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The Ecstasy of Being Broken

When I’m explaining the idea of getting over the edge in orgasm, particularly with deeper, vaginal orgasms, or profound heart/genital-gasms, there is a sense of needing to break.

To break apart. To break through.

Most people resist breaking. They fear pain.

So they hold onto their weak places. Like a cup which is full of cracks, it is no longer a solid vessel.

Much better to smash it, sweep up the pieces, throw them into the dustbin and find a new cup.

Let yourself break.

When you find yourself approaching orgasm, and you are up against this intense emotion, uncertainty, fear, not-knowing-what’s-there, what-happens-if-I-really-let-go, can-I-stand-this-any-longer? kinds of feelings…

Keep going.

Let go more.

Most people can sense the vulnerability that comes next. If they let go. So they back away from it. In the split second where they could choose to plunge off the cliff, they step back.

And the whole process shuts down.

The jump will break you.

You’ll be lying there, crying, open, raw, vulnerable, thrust into the awareness of your vagina/cock and your heart.

This is where you have absolute strength.

This is where you are reborn into a shinier, more true and powerful, version of you.

Your old cracked parts fall away.

Yet, the price of admission is vulnerability. Letting go of control. Softening. Being willing to expose yourself and all that lies underneath.

Orgasms are such an amazing tool for breaking us.

This is why I love marathon sex. I want to be broken, and then broken again, and then broken deeper.

Sometimes I pay people to break me (em, not in that way).

I pay bodyworkers to break me.

I pay yoga teachers to break me.

When I go to a yoga class, and the instructor demands only 1/4 of me, I leave a bit irritated. It feels like it was a waste of my time.

I deliberately seek out instructors and practitioners who are fearless and strong.

I want someone to dance with me, and challenge me. I want someone to stretch me open.

I can do yoga on my own, in my living room. But it’s harder to stalk myself.

This is why we come together. To stalk each other.

If your teachers aren’t stalking you, and are letting you hide, they aren’t good teachers.

If your lovers aren’t stalking you, and are letting you hide, they aren’t good lovers.

If your friends aren’t calling you out on your bullshit, they aren’t good friends.

The breaking only gets rid of your walls. And your false parts.

We all want to be found.


I’m off to Bali tomorrow night to host a retreat in the hills north of Ubud for a week. After that, I’ll be adventuring around the island, snorkelling, volcano-climbing, beach-dwelling and enjoying being on a motorbike in a bikini.

And then? Contemplating Europe in the summer.

If anyone knows of some gypset-y locales with eco-luxe accommodations in southern Europe that would be perfect to host a yoga/intimacy retreat, let me know! South coast of Italy, Spain, Ibiza or the Greek Isles would be top picks!



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8 thoughts on “The Ecstasy of Being Broken

  1. Yes, I had that kind of sex few months ago, breaking one, with crying and falling apart from god knows what reason, then laughing like crazy still with tears all over my face. It was incredible. Orgasm was like cosmic. And I want more of it, even though it seems crazy.

  2. Great post! Thankyou! Are you by any chance hosting a retreat at the Dragonfly Village with Pei? If you are not…then you must definatly go there to visit. If you are….. send love from us here in Malawi, Africa to the beautiful Pei. x