Like a moth to the flame

Tapas. Heat. Fire. Burn.

I stand before the raging flames of what is, skin tingling with the heat and dripping beads of sweat, layers of self being singed away. I stand making a willing sacrifice to Her, to me. My full and clear intention is death. Something must die, pieces of me, ideas and stories and clinging, if I am to be born into my authentic Truth. And yes, I am.

So I set myself on fire, if not consciously at first, then certainly intentionally. Life’s intention is to live. Love’s intention is to love. My intention is to burn so that I may become who I am meant to become. She is guiding me. I trust this.

And that brings me here, back to Bali, to perhaps the most profound commitment to my spiritual evolution I’ve ever made. Stepping into this kula is stepping into the heat and the friction and the discipline that are the flames which will burn away what I thought I knew so that the phoenix of my true purpose may rise.

My goddess is it hot in here.

I thought I knew what I was coming here for. I thought I knew how it would feel to arrive. I thought integration would be easy. Burn. Burn. Burn.

Sleep deprived from jet lag. Bleeding from my moon. Thirsty from my body’s reintroduction to the tropical climate. Hungry from the reawakening of intense, intimate connection. Edgy from my thoughts of separation. All of my rhythms are thrown, form is gone, and I am melting into the shape She now wants me to take.

I’ve declared pleasure as my path, and so it is. What I’m learning over and over is that pain and pleasure are no different from one another. Each is a teacher. Each is a partner. Each is a necessary element and demands to be felt.

Even in the throes of my greatest pleasure, when the heat I feel comes from the weight of my lover’s body pressed against my own, the warmth of our synchronized breath pouring out from the depths of our bellies and the flames of passion rising as we are elevated to higher states of awareness, pain comes in as a teacher.

There is the pain of old wounds being unearthed so that they may be healed. The pain of seeing in the mirror of each other’s eyes patterns and habits that no longer serve and letting them go. The pain in that brief moment of recognizing that you’re no longer standing on the edge, but have actually stepped over to free fall into the unknown.

I crave the burn of this pain as surely as I crave the delicious ecstasy of our lovemaking. It’s a slow burn. We take our time. Time takes us. Flames mingle with tears mix with saliva melt into the nectar of our love, and there is no distinction. Consumed by the fire, death is assured, and at the bottom of the free fall, birth.

And therein lies the ultimate lesson coming through in all of this: there is nothing to fear. Even, and I’d say especially, the pain is bringing us to life and bringing us to love.  Through the fire we are delivered to the promise of our own limitless potential for love. What, then, is there to fear?

Fear comes in through resistance, through holding on instead of letting go, through pushing against instead of leaning in. I say lean forward and let go and trust yourself to fall, over and over again, deeper into life, deeper into love. That is the path of pleasure I choose to follow, and with it, I welcome the pain.