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The Flow Artist - Part 1

She eyed me with a sense of familiarity and undisguised curiosity that I couldn’t help but notice.

“Are you Shakti?” she asked.

“Yes! How did you know?”

An unnecessary question, really, because the truth was we both already knew on some level. And had known from the moment we caught sight of one another in the mirror.

Perhaps it was the alternative dress-sense. Perhaps it was the vibe of unharried aliveness and excitement we both exuded.

Though I suppose there weren’t too many other women with long grey hair going by the name of Shakti in transit through Stockholm airport just then.

We smiled and laughed, leaving the public toilets to go and find the arrivals gate, where we’d arranged to meet our ride to the Festival, by way of two charming Italian men: Jordi and Fred.

It had all come together so incredibly perfectly.

Having booked my ticket to the Angsbacka Tantra Festival, I’d been humming and ha-ing until the very last minute about not only how I was going to find my way to the venue, but even IF I was.

I’d come down with some mystery virus a couple of weeks before, that had completely wiped me out, leaving me in doubt as to whether I even wanted to go.

But then, the night before my flight, I’d connected with Fred via the Festival transport forum and he had gallantly offered me a lift, together with his close friend Jordi, and one other lucky taker, in their hire-car.

And now here we all were: riding through the Swedish countryside, laughing, joking and singing together, as if we had known one another for years.

Synchronicity and circumstance had brought us together and from that moment forward, we were to become Festival buddies and (in the case of Francesca) room-mates too. I loved these guys!

This had been a momentous year for me.

A whirlwind romance with a tantric unicorn, a traumatic memory triggered, heart-break, a series of ecstatic awakenings in Thailand and now this: one of the world’s biggest and best tantra Festivals!!

I felt so blessed to be here and grateful beyond belief to have been magically connected up with Fred at the last minute, so that I hadn’t even needed to figure out how to get to this rural and rustic backwater.

Evening. The dance floor. Relief.

The minute my body can move, I am home. I step into the crowd and mingle. Move into the spaces. Drop deeper into the bliss of my body, the music and the energy, that all seem to flow and cohere so effortlessly whenever I dance.

I don’t need a partner. I don’t need to flirt. I don’t need to be admired or even liked.

When I dance, I pray. I am whole. I am life expressing itself. Unfettered. Beautiful. And free.

And then into my field they come. The men. Wanting to connect, play, be sensual together.

Some I open to. A little. Others I do not. I listen to what feels right. The unmistakeable messages of my body. Yes, no, closer, further, breathe, look, sense, feel… OH! This dance of polarity is filling me with energy. Joy, light, smiles and giggles of delight play across my face. I am relishing every moment.

And then there he is. Dancing behind and around me. Tall, young, gentle-looking, yet strong. His movements and energy blending with mine so effortlessly.

This one. This one my body says yes to. This one my energy moves towards. Not too much. But there’s an opening. A subtle allowing of the exploration of more.

And let me be clear. There’s nothing grindy happening here. There’s not even any touch.

This is something far more subtle and intimate.

We are feeling towards each other on a level beyond the physical: ever so tenderly, ever so carefully and yet ever so deliciously, we are saying a silent hello and enjoying the exquisite inner reverberation of our meeting.

I feel as if I could continue with this for ever. But he breaks the trance to ask me if I would like to go somewhere quieter with him.

I’m torn. I am so enjoying our togetherness. And there’s nothing creepy at all about his invitation. And yet my body is also so relishing this opportunity to move. I listen in and then it’s clear. I must stay and dance some more. We smile our gratitude. And then he’s gone. And I return my attention fully to the darkened dance-floor.

To be continued.....

Note: The Flow Artist is my tantric counter-narrative to the short story, Cat Person, that was recently published in the New Yorker.

As someone passionate about love, conscious relating and sacred sexuality, I was deeply saddened to read Cat Person. To me, it represents pretty much the opposite of everything I teach and live by, and so much about what is wrong with gender relations, dating and sexual expression today.

A big part of what I am passionate about in my work involves facilitating groups and holding space for individuals or couples to cultivate the necessary self-awareness, self-love and communication skills to be able to relate and make love in a way which engenders real connection and deeply fulfilling intimacy.

My online courses in Awakening Your Ecstatic Potential lay the foundations for this level of embodied sacred eroticism.

To enquire about my one-to-one sessions, simply drop me a line.

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