How the Dating Circus Led Me to Tantra

The day I discovered Tantra started off like any other Friday. Like Pavlov’s pooch, I responded to my 6:30 alarm and then proceeded to shower and dress in my T.G.I.F. casual best, apply makeup with my right hand and perfume with my left, slather twin gobs of peanut butter and jelly over a slice of stale Ezekiel bread, and devour the front section of The New York Times while licking excess Jif from the roof of my mouth.

I then swigged a glass of water with my trusty Prozac, grabbed my purse, keys and Blackberry, raced 10 miles to work at well over the speed limit to ensure time for my precious Starbucks run and pulled into my office’s parking lot at 8:29 on the money.

My workday? Quite standard really, kicking off with a meeting to discuss the magazine status. Then phone calls and e-mails until lunchtime, followed by writing cover lines and my editor’s letter over a poorly microwaved serving of Kung Pao chicken with pebbly white rice, and a side of Diet Coke, and I was sufficiently hyperventilating by 2 p.m. for no apparent reason.

The only difference with this Friday was that my shortness of breath actually reminded me to call the local ashram and reserve a seat for that evening’s meditation, as part of the new commitment to myself to relax and restrain my frantic mind a bit. I also dialed my Puerto Rican salsa partner to cancel our plans, thereby renewing my commitment to born-again virginity, following my eight month separation from the ex-husband that I had not yet officially divorced.

Hanging up on my Latino lover’s answering machine, I literally collapsed at my desk, fighting the numbing influence of antidepressants coursing through vein and brain. I just wanted to feel something—anything, dammit! So I helped along the flood of tears that desperately wanted to flow, whimpering out a round of “Hail Mary’s” until I couldn’t go on. When my head finally lifted from my drooled on space bar, I wondered if any of the “lasting happiness,” “auspicious friendships,” or “good luck” promised by the fortune cookie strips taped across my PC monitor would ever actually happen.

Okay, fast forward to 9:00 p.m.

It’s closing time at Friday night’s meditation and only the second time I’d ever meditated in my life. The first time was Tuesday, when I attended my first class there and dialogued with the teacher about some spiritual principles after the class. We then fraternized, though not nearly enough for him to deduce anything too juicy about me or my sordid sex life! So then, was it something in my meditation posture that gave it away?

Because as I was leaving that Friday evening, he silently handed me a shrink-wrapped set of Osho’s tapes called “Meditations on Tantra.” Now up until that moment, I associated the word “Tantra” with some kind of esoteric, sacred and even church-forbidden style of sex in weird positions that I should never, under any circumstances, ever consider—let alone try.

Well, NEVER say never.

Naive as I admittedly was, I had no idea what just happened as I stepped out the door that night—that I’d just been given the gift that would so beautifully influence the rest of my life.

After a marriage gone awry and then subsequent attempts of seeking satisfaction through orgasmic release, I lived for sex. In fact, I lived, worked, shopped and breathed in anticipation of it. I couldn’t get it off my mind. Yet in that moment when Nick handed me the tapes, my mind stopped. Now, my only conundrum was: If this teacher was psychic enough to know these tapes would pique my curiosity, then why didn’t he also know that I’d sworn to myself earlier that week I’d refrain from sex until I truly fell in love? Whatever that was.

Why, oh why had he given me these Tantra tapes? Did I look promiscuous or something? Like some wild, bug-eyed nymphomaniac? Did he also know that I’d been drowning in my attempts to reconnect with my inner virgin? Of course, who was I kidding, I was completely flattered that he’d selected them for me. Did he find me so irresistibly beautiful that he’d set aside celibacy to indulge in mystical sex with me? I was suddenly floating in the dream of being totally loved and appreciated by a man. A nice man. Yet the polarity lurked beneath and so quickly lurched me back down to Earth—perhaps it was just like my suspicious father from Brooklyn quoted, that all men just wanted to f*** me, and that they could give a sh** about my inner beauty.

So I left meditation class utterly dazed and confused, feeling adored by / afraid of the man I’d turned to for sacred guidance. So what was I to do? What else? I married him and he since has become my partner and best friend in life.

Wait, rewind.

So I was alone on my drive home that night when I played the tapes, which were quite difficult to understand because of Osho’s Indian accent. Ironically, the fine, feathery luster in his voice only made me want to listen closer. I could hardly believe my ears when he said that Tantra is about accepting life just as it is…and if our minds aren’t still enough to do that (because we obsess over sex and then judge ourselves for it) then Tantra includes transcending our self-judgments by contacting our silent inner dimension through sex.

I talked back to the Osho tapes. Did he say “sex”—a means to acceptance and inner peace? And not the “end reward” of cat-and-mouse psychological control games that incite everything but forgiveness and peace? For me, sex and inner silence were just not two ideas I’d ever woven together before. In fact, the sex I knew was anything but silent. It echoed on high volume with outward moans and internal mental chatter, questioning my every twitch and wiggle in bed: Was I sexy and beautiful enough for my lover? Was I doing enough to keep him interested? Satisfied? Would he stay a while after our climax, or immediately pick up and leave? And if he did leave, where would he go then? Who else might he be with? Would he ever come back for seconds? What else could I do to keep him coming back for more of me?

I’d hit a bottom in my life. I’d compromised myself and put my health at risk so many times that something had to change. But what? Because the real answers could not be found in Cosmo, Marie Claire or any other magazine I’d studied for answers. Up until I explored sex consciously through Tantra, I had no idea that sex could be such a truly uplifting experience. That sex, which had left me utterly disappointed in the past, could transport me to new realms of lasting joy and fulfillment. That sex—which I’d once learned to fear and lust for equally—could actually be a vehicle for contacting the Divine within, my inner guidance, the voice of wisdom I so desperately wanted to hear, yet couldn’t through all the mental chatter and voices in my head.

Like many women, I was accustomed to a performance-oriented sexuality.

We’ve been conditioned—again like Pavlov’s pup—by TV programming, magazines, and books that direct us to focus on our partner’s satisfaction rather than on our own. Soon I recognized that my innate sexual sensitivity had been numbed by an unspeakable pressure to not only make sure he orgasmed, but to make sure he believed he was the best I’d ever been with and that he satisfied me totally. Why? So that he’d feel good about being with me, and wouldn’t leave. So that I could “control the situation” and then maybe, just maybe all the horror my father instilled in me about men and sex would somehow be released.

By the time I turned 28, I’d grown old and exhausted trying to find new and exciting ways to pleasure a man and make sure he loved being in bed with me. Enough so that one day he would marry me and I’d never have to be alone again. I looked outside myself for every sign—a smile, a moan, a hug, a kiss, a cuddle (however brief), a bouquet of roses, a risqué voicemail, or even a simple 10-character text message—anything that implied he was satisfied enough to keep me in his life.

And so driving home that night, I became aware that, with a Tantric partnership, the sex I craved could be used consciously to help me feel my inner being, my heart and Self again. So I vowed to focus all of my attention on exploring it, and through Tantra, I learned that my sexual rapport with my meditation teacher was not something taboo to be judged and repressed, but a doorway to discovering intimacy and loving union.

Despite modern myths perpetuated by the traditional media outlets and sex toy salespeople alike, the intangible lessons of Tantra are not generally revealed outside a relationship with a loving and sexually compatible partner. This wisdom cannot be discovered by spilling your heart out in a counselor’s or doctor’s office, writhing on a bodyworker’s table, spending “quality time” with a Pink Rabbit, or sitting in meditation on the highest mountain peak.

Instead, Tantra is about embracing sexual desire, not repressing it—and in fact, channeling it toward our highest Self-expression and fulfillment of the joyful destiny we are meant to live. If we allow it, the wisdom of Tantra will still our mind and engage our heart—no matter how “at the end of our rope” we may feel as we exit stage left the circus of unconscious relationships. For when we approach life in graceful surrender like a trapeze artist, Tantra catches us in mid-air and elevates us into the peace that passeth all understanding.

To learn more about Tantra, peruse the “Love Life” Column and visit OpenHeartTantra.com.