A couple of years into my Amorati journey, I met a woman unlike the rest.
She had… everything. She poked at my very soul.
Now, against every attempt to contain myself, against all better judgment and that desperation to keep some upper hand, I surrendered, like a boy of thirteen with his voice undropped, to love.
I told this everything woman (via the little blue oblong of facebook messenger, no less) that I was in love with her—no: that I’d fallen in love with her.
It was the most powerful thing I’d said to any woman, at the time. But not for the reason you might think.
Anyway, we shared a slow-unraveling dance; a full-blown emotional affair. She was in a relationship, sure, and I was dating other people. But the bond between us bloomed and blew us beyond. Proximity is a great friend to seduction. Even the silence becomes pregnant when it’s an office-romance kind of affair. As the months went by, she and I grew very close to one another. The consummation of our seduction—would we climax together in naked union, or not?—perched upon the knife’s unknown edge.
One late-summer afternoon she picked me up in her black car (the make escaped me), and boy did she drive fast. As an out-of-towner—as I perpetually was in those days—she would drive me around. We talked our usual edgy talk: vulnerable, intense, crawling the map of everything erotic. I can’t quite remember the question I asked her, but it turned out to be one of the most important questions of my life.
‘You know that I love you,’ she told me. ‘But I’m not quite seduced by you.’
I sat staring at her, enraptured. The rabbit-hold had opened up.
‘I feel almost seduced by you,’ she said. ‘I feel a little turned-on in my body. But I can just about keep myself together.’
I stared on, in silence.
‘If you were a bit more in your body,’ she told me, ‘I’d have no choice but to submit.’
My breath had come to complete arrest. I took in everything around me.
‘I guess it’s an energy thing.’
It was still bright, and the air was warm. Some of the leaves were yellowing, and a few beginning to fall.
And with that, given just how much I’d fallen in love with this girl, given how important it was for me to consummate this romance, she brandished her feedback upon my soul.
‘You know what else?’ she started.
This masochism was getting a bit much. So fluidly she now strummed my pain, as they say, with her delicate, feminine fingers.
‘You’re so casual about the work you do. You know, if you really owned why you do what you do with those men, I would follow you to the ends of the earth.’
Silence. No possible comeback could suffice.
Our affair descended to further depths that afternoon. But, as fate would have it, I never did sleep with that woman.
The sentiment between us was real.
I guess she was just a faster car.
That is why I got into embodiment.
* * *
When You Grow Up In Your Head
I grew up an Oxford country boy. I grew up in my head.
Conditioned beneath the towers of academia, you might say. To keep that stiff upper lip. But everywhere across our modern world, adults, from the neck down, are cut off. Barely a tingle of bodily sensation; barely anywhere a baritone voice. One outcome of early science is seeing the body as a trolley-system for the brain.
I had it bad, though. I followed in the Great British tradition of Sir Roger Scruton and Boris Johnson, and didn’t find a hairbrush ’til my mid-teens. Worse still, I wore football kit to my first middle-school dance.
However… like many of the boys from the Western world, I learned to socialise through charm. I could raise some energy, find some extraversion, and flap all around like a chatty man.
Entering adulthood, and yes, a number of women were wrapped in my spell. So few men are embodied (and even fewer speak their desires to women in the first place), that many of my ‘conquests’ were simply happy I tried.
But—and maybe you can relate (enter the drumroll)—I never seemed to get the ones I really wanted. Show me a woman with sex-tiger energy, and I’d freeze up in her headlights with fear. Bring me a woman with heart and power, and I’d defer to her like an older sister. Since I had little contact with my body (and no understanding of emotion, grounding, or breath), when a powerful feminine presence shot me back into inner child mode, I had no resources to find my masculinity again.
Nightlife was an anxious gamble.
If I didn’t drink enough, or if the night didn’t start out just right, I’d find myself standing on the edge of the dancefloor, nursing my drink, unable to let myself go. All around me, people would invite me to act silly, to ‘just have fun’. I wanted to. I never knew why I seemed so rigid in those moments.
Worst of all was traveling to big cities—especially beach cultures. Rio, the Med, Miami. All around me, men possessed something I couldn’t reach. Effortless cool? Yeah. A looseness, a tensionlessness in their walk. A certain freedom. Trust, it occurs to me know, in their impulses and their embodied capacities. Other men seemed to always find flow.
Anyway, I found the Ars Amorata, and things began to change.
After Essentials, I’d turned my charm tap up to a hundred. But sex-tiger? I was halfway there… but scared stiff that a more experienced man or woman would look at me, and know my ‘seduction’ was really a fraud.
I had no way of feeling for energy.
* * *
The Seeds of Your Future Life Lie in Your Philosophy
I’ll forever love the women who helped pick up the pieces after my many catastrophic dates. Right along my journey of understanding I received confidants, muses, guides. I’d buy her dinner, or a glass of wine, and she would explain to me how I flunked it, and what I needed to know.
But feminine feedback was strange to me: inexplicable, and irreducible, to mental terms, no matter how hard I would try. Women spoke in whimsy and mood; in terms of riddles and dreams. I saw the universe as separate parts; she felt it as a related whole.
I would never get feminine intuition, I decided, until I learned to feel it for myself. I would need to drop into some subtle realm, and feel the energies beneath the concrete things we say and move and do. And with that, I began my work.
Why are men so disembodied in the first place, I wondered, so numb to the nuance of feeling?
Perhaps it goes back to hunting wildebeest: it’s better to harden up, turn sentiment off, and penetrate your external aim.
But why disembodiment today? It’s entrained in us. We’re shaped by family, school, institutions, culture. If we follow disembodiment right up its family tree, we find its roots in philosophy. Descartes—let’s rally around and burn him at the stake—only was because he thought. By eliciting the basis of the rational paradigm, he eliminated all non-rational forms of knowing—threw intuition into the Seine—and caused a five-hundred-year split between our bodies and minds.
What if you go further up that tree? Maybe the birth of religion is to blame… Why, oh why, is woman seen as evil: the poisoned apple and the fall from Grace? Dare I say it was because the men felt very challenged about the tingles, and urges, of their lower bodies? Easier to cast our primal selves aside, to throw it to the unconscious, and label it all… witchcraft.
The siege on embodiment continues, though. Our institutions just love our disembodiment! Would we ever have conformed to factory working conditions if we knew the ‘line of dignity’ in our bodies? Would we continue to allow ourselves to be conditioned as technological zombies if we could feel the effects that life-through-devices has on our posture, and our socialisation?
I believe embodiment—or re-wilding, as some call it—is our greatest act of rebellion.
Any practice you do that heals the split between your mind and your body—done not just for you, but to inspire all those around you—makes you, in a very certain way, an Outlaw. And a ‘damned’ beautiful one at that..
* * *
What Does it Cost You to be Estranged From Your Body?
— Absent from your body, you gaze forlornly at that woman you wish you could claim to make your own.
— Looking at your relationship, many years in, you don’t know how to reignite that flame again.
— You see all the other guys dance and laugh and create fun in the moment… and you feel old before your time.
— Boundaries pass by without you asserting them, and you feel ‘hemmed in’ and subservient to ‘big personalities’.
— You long to ‘lose your mind and come to your senses’… you crave catharsis through sex… to express yourself fully through song or through dance.
In the world we’re living, more of us than ever feel anxious about life, and exiled from home. Yet you already have everything you need within yourself to—richly, deeply—feel that nothing is missing. Nothing is missing. You’re often only a half-hour from total release, if you have a solid personal embodiment practice.
Remember: Sex happens through the body. Seduction, too.
When you feel emotions and sensations in your own body, these transmit to the people around you. It’s the full-bodied mirror-neuron effect. Others start to feel you. And the way you can feel yourself is what makes you compelling.
A sort of bio-chemistry makes seduction happen: women feel sexy because they mirror the sexiness, the pleasure and exuberance, that you feel, first, in your body.
When you feel this mix of embodiment, flow, pleasure and presence inside of you, this cocktail of emotion and sensation has her want to follow your lead… to relax… to feel pleasure… and then surprise… and to enjoy being energetically led by you.
We have to be honest about the laws of the wild…
As I discovered with the woman in the fast car above, in some 50/50 scenario, it is the energy of your body that brims and pulses and permeates around you that makes her give in and surrender. Nothing you can say can tip her into full-blown attraction to you: only her body’s surrender to her arousal, which has her finally, and perhaps against all better judgment, said ‘fuck it’ to her mind.
Do you want to know, deep in your bones, that you can get the woman of your dreams? Or do you want her to ‘just about’ keep control of herself in your presence… and allow herself to not be seduced by you?
… the outcomes you most care about depend on your embodiment.
* * *
It Started with a Strip
A few years passed before I was to fall in love again.
How long do we wait between significant loves?
Between affairs, I kept myself busy.
Failed love is a good motivator. I explored the body—and purpose—hard. Engaging my warrior archetype, like Bruce Lee kicking his bags of sand for hours in the Wu-Dang mountains. Only I brought focus and dedication to the sensual sides of myself.
One late January afternoon, I sat on the floor in a tantra retreat. Forty swirling shaktis skated around me, and my job, as an ‘embodiment of masculine consciousness’, was to witness the beauty—to breathe it all in—and delight.
Of the forty women who spun and swayed, I couldn’t help but lock onto one of them. Short, vivacious. From an entirely different place and time. My eyes fixed on her, long after she’d passed me by, and I could feel—I don’t know how I knew this but I could feel—that she, too, was fixated on me.
It was winter, but around that time when cherry-blossoms would bloom into spring.
Adelya, who is still my girl and my partner now, some four-and-a-half years later, was, to put it mildly, a tough nut to crack. She had her reasons to be, and she worked me hard! A true lover honours and respects a woman’s pauses and defences. But it was clear, from the first time our eyes and bodies crossed, that there was something particular in the air.
‘It’s a good job you knew I was into you,’ she once told me. ‘Otherwise I would never have known!’
I had grown confident around attraction; including of the sex-tiger sort.
Anyway, our romance ebbed and unfolded, and built, to a crescendo.
Invited by the yoga school, a few weeks after our first meeting, we descended to the retreat centre’s candlelit basement for a ‘polarity’ exercise. Our simmering, budding ‘relationship’ had suffered some missteps over the previous days, but we partnered up for some practices, to be done silently, and, naturally, through the body.
It was impossible to count the hours in that dark, candlelit place. But my woman was radiant: sparkling: the voltage that lit it all up. Dancing and opening just for me, just for my eyes. Then, the roles reversed. I had to slip into the feminine, we were told, and move and shake my primal matter before her now-glistening eyes.
‘We are going now into a striptease…’ I heard the facilitator implore.
And I just felt it and I embraced it—shirt swirling in the air above me—pants flying off to the sides. Nothing, no-one in the world now existed amidst this glee, and I had the thumbs in the waistband of my boxers, about to whip everything down in this crowded room, right before Adelya’s eyes, just as the music stopped and the heads started turning, and I realised that everyone in the room had performed a timid strip, and I was the only one virtually naked in swirling abandon, and Adelya was peeing herself with laughter and adulation, and the eyes of the room turned entirely to me—to us!—and saw the rapture and surrender we’d given ourselves into.
Years later, whenever anyone comes to dinner at our house, Adelya will list a number of reasons why she got together with me. But the biggest one is always the striptease.
‘You were such a great dancer. You were so in your body. You made me laugh so much!’
That was the difference-maker:
All because I could, just as the moment required, let my body do the talking… and let my conditioning completely go.
This is why I got into embodiment.
* * *
Your Road to Magnetic Appeal and a More Connected Future
The course is already open…
Lover Outlaw Trickster Magician is a full-scale guide to your embodiment, your energy, and you being able to radiate the quality of Passion.
You’ve seen the syllabus, the mixture of live classes, the comprehensive archetype guide.
There is nothing left to say.
It is time for your body to do the talking.
I very much hope to see you inside.
(Stripping not necessary, until you’re alone with a significant other.)
* * *