Absolute Madness is Total Aliveness

the cosmos wants to fuck you open | episode 0

Natalie Krim, from the A Woman’s Right to Pleasure collection

Before I knew I’d entered the secret room, before I knew eros was the power that had been pulsing from within me all along, dripping from my mouth, my breath, and that mysterious universe between my legs, before I could name the difference between thinking and feeling, before I knew what it was to experience the ecstasy of Now… I went absolutely mad.

But not like that. I went Absolutely Mad with Passionate Love.

As if by magic, eros penetrated my body, my mind, my being. I was rapt. I didn’t know who was running the show, but I knew it wasn’t “me” anymore… at least, not the “me” I thought I was. 

The secret room was a real room with a bed and a mirror, a real room with a loving witness and no expectations, a real room in which I undressed and experienced my Self, my body, as if for the very first time. 

The secret room was a real room with four falls. It was also a room in which all the walls came down.

The secret room is where I opened my eyes, lost my mind, and fell madly, deeply in love.

The secret room is where the first veil was lifted. It is where all the veils are lifted.

The secret room was an initiation. An awakening. A space that opened in my body and forever transformed me from the moment I entered.

The secret room is a room you can enter, too.

The secret room reveals the Total Aliveness of Absolute Madness.

It’s terrifying. 

It’s also ecstatic and rapturous and everything you’ve ever wanted but tell yourself you can’t have. If you’re not ready (you’re never ready, and you’re always ready) it will throw you for a loop.

Let’s untwist it.

There is unconscious madness, where we destroy our actual dreams and smother our deepest erotic desires, and in response become mad with anger, resentment, and shame. There is unconscious madness where, without realizing it, we create the suffering and destruction we most fear. 

When we shut ourselves out of the secret room, eros finds a way out. Any way. 

Desiring only to teach us of the wisdom of desire, itself, eros slithers through the cracks in the walls and the space where the light shines through the bottom of the door, trying with all her power to reach us. But her message comes to us like a letter written in code on a piece of wet, crumpled paper reflected in a funhouse mirror, and we’re missing the cipher, a lamp, and our reading glasses. 

This is what happens when we are misrepresented to ourselves through a distorted cultural narrative. We lose our vision, our sense of truth and beauty and wisdom. We are unable to see the perfection of our incarnation. 

Frida Castelli, from the Piaceri Vari series

Divine Madness, Absolute Madness, is the exact recognition of our already existing perfection. We become mad with love, mad with beauty, mad with truth, mad with goodness, mad with the passion for who we be, right here, right now.

And all of it is grounded in the body. 

This piece… the body piece… that’s a missing key for many of you, I’m suspecting. It’s the key that keeps us here, in the present moment, rather than drifting off into the ever-available distractions of fantasy land… which inevitably lead us back to the hamster wheel quest for unattainable  perfection.  

Hear this: your body is a magic vessel of pleasure and creation, and your relationship with it is of utmost importance… 

Shall we proceed?

Before I entered the secret room, all through my “lost years,” alone and confused in the wiggly abyss of freedom, I wanted more than anything to find center. Find myself. Find my power. 

I thought my power was out there somewhere. I enrolled in courses and hired coaches and dated men in the hopes that they would fix me, heal me, lead me, tell me what to do and who to be. 

I walked into many secret rooms, but in each one, I closed my eyes made the same wish: for everyone and everything to dominate me. All I knew was giving my power away.

I always chose men and coaches who would tell me everything I wanted to hear: “You’re a gifted woman,” or “I love you,” or “I want to marry you.” 

I never chose men or coaches who would tell me the truth: “You’re the only one who can choose your power” or “You’re the sexiest when you’re a mad scientist sex witch.”

Over and over, I’d submit my power to maintain my wicked belief in my self-fulfilling prophecy: “Something is wrong with me. I’m not happy because I’m not the person they say I’m supposed to be. [who I think I should be but know I am not].”

I thought it would be easier that way. But it was soul crushing. It’s clear why I felt so debilitated when it came to pouring my magic into the world: I told myself I mustn’t. 

What I wanted was to surrender to eros’ power. Not submit to false idols. But I couldn't tell the difference through my distorted lens of “shoulds” and “shouldn'ts.” 

My shadows were covertly running the show. “Forget wild, wet, and witchy,” they’d quietly roar, stuffing my longing down my throat, “you must be “sexy” but only like *this*” 

Queue more of the same black lacy lingerie. That was sexy, right? I wasn’t sure.

When I tried to “fuck like a goddess” or whatever other pop spirituality phrase was trending that day, I was doing it from my mind. I couldn’t tap into the felt sense of the goddess, because I was swept away in the emotional whirlwind of shame and guilt I created about not being a goddess. 

I couldn’t feel the pure sensation of eros — the goddess — penetrating me from within. 

But she was there all along, beneath a veil of shadow and thought.

“A lot of people think or believe or know they feel — but that’s thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling — not knowing or believing or thinking.” - e.e. cummings

Inside the secret room, fucking — and indeed, life —  become epic, magic poetry.

If you’d like to work with me 1:1 to discover your own erotic power. send me a message