one of the women who came to our VOICES of the Divine Feminine Retreat in New Zealand.

And Divine she is… WOW.

It’s quite a trip to be lifted out of my Quodoushka Book tour to trek towards heaven for a month with the Himalayan Stove Project adventure team.

The splendor of the icy blue mountains literally takes your breath away as well as worries such as ‘What on earth am I doing?’ and ‘How much further?’ Days are about easing into every single step on the trail. Old women, men and boys carrying utterly impossible loads give the friendliest ‘Namaste’s‘ I’ve ever heard. We become kindred foreigners, each of us traveling with different agendas, ultimately arriving in the same place.

Truly, after weeks of strange toilets, food, beds and yaks there came a day when our team knew without a hint of doubt that every trudging step was worth it: We gave the first clean cook stove to the Abbot of Tengboche* Monastery

Later, all the monks, as well as the nuns in Devouche will also receive one.

I have to say, I will remember this tea from the Tengboche garden as the nectar from paradise, for the bloom of its taste, color and fragrance transported us for a moment into the realm where this Rinpoche resides.

It was only afterwards, when we hiked higher to deliver a stove in a woman’s home that I could fully take in the Rinpoche’s off-in-another-world gaze. All along the way, we have been describing how our stoves use far less wood or dung and thus produce less pollution*; he knew what this stove would mean for his people.

Entering this tiny dark covey tucked away in a valley embraced by the vista of the highest mountain in the world is like walking into a slower time; a world where the meaning of warmth and food are understood as utterly central, as are the stoves in their homes.

Giving a new stove and this woman’s beaming smile brings us all to laughter and tears.

Shyena says it best: (You Have to see this)

Yes, this was better than sex, which has been out of the question for quite some time now….

Quehestemehah You dance in my heart

Amara Charles  For the Himalayan Stove Project

Boundless Love for ‘Chief Cook’ George Basch and Shyena Venice ‘Chief Ambassador’ for making this trip to the Himalayas possible.

George Basch & Shyena Venice Receiving Katas from the Rinboche

Ground Team Himalayan Stove Project

Stoves on the way up to Tenboche

*Tengboshe is a village in Khumjung in the Khumbu region of northeastern Nepal, located at 3867 metres (12687 ft).

*Indoor pollution is the fourth largest killer in the world.  Deforestation is one of the biggest problems of the Himalayan Region.

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Whole Life Times Review

MT0412FeatureTantraSex

The First New Zealand Sexuality and Consciousness
Symposium: Blockhouse Bay Boat Club, March 31-April 1.
Opening Evening: The Temple in Mt Eden, March 29, 7pm
(Quodoushka night, April 2).
Bookings: videoyogalessons.com

There’s a lot of “sharing” here, and it can
mean a lot of things. Normally, sitting in a
circle and summing up how you feel in this
moment. I feel fine — just warming up. Over
organic coffee, the charismatic American
Quodoushaka expert tells me that I might
be an Antelope Woman — just from the way
I talk. “Soften up,” she says. I will.
By evening, I have listened enough. It’s
time to interact. Other conferences might
offer you a golf tournament as a social event
— well, here they have an “intimate night”. It
starts with a big circle. The women outside,
the men inside, move with the music, change
partners. Then gaze into someone’s eyes,
say something nice to a stranger, do a little
twist. A bit like speed dating, but without
trying to impress — just attracting through
radiance and openness. It’s great fun. None
of those micro-connections has to mean
anything. There’s no attachment, no pickup
plan. I notice the handsome man in the
silk kaftan for the first time and just enjoy
that his eyes linger.
The next bit is harder. We are asked to get
naked. I hesitate for a long moment. Not
because I am prudish. But this really means
dropping your mask, your protection. It’s a
lot easier to be flirtatious with your clothes
on. But I do it. “Truth is erotic,” Margot
Anand had said earlier. I ease into the music
and move around the room, carrying on
with these playful little dances. I am not
quite sure where to look though.
My first and unsuccessful attempt at
tantra was a long time ago, in a bleak gym
hall in Europe. I was reluctant to hug total
strangers on the spot. It seemed forced and
artificial, too close for my taste. I quit the
group after the first exercise, repulsed by
the guy in red-rimmed glasses and a sweaty
T-shirt next to me who was rolling his hips
to Enya-style music while moaning loudly
(come on, this was just after breakfast!)
“How do these people do it,” I wondered,
“letting themselves go like this?”
Here I am, years later, letting myself go like
this. Making sounds, rolling my hips — and
enjoying it. Instead of yuck, it feels yum.
Something inside me stirs, frees itself, wants
to get out with a groan and moves through
my body. Hello, kundalini energy, is that
you? In any case, it’s great “un-blocking”,
as they say in tantra-speak. And it’s not
just role play — this is really me, without
embarrassment or shame. Tantra lifts the
taboos around sex, but it’s not pornographic.
This “intimate night” feels like totally new
territory. But never like an orgy.
It all ends with me giving a sensual fullbody
massage to the charming kaftan wearer
(“You can touch me anywhere you like”) and
receiving one in return. We might never see
each other again, but we treat each other
as gently and passionately as if we were
love-struck teenagers. I don’t care anymore
that I am in a room full of naked strangers.
All I can feel is how I melt under the soft
breasts in metallic paint. I squeeze her into
a lacquer corset. To top it all off, she lets a
black rubber dick dangle from her crotch: “I
want to embody my masculine side.”
I taste a herbal concoction called Bliss Tea
before dancing my socks off among some
outrageous costumes. Baba Dez shows up
wearing a pair of nappies. A lot of people
kiss in the corners. It’s wonderful, ecstatic
and wild, and that’s all I remember.
The next morning, I almost forget to put
something on before I cross the road to
the beach for an early swim. Oops. Two
days in tantra land, and my inhibitions
dissolve like sand in the waves. Which is
a good preparation for what I am about to
witness in the auditorium today. Something
quite extraordinary. No, not the interestinglooking
lips of the Fox Woman during the
Quodoushka introduction. Nor Liana
Galland, an impressive mountain of a
woman from Byron Bay who praises “The
Bottom End of the Business” and encourages
us to have a more relaxed relationship with
our anus (hint: Try a “rosebud massage” and
stop calling someone an arsehole).
The highlight of my day is a pouchy bald
man named Andrew Barnes, who looks
like a friendly vacuum-cleaner salesman
but is highly regarded not just in the world
of sacred sexuality, but of conventional
sex therapy as well. He has studied with
Eastern masters and American experts,
published a picture book about yonis
(maybe not quite for your mother’s coffee
table), promotes “cuddle parties” and has
specialised in a technique that he calls “body
de-armouring” to help women experience
“energetic orgasms”.
We get a demonstration. The attractive
conference organiser acts as guinea pig.
She takes off her sarong and lies naked with
her eyes closed on a table in the middle of
the auditorium. When she goes into a kind
of trance, Barnes starts to move his hands
not on, but above her body like a magician,
occasionally touching pressure points on
her throat or knees. She soon heaves and
moans, her body shivers, she doesn’t stop,
she clearly comes. Over a hundred people
watch with utter reverence. No sniggers,
no heavy breathing anywhere.
Dodgy? Nope. Dignified, yes. Divine?
Who knows. What makes sex sacred is
not the incense or the candles — it’s your
full presence. I am grateful that all this
knowledge is out there, as exotic or shocking
as it may seem. And that it’s spreading.
Time to pack my bags. Goldie must have
had a visitor at our apartment while I was
conferencing. Next to her unmade bed
sits a bottle of almond oil and a half-finished
bar of dark chili chocolate. It speaks of
pure bliss.
touch. My skin is one big receptor of, well,
universal love. There, I said it.
Day two, and I am soul-washed by
now, sparkling and shining from within.
A woman named Jessica Galactic Butterfly
— we are clearly in the rainbow region
— offers a workshop full of Omms and
orgasmic sounds. In the main theatre, an
Australian practitioner explains how to
identify and heal sexual abuse with tantra,
while in another room, the “Youth Speak”
forum starts — a panel of teens and tweens
who “tell how it is” and clearly expect more
from sex ed than just how to roll a condom
over a banana. Brave stuff.
As my reservations fade, my respect for
this sari- and purple-clad crowd grows.
These are fun-loving people who are serious
and passionate about helping the world,
one orgasm at a time. They come in where
conventional therapy ends. Or to say it in
the words of MC Peter Thomas, who looks
like a gracefully aged Jesus: “Millions of
people walk around only half-alive. If we
honour and express our sexual energy as
our life force, we become more loving and
more creative in everything.”
Creative indeed. We are off to the “Lover’s
Mask Ball” that night, a fundraiser for
the Youth Speak forum. Goldie, my Kiwi
companion, covers her upper body and bare
Baba Dez shows
up wearing a
pair of nappies.
People kiss in
the corners.
It’s wonderful,
ecstatic and wild.

Symposium Schedule:NZ SymposiumSchedule

TOUCH FOR TWO April 2nd New Zealand
One of the Keynote Speakers Amara Charles (USA) will also be leading a “Touch for Two” Evening at “The Temple” 15 Landscape Road, Mount Eden on April 2nd, 7-10pm. Cost is $50/$40 concession, and her latest book “Sexual Practices of Quodoshka” will be on sale.

My Darling Wife

This note is to warn you of a diabolical plot entered into by some of our so called friends – (ha!) calendar makers and even our own children. These and others would have you believe we’ve been married 20 years.

20 minutes maybe – but never 20 years. In the first place it is a known fact that a human cannot sustain the high level of happiness I feel for more than a few minutes – and my happiness keeps increasing.

I will confess to one puzzlement but I’m sure it is just some trick perpetrated by our friends – (Ha again!) I can’t remember ever being without you and I know I was born more than 20 mins ago.

Oh well – that isn’t important. The important thing is I don’t want to be without you for the next 20 years, or 40, or however many there are. I’ve gotten very used to being happy and I love you very much indeed.

Your Husband of 20 something or other.

Signed Ronald Reagan when he was governor of California in 1972. He wrote his note to Nancy on their 20th wedding anniversary.

What’s the Best Love Letter You’ve Ever Read?