that bliss was the only thing that mattered.
I don’t have the notes of that meeting, which was profound for me, but essentially he was inviting me to choose him over my ambition. He knew that I wanted to awaken spiritually but also to succeed in the world.
Now he was telling me to forget the world because “success” was not going to satisfy my soul. He talked for a long time and I was deeply touched by his care and insight. But, all the while, my sneaky mind was providing an alternative dialogue, silently whispering, You can say what you like, Osho, but I will be the first to do both!
Back in Paris, I completed my rebirthing training with Michel and started leading groups around Europe. Thanks to my Poona experience, I was able to work spontaneously with people, dealing with whatever personal issues were coming up for them.
In my group programs, I also incorporated strong energy work, combining breathing, movement, and sounds to connect the chakras with one another.
I specialized in “Tantric rebirthing,” in which people would lie down on their backs, with their knees up, and explore pelvic rotation movements combined with deep breathing through the chakras. Eventually this became what I now call sexual breathing—a way to become aware of a central energy channel through the body that I termed the Inner Flute.
The balance between yin and yang, our inner male and female energies, also formed a central part of the program. So did healing circles, using chanting and Tibetan singing bowls. I introduced meditations inspired by Arica, focusing on different virtues, such as courage and truthfulness, with a special bija sound and hand mudra for each. In this way, slowly, I was creating my own vision of the Tantric path—the channeling and transmutation of sexual energy into meditation and inner spaciousness.
In those early days, pioneering my own workshops, I was supported by a wonderful man called Ariel. We’d met in Paris. He was of medium height, with a compact, muscular body, curly black hair, big sexy lips, and a strong Jewish nose.
Ariel was a versatile musician, playing the saxophone, flute, harmonium, and tamboura. I’d met him through friends, because I was looking for someone to teach me to sing Indian ragas. After the third lesson, we fell in love, in a bathtub at midnight, in Michel and Eliane’s house, which was empty, the tribe having departed for their summer home in the south of France.
We made love in the water, and it was glorious. I found out later that Ariel had trained with a Tantric master who had shown him how to strengthen his staying power by channeling sexual energy to the third eye.
So we traveled together, offering workshops. I was the group leader, which was fine with Ariel, as he preferred the role of lover, while contributing music, singing, and dance to my events.
Perhaps I should mention here, at this point in my narrative, that although it may seem that my approach to love and sexuality was casual, taking one lover after another, it did not feel that way to me.
I felt I was on a journey, a voyage of self-discovery, and that each man who came into my life was a mystical messenger, bringing gifts from unknown realms and helping me in my quest to understand the blissful connection between sexuality and spirituality.
It was Ariel who orchestrated one of the most powerful experiences of my life, in which I seemed to be making love not only with two men, but with existence itself.
It happened in Provence, in the south of France, at a seminar center called Trimurti, where I was leading a Tantra group. The place was beautiful, a rustic, spacious facility spread over twenty acres of land and covered with fragrant clusters of thyme.
There I met up with an old friend from the United States, Jack Painter, the founder of a form of bodywork called Postural Integration. Jack was also leading a workshop there.
Jack introduced me to Aman, a young German from Zurich, describing him as his “most gifted student.” Aman was in his twenties and seemed shy. He had perfect Aryan features: a strong, well-cut jaw, a straight nose, light brown hair, and a tall, sensual, slim body. He had feline movements: every joint in his body seemed well oiled, just like a cat.
As the days unfolded, I felt Aman watching me, which I enjoyed. One afternoon, both our groups went to the beach. I was sitting alone. He approached me quietly and sat next to me. He looked in my eyes, took my hands, and, with a shaky voice, told me that he recognized me as his Tantra teacher and wanted to spend time with me.
His eyes were moist. He seemed to be on the verge of tears. Clearly, this was a big moment for him. I thought it a bit strange, since we had only just met and he knew nothing about my work. But he seemed to be speaking from a sincere, heartfelt place, so I asked him how he could be telling me these things.
“I don’t know where this feeling comes from,” he said, “but it is very deep in me, and I know that this is so.” A tear started rolling down his cheek.
I was touched and perplexed. No one had ever talked to me this way. His statement was so simple, almost humble. His voice so soft, a mere whisper. Yet his tone had a certainty that left no room for doubt. What could I say? We were on the threshold of a mystery and we knew it. It could not be discussed. No words could convey such a poignant realization. There are moments in life when you meet someone and you know you will never be the same again.
Now it was my turn to feel awkward. I found myself wanting to brush off the intensity and make light of it. “Well,” I said, “let’s get to know each other and see where this goes”—a flippant comment that was entirely beside the point. We made small talk for a while, then spent time with other people. He came back to me at the end of the day and asked, “May I spend the night with you?”
This man didn’t waste time—and what a request! He had just touched on the greatest dilemma of my life: the ethics of the teacher-student relationship in Tantra. He’d said he wanted me to be his teacher, but is it possible, or even advisable, to be a man’s lover and his teacher at the same time? Or is it better for the teacher not to be the lover? And which should be given priority?
“This is a delicate matter,” I told him. “I’m here with Ariel, my partner. You’ll have to work this out with him.”
Aman was visibly affected by this, as I knew he would be. I’d done it on purpose, as a challenge. He had lots of potential, but lacked self-assurance. Well, I wasn’t going to do his work for him or make it easy. If he wanted to spend the night with me, he would have to overcome his self-doubt. He would have to face my lover, man to man.
“Fine,” he said, not looking very happy. “I’ll do that.”
We went to my house together. I introduced Aman to Ariel, and the two of them sat down to have a cup of tea. Aman said, “I came because I am drawn to Margot. I have recognized her as my Tantra teacher. I can’t help it. I’m very attracted. I would like to spend the night with her.”
Ariel was open-minded and strong enough to accept the situation. He looked at Aman and said, “Well, it’s fine with me if you want to spend the night with Margot. But, you know, when you want to be with the Goddess, you have to prepare yourself. You don’t just crawl into her bed as you are. It’s not an ordinary encounter; it’s an initiation. To be with her, you have to open up on all levels: body, heart, and spirit.”
Aman was listening, wide-eyed and excited, hesitant yet curious and willing. Ariel had slipped into the role of teacher, which—so I understood—made it easier for him to deal with the challenge. I felt grateful for Ariel’s generosity. If Aman had been a woman asking my permission to be with Ariel in this intimate way, I doubt if I could have been so welcoming. So this unexpected situation was a teaching for me as well. Yes, love—true love—is generous.
“So, Aman, are you ready?” Ariel asked.
Aman said, “Yes, I am.”
Then I said, “I am going to prepare the bedroom.” But I could feel the power of our words begin to lose meaning in the face of the mystery ahead. Nobody was really in control and nobody knew what would happen.
Ariel took Aman into the bathroom and showed him how to take a ritual bath of purification, giving him essential oils and telling him how to anoint different parts of his body, clean his aura and his chakras, and make himself fragrant, fresh, and ready. Ariel did the same.
Meanwhile, in the bedroom, I lit candles and arranged a circle on the bed, with piles of multicolored pillows. Then I prepared myself, touching up my makeup and my hair, putting on a red silk dress, breathing deeply, and trying to relax. Then I sat on the pillow facing the door and waited for my two Shivas to arrive.
First came Ariel, delighted by the environment and joyful in his role as Pan, the experienced lover and initiator, which he truly was. Then came Aman, curious, with eyes wide open, discovering a new world in which sexual energy would be consciously explored in a sacred interaction.
I welcomed them both, touching their hearts with my fingers and blessing their presence:
“Here are my eyes. Enter and be seen.”
“Here is my heart. Enter and be loved.”
They sat on the pillows, and then we held hands, closed our eyes, and fell into silence. In this shared moment of stillness, we could feel—almost hear—our heartbeats quickening. I invited Aman to invoke his highest vision for the night. What did he want to create? Aman replied, “I want to learn in your presence and be available to what happens. Let this night be my initiation into SkyDancing Tantra.”
Ariel spoke to Aman. He said that he welcomed him as a brother in our circle and that he hoped Aman would appreciate the honor of entering into the abode of the Goddess, explaining that, by serving me with devotion and respect, he would serve the spirit of womanhood. Finally, he said, “May this night open the door to our friendship.”
A rare occurrence, I thought, when two men can maintain a friendly connection while sharing the same woman—especially when they have only just met. In deep gratitude for the gift about to be bestowed upon me, I realized that the secret to success in such a situation is that the woman, when she is loved by one, should always remember the other.
She should share her attention equally with both lovers, so as not to give the impression that one is favored over the other. That would be my task this night: to remain alert and mindful, even while riding the crest of an ecstatic wave.
Combining lovemaking with awareness is a delicate art. So often, sexual embrace is reduced to an instinctual reflex that causes us to lose ourselves in pleasure, oblivious to everything—even to the partner who is helping us attain this desirable state. This is why clients sometimes come to me complaining of feeling alone during lovemaking, especially at the moment of a partner’s orgasm. Sex can be a solitary affair, even during intercourse.
It is a blessed moment when consciousness allows the feelings of pleasure to expand while witnessing the moods and responses of one’s partner in an openhearted, caring, and loving way.
“May we be initiated into love beyond jealousy tonight,” I declared. “I want to be a whore and a goddess. I want to have a thousand orgasms. I want a sign from the gods that they are here with us tonight—a sign I will never forget. I want to be a woman so well loved that she becomes pure energy. I want to turn you on and turn you beyond.”
“So be it,” they replied, clapping their hands in delight and laughing.
Ariel added, “And I will be Shiva. I want my love to be like a symphony that will serve and delight all our senses.”
We hugged, drank champagne, and celebrated. While the bubbles tickled my throat, the two men looked at me and each other with such tenderness and mischief that I suddenly became nervous. For a moment, I lost my courage and wanted to run away.
As if he could hear my distress, Ariel, so intuitive, got up, disappeared behind a screen, and returned naked, with a saxophone strapped to his shoulder. He looked so sexy and friendly, his tanned skin and strong muscles glistening in the candlelight, that I forgot my anxiety and relaxed.
He started playing a slow, languorous tune while pointing the sax at our loins, the sound caressing our sex centers. I let the sound penetrate my pelvis like the caress of harmonic notes enticing us to let go and enjoy the moment. The wailing sounds of the sax, like tidal waves, washed away all impurities, all head trips, all worries. It was pure sonic, erotic lovemaking.
In the Taoist and Tantric traditions, a woman needs to approach orgasm, and to recognize what happens, via seven levels of release, in order to touch the root of her power. Each level is indicated by certain responses aroused in her, as she surrenders more and more deeply to erotic pleasure.
The first level opens the lungs and deepens her breathing, connecting the mouth, the nipples, and the clitoris.
Meanwhile, Aman was opening the front of my gown and slowly kissing my nipples. His mouth played on my breasts with the same insistent rhythm as the music of Ariel’s saxophone … pulling, licking, sucking. Oh, God! Such infinite delights. I started moaning, undulating. My robe fell off. Aman’s hands were so gentle that each touch traveled through my muscles like liquid gold.
I wanted to let this happen. But suddenly I felt scared, gripped by an intense feeling of shyness. Something inside me was contracting. I asked to be held by both men. No sex stuff. Just tenderness. I lay on my side with Aman behind me and Ariel in front, both embracing me.
Immersed in this womb of loving protection, a dam broke, a facade crumbled, and all my insecurity was exposed. I was not good enough. I did not deserve this. I was expected to perform as an all-knowing expert “Tantra Queen,” and if I did nothing, I was not going to meet their expectations.
An immense weight of guilt, like a dark cloud pregnant with a lifetime of tears, was gathering around my heart, and soon the rain started falling. All facades were crumbling. My old demons, my doubts and fears, were surfacing in order to be destroyed: the love I had not received from my father as a child, his commanding and domineering behavior toward my mother—who loved him so—the stress of feeling I had to produce results in order to be lovable, the exhaustion of teaching, striving, achieving …
I started to sob and sob, while the men held me close. Gone was the Goddess and the glory. Luckily, my lovers, in their compassion, transformed into my brothers and my friends. I had full permission to collapse in a mess of tears and show my vulnerability. It felt so good to be able to feel safe enough to lose it and still be accepted and cherished by both men, staying right here, holding me close. This was love. True love. Real love.
“We’re here. You are beautiful. We love you. It’s all right. Come back. Look in my eyes …” Ariel whispered this lullaby and they started gently caressing me, all over my body, until little by little I forgot my sorrow.
This beautiful feeling of being surrounded by two loving energies inspired me to suggest that each of us should have the chance to lie in the middle between the other two and be caressed. Ariel and Aman willingly agreed.
Good lovemaking begins when the whole body has been touched. We took turns, each of us being stroked by four hands, kissed by four lips, while listening to words of love being whispered in both ears at once. What a great way to melt away fears and resistances.
And this created the second level of orgasm, as my body relaxed into a feeling of connected and harmonious energy flow.
Next, Ariel and I made love. Aman watched. He looked so funny, befuddled, curious, like a kid on his first day at school. Ariel, knowing he was being watched seemed to grow taller, stronger, as if embodying Lord Shiva himself.
We began by breathing in unison, mouths almost touching, lips parted, sharing our breath and allowing it to rise and fall like waves of a great wind blasting through our circuits: in through the mouth and down to the belly and sex, then undulating back up the spine and out through the chest, throat, and mouth.
Breath is the way beyond the mind. This great wind of change brought fresh energy to Ariel and myself, with new excitement rushing through our bodies, preparing every cell to feel more, to respond better. We were tuning, like two instruments before a concert, finding the same pitch, the same rhythm, as our bodies moved in synchronicity with each other but were not yet joined in penetration.
As the breath intensified, the boundaries between our bodies blurred, the fire of excitement grew, and the longing to feel him inside me became almost unbearable.
His erect vajra, resting against my pubis, moved gently up and down the root of my clitoris, with the waves of our breath. He did not push himself inside. He waited, sure of himself, for a sign, a call. Ariel knew that a woman’s excitement grows when the man “waits at the door.”
He is hard, ready. He knows she wants him, but she has to give a sign and invite him in. There is no forcing, no fear, in this relaxed, manly strength that gives a woman time to imagine how it will feel when the vajra slides in.
And then a moan escaped my throat, a deep-rooted “aaaaah …”
The third level arouses her voice and gives her power.
Now the head of his erect penis was resting at the door, just touching the entrance of my yoni, still waiting. One more move on my part … and yes, I opened. He entered, slowly sliding in as I was, with devotion and respect, opening deeper and deeper. Oh, it felt so delicious. I spread my legs, allowing him in even further, and now he was filling me up. He stopped and rested.
I am rooted. Full-filled. Taken. Nailed.
The fourth level opens her pelvis, which thrusts forward toward the man as her lower spine undulates.
I felt like a woman all the way. He was taking me to myself in a way that only a man’s vajra can do. Now, finally, I could completely relax and let things happen. I could get out of the way and let the power of the natural dance between our sexes take over.
We made love, stopping just before the point of no return. At that moment, Ariel and I tightened the muscles around our genitals in a yogic “root lock” and, with a deeply inhaled breath, pulled the energy upward toward the crown of the head, while keeping the rest of the body relaxed. Like a lively stream, our excitement traveled up through the chakras and arrived in the brain, expanding in a subtle feeling of spaciousness and light.
It was meditation at its best. In that moment, we were not two, not separate from each other, but part of the same field of consciousness, the same life force that binds all beings in one continuum. As we tasted this state of union beyond physical penetration, I loved Ariel not only with my body, but soul to soul, recognizing him as a door to the infinite.
The body is here for joy, the soul for love. We are born for ecstasy, born to enter into the mystery. Or, as a friend once told me, “Ecstasy is the final stage of intimacy with yourself. It is a shift in perception in which direct contact is made with spirit.”
After resting there for what seemed to be an eternity, we breathed our way back down through the chakras, back to our sexual centers, and started active lovemaking again until I whispered to myself, “Now I am coming. It’s so close. Bring your awareness to your breathing so that you can stay here, present, while everything disappears.”
But no. At that very moment, Ariel glided ever so slowly out of my yoni, like gentle rain sliding off a roof. He laid the palm of his hand on my yoni to “close the door,” then turned to Aman and said, “Your turn to visit the Goddess. She is ready.”
I had no time to think. I couldn’t even say whether I was ready or not, whether I wanted this or not. In truth, I had gone beyond deciding. I simply was … a yoni. A doorway. A garden. A fountain of love.
The fifth level expands her heart and floods her with gratitude and love. She feels invincible.
Now Aman knelt between my legs and looked at me with such awe, respect, and adoration that I felt honored, knowing I was truly being seen as the Goddess. It was as if I was saying to Aman, “I am the Source you forgot. Nothing matters but this very moment. Now you know. Don’t be timid! Find the invisible by entering through the visible.”
It was easy, in that moment, to feel empowered as the most beautiful and desirable woman in the universe—nothing less than a goddess. Inwardly, I found myself dedicating this precious feeling to all womankind, understanding that every women deserves to taste it. The more of us who can experience such moments of truth—beyond all boundaries and limitations laid down by society, beyond the cultural and moral inhibitions we have been programmed to believe in—the more we can know our true nature as feminine vessels of infinite energy.
The sixth level expands her energy beyond the boundaries of the body into a peaceful feeling of spaciousness beyond the mind.
Aman slowly lay upon me. He was much taller than Ariel, and it felt wonderful to be totally engulfed by his arms, body, legs. His vajra was erect and resting on my sex. He kissed me. Ah, yes, nothing like a kiss to prepare the yoni to open up. His tongue was sure and strong. Like a vajra, it penetrated deeply in my mouth. I took it in and, now that I felt the depth and penetrating strength of his kiss, I trusted him more.
There are men who kiss but do not want to give you their tongue. In this way, you can tell immediately that they won’t be a great lover. Something is missing. Some deep level of trust prevents them from giving it all.
But Aman gave me everything, and the delights of penetration in my mouth sent an electric signal to our sex centers: Here is my yoni. Enter and disappear.
I wanted him. I felt him sliding inside me. He was so big, so sure of himself. He filled me up. It was new. Exciting. The young, hesitant, insecure man who’d first approached me with his request to spend the night had somehow magically transformed into a self-assured, confident lover.
Aman and I made love for what seemed like forever. He held me, ground me, grinded me. He was at ease with not coming. On and on he went, not in the least concerned about the risk of spilling his seed, keeping each drop of life from dissolving in my ocean. Unbearable arousal …
He wanted to see me come. Patient and stubborn, he sensed exactly when the electric pulse, the involuntary contractions, the lust of desire in me, rose higher and higher toward climax. He knew how to accompany me in this, how to repeat the same strokes again and again, so that I didn’t lose my momentum through unexpected changes in position or rhythm. Meanwhile, Ariel watched, caressed, encouraged, and played the flute for us.
Suddenly, we heard the distant rumble of an approaching storm. We stopped our love play and listened in awe. Ariel said, “In the Tantric tradition, it is said that thunder is the signal that the connection between above and below is made. Thunder is a sign that the gods are answering.”
I remembered, too, an ancient Sufi saying: Why are there thunderstorms? Because of the heaven’s passion for the earth.
Our lovemaking became wilder. I shifted from Aman to Ariel, then back to Aman again, while claps of thunder from the approaching storm became louder and louder, more and more insistent, sharp explosions punctuating my sensation of falling deeper and deeper into layers of orgasmic abandon—deeper than I had ever known in my life.
It was a dance inside me between two polarities, letting go and dissolving, then being jolted back into sharp focus by the next thunderclap, receiving strike after strike of thunder from God’s approaching orgasm in the clouds above us.
This dance between wildness and abandon, between letting go and feeling stunned and stung by heavenly thunder, helped open the way to the most powerful orgasm I had ever known. I disappeared into radiance. There was no one left, just pulsing currents of vibrant energy exploding in every cell of my body. And then, ultimately, nothing. Luminous emptiness. A blessing. A gift every woman should receive.
At the seventh level, she learns to fly as the boundlessness of her spirit is united with All That Is, and she disappears into vibrant, luminous emptiness.
But the storm wasn’t finished with us. It continued to grow louder and now it was directly above us. Ariel made love to me like a wild man and I clung to him fiercely, swallowing his tongue, moaning uncontrollably, scratching him everywhere, grappling with him like two beautiful, passionate animals.
I shouted, screamed, yelled as my orgasm peaked, the sound resonating in my womb. At that very moment, a blinding flash of lightning illuminated the entire room and a gigantic thunderclap rumbled through the house, shaking it to its foundations.
Astonished, the three of us sat bolt upright, as if suddenly transported into a dimension beyond the sexuality of mere human beings. It was the sign that I had asked for and had now received. It was God’s orgasmic gift to us, and we were perfectly in tune. We were coming with God.
What I Learned
I believe a woman needs to go through the seven levels I have described to fulfill her orgasmic potential. This, in most cases, takes hours and hours, even nights and nights, of lovemaking. It also requires the participation of a man who enjoys making love for hours without ejaculating.
Since for most men this is difficult and requires training, a woman should be allowed to make love with several men in one night.
This is one option, one possibility.
However, it needs to be remembered that there is a profound healing value in cultivating a monogamous relationship, and it is also true that a woman can be satisfied with one man. But this is another kind of satisfaction. In a lifelong journey, perhaps both can be embraced, welcomed at different times, in different seasons.
For me, the night with Ariel and Aman brought with it a sense of breakthrough, because even though I had enjoyed many peak orgasmic experiences in my life as a Tantric woman, I had always been nagged by a tiny, faint, yet insistent voice inside my head saying, “Is there more to be experienced?” and “What would ‘more’ feel like? How would it happen?”
That night, the voice was silenced. That night, the “more” happened in its entirety. When one man stopped, the sexual dance continued with the other, and so, for me, it never stopped. It was an unbroken continuum. I could receive what I wanted and needed unendingly. When one lover needed rest, the other eagerly took over, because my abandonment to deeper and deeper levels of orgasm was also their delight and an encouragement for them to continue.
That night, too, I understood why male-dominated cultures have oppressed women, not only by imposing on them ideals like virginity and chastity, but also even going to the point of keeping them under virtual house arrest and—in extreme cultures—mutilating their genitals and removing the clitoris.
Why are millions of women abused by their male partners? It is a complex question involving the whole structure of patriarchal societies, dating back thousands of years.
Much of the abuse originated in a patriarch’s ambition to ensure that his property would be inherited only by sons of his own bloodline. To do this, he insisted on marrying a virgin and then made her a virtual prisoner for life while she produced his offspring.
But I suspect that an equally ancient wound in the male psyche is a feeling of sexual inferiority. The man knows that once he has ejaculated, his potency is spent, while the woman has the capacity to continue almost indefinitely. This creates fear, a need to control and subdue—by force if necessary.
The pain in my heart is great knowing that so many of my sisters are treated this way. But that night I understood. Men are not trained in the arts of love, and so they fear the woman’s capacity for multiple orgasms, envying her potential to go on and on and on.
Nothing in a young woman’s physiology causes her to stop, while the tendency in men is to “finish the job” in a climax that occurs after only a few minutes. After her first orgasm, the woman is wide awake and ready for more; after theirs, many men are spent and need to rest.
Orgasmic women are powerful, feisty, and independent. In other words, from the common male perspective, they are “out of control.” An orgasmic woman is a goddess in the making, and the Goddess is an equal consort to the God. Together, they are co-creators of the world: Shiva and Shakti, consciousness and energy.
But, for the most part, we have been denied a holy model of our divine dimension. The only one allowed is the Virgin Mother of Jesus. There is no pro-creative, sexual, orgasmic, ecstatic goddess hallowed as a spiritual model worthy of devotion in the world’s major religions. Our sexual power is not sacred and we have no face.
During that memorable night with Ariel and Aman, I found myself pledging to help women experience an orgasmic awakening and to help heal the effects of the sexual misery and oppression of women around the world.
I also found myself honoring men who make the effort to learn the alchemy of love, cultivating their staying power and creating a healthy balance between a strong male sex drive and the capacity to relax and enjoy sensual pleasures that do not require ejaculation as a goal.
On a practical level, I need to say that a ménage à trois is a delicate affair requiring trust, maturity, and centeredness on the part of all three partners. An ambiance of love and heart-filled generosity is essential.
Here, I would like to remind you of that moment when my self-image as a Tantra teacher collapsed, when I felt so inadequate and started crying. Those tears carried a message that I remember to this day: If you are a woman and wish to explore this kind of lovemaking, don’t start with sex. Take care of the heart first. Tenderness takes priority. Sex follows naturally.
So often, we women have sex when we’re not ready, just because we love the man and want to please him. We subordinate our own needs, hesitating to say, “Wait, I’m not ready. I want something else.” We don’t dare. We’re afraid we will displease the man or be rejected if we don’t deliver.
But I was fortunate enough to be shown that it doesn’t have to be this way. The love of two men, their patience and support, healed those old wounds and gave me permission to be who I was, and to show my true self, even if it wasn’t always pretty.
This brings me to an important point: the meeting of three lovers is an invitation to let go of ego-oriented emotions such as jealousy and possessiveness, replacing them with openness, generosity, and trust. It requires courage to be open to all possibilities, having faith that all will be well, as well as a willingness in all three lovers to honor the sacred in sexuality.
When I describe the seven levels, I don’t wish to give the impression that this is the only way to orgasmic fulfillment. There are no rules in lovemaking, no shoulds and should nots. You are a unique energy being and your partner is too, so the most we can do is create flexible guidelines to help you experience the fullness of the connection between body, heart, and spirit.
Nevertheless, I have to say that the full range of a woman’s orgasmic potential is likely to be attained more easily when there are two male lovers to accompany her on her erotic journey.
Men, as I mentioned earlier, are wired differently. For them, orgasm is usually accompanied by energy releasing through ejaculation. But men are capable, with training, of experiencing an ongoing multi-orgasmic response without ejaculation. The secret lies in combining highly aroused states of sexual excitement with deep relaxation.21
The Practice:
Honor the Moment of Orgasm
Let’s honor the moment of orgasm in all ways, not just sexually. And when you access that joyful place where the body shimmers and pulsates, whether you’re dancing, loving, or walking, enter into the infinite potential that is always here. Being alive, you are making love with all of life. Feel it and celebrate it! This is the Tantric practice. These are the teachings of Shiva to Shakti. May you feel inspired to meditate here:
At the moment of orgasm
The truth is illumined,
The one everyone longs for.
Lovemaking is riding the currents of excitation
Into revelation.
Two rivers flow together,
The body becomes quivering.
No inside and no outside,
Only the delight of union.
No inside and no outside,
The mind releases itself into divine energy
And the body knows where it came from.
This is reality and it is always here.
Everyone craves the source,
And it is always everywhere.22