by Chris
I was a third-year law student when I came across a description of Orgasmic Meditation (OM) that I found riveting.
I looked it up on my computer, and it turned out there were people in northern Virginia who practiced Orgasmic Meditation. I took a rare day off to check it out.
To make a long story short, I loved it, and it startled me. I instantly felt the power of the practice; I didn’t need to be convinced that it could reach deep inside, down to the guts. But my Christian upbringing kicked in fiercely, and I had this sudden vision that this would all come back to haunt me. Perhaps if someone found out I had done Orgasmic Meditation, I couldn’t become a lawyer! It was irrational, but that fear won me over. I wouldn’t OM again for years.
The thing was, I couldn’t get one memory out of my head. Not of the OM itself but of how I felt on the train ride back to my apartment after the OM was over. I felt this all-pervasive sense of peace on this crowded, bumpy train. I felt alive and still at the same time. I had never felt anything like that before, and the memory of that feeling stayed with me.
It would be years later, when I was practicing law in Austin, Texas, that I finally got over my fears enough to go back to OM. In the interim, not only had I become a lawyer, but I had been studying a lot of other spiritual traditions. I particularly resonated with one other spiritual path, which I found through a girlfriend. That tradition talks a lot about needing to connect to the animal inside, symbolizing natural, creative energy. I realized that I was so focused on being good and proper that I had shut my animal nature out of my life – and I remembered that OM was where I had first felt that alive, spark, almost mischievous energy and the well-being it could bring.
I started practicing Orgasmic Meditation again. At first, I would get so much energy from it that I was almost afraid I would upset or throw off the woman I was OMing with. The arousal I felt wasn’t sexual; I could barely keep still in the nest because my feet wanted to move, and my head wanted to tap along to the rhythm. I felt young and full of excitement and nerves. After my first OM, I felt I had to apologize for being so intense and so amped up. “No, no,” the woman said. “You were just full of energy, but that’s great.”
I had to confront my own fear and shame. That started to come up more and more as I continued. The fear that, somehow, I might be punished for doing OM continued to endure, even though I knew perfectly well it was legal. It was all a vestige of my upbringing, and I just needed to work through it as best I could. As I kept OMing, other feelings came up, like resentment and rebelliousness. I got angry at my parents in a way I’d never let myself be angry before, and I worked through that. I kept thinking about animal nature and how I needed to be led through all these different experiences to tap into my real creativity.
Orgasmic Meditation (OM) isn’t weird. It’s about tapping into something you didn’t know you had. All of that bouncy energy I had at the beginning has settled down, and it has settled into a kind of deep intuition. The longer I OM, the more my intuition shows up. For example, with adjustments – at first, sometimes a woman would ask for something, and I would have trouble implementing it right away. As time passed and I grew in practice, I’d hear an adjustment, and I’d be able to see what she wanted, as if I had the perspective of a third person closely observing my finger and the strokee’s body. Other times, the woman might just say a word, and I’d be able to respond instantly as if her saying the adjustment out loud was just what my inner self had been waiting for.
Yet, for all that experience, the best part is that feeling of peace and calm in the midst of the storm, that same feeling I first felt on that train ride all those years ago.
