Sex, drugs, and dance, part 2
I had just completed an epic Ceremony weekend. From a beautiful cabin in the Cascades, I had sat two nights with a Shaman from Peru, braved a sober night of plant medicine, and showed up for myself for the second night to have an experience. I had briefly journaled goals and intentions, a last minute hail mary, copied from someone else's preparations.
“How can I soften easily into vulnerability? How can I face fear of rejection and connect? How can I connect and form friendships with women? How can I feel fulfilled, sexually? How can I remain present, and feel my feelings in my body?”
As I closed the car door and we drove away from the cabin, I was exhausted. I felt relief, that I would go home to my wife, talk of my experience, and get back to the comforts of my life. As we drove, discussion shifted to ‘the work’ of self exploration and discovery, swapping stories about how each of our journeys had led us on to these paths of inner healing. We talked excitedly, and as we passed through the mountain pass, I marvelled at the incredible nature, recalling the endless starry sky from our cabin. As we left the pass, an announcement came from the passenger side: nature was calling. We had to make a stop. I looked up, and saw where we were, a smile forming. “Take the next exit. We’re going to visit my parents.”
As we drove up the tiny winding road toward our neighborhood, I was excited. They could meet the chickens, maybe I could tell my parents some version of what I had done, and introduce my new friends. As we turned into the neighborhood, they joked about Slothy, which I had with me as good company for the whole weekend. “Our next party should be stuffed animal themed! You could show up wearing nothing but Slothy!” My brain was slowly processing this as the conversation was interrupted and we arrived in the driveway of my parents house. I knocked on the door, and was greeted by my brother. Everyone else was absent! Being the cool kid with plant and drug knowledge, he seemed excited to hear what we had done. We were wizards, coming down from atop the mountain. We briefly met the chickens and dogs, took care of our bladders, then piled back into the car.
“What was this about a party and stuffed animals you were talking about earlier?” I was intensely curious. This was pandora's box. I just had to open it. “Oh! Its a sex party!” The gears of my brain worked slowly, checking the math and reassuring the words were correct. I processed the words. “Tell me more!” Somewhere deep inside me, a lock was shimmied open. A padlock of sexual shame that had been fastened shut for YEARS. I was suddenly given an open, safe space to talk about sex! These folks were like my family. To think that they would have something so cool, that I could be safe and try something like this, and not have to find it somewhere scary on my own….I was elated. As we headed toward home, we talked about sex, sexual shame, and I slowly began to climb out of the box I had been trapped in nearly my whole life. They dropped me off at the house at which we began our journey. A small welcoming party was there to greet us. I stared into the face of one of the most beautiful women I had ever met, with blushing red cheeks, a coy smile, and eyebrows that would make Frida Kahlo jealous. I would later tell her this. My heart was wide open, and I headed home.
I arrived home, linked arms (and feet) with my wife, and proceeded to brain dump the story of my weekend, fresh and raw, sparing no detail while it was hot and recent. I wrapped up with the discovery of sex parties. “Its something I’d like to try some day. What do you think?” She smiled. “I’d be down to try.” My face twitched a little bit, and somewhere deep inside me, there were high fives. The next week was a blur. I was a white-hot molten ball of slag streaming through the atmosphere from the heavens. The next 7 days were each 70 degrees or more, it was idyllic, and each day I spent more time outside than the previous. I began leaving audio messages, decided that text messages were mere paper airplanes, hopeless flinging emotionless words in an attempt to be heard. I did everything I could to maintain connection with my Ceremony family. I even ran into some of them unexpectedly in a park that week. I went to outdoor dances. A weekend of no masks prepped my brain for the world to begin to open up, and I was insatiable.
The facade, that mask that humans wear, had been chipped and broken away upon my return. I had the urge to introduce myself to my neighbors, and was greeted with a shout of ‘NOT INTERESTED!” Undeterred, I was like a happy puppy, everyone was my friend. I integrated my experience with incredible art, and immediately began making new friends. I talked to women effortlessly. What had been holding me back before? I was changed. And then, I hit the wall.
One week post Ceremony, I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, exasperated, defeated, and endlessly sad. Lovesick. I was so open, nobody would ever truly understand what I had been through. I could never connect as deep as I hungered for. I decided that 3 am was not the best time for emotional Tylers, and resolved to rest for a few days. The fireball that was me had reached the ocean, cooling, congealing, and hardening. I quit sending everyone messages, and let the fruits of my labor come back to me. Sure enough, people still cared about me even without constant contact. I was going to be ok, even though my rainbow bridge of post Ceremony magic had withered away.
The topic of sex parties led to curious questions. If we can go visit a sex party, that means we can interact sexually with others, what are we ok with? The conversation flowed effortlessly, setting boundaries with love and grounded energy that still amazes me, looking back. We endeavored to explore a new world of relationship openness. A wonderful soul referred me to a book called “The Ethical Slut,” and I learned of a world in which sex and love were not in lack, and all needs mattered. Ethical non-monogamy was intriguing, and the concept of not owning my partner, and even celebrating someone else meeting their needs rang true, deep inside me. Thus, polyamory began.
I woke up two weeks after the ceremony in sheer terror. With this avenue opened up, I suddenly wanted to ask someone out on a date. In the past, before the world closed down, I had been caught in quite the conundrum, sorting out my own need for touch, rationalizing the world of ecstatic dance and trying to pull apart the falsely-equated threads of touch and sex, to much internal shame. On one of the last nights before the studio shut down, I was sulking in the front lobby, while the wonderful woman at the front desk talked of her own polyamarous relationship, and the boundaries and agreements she shared with her partner. All I could do was be envious, and as the mysterious pandemic closed in around us, I couldn't even get a hug. I wanted what she had, and I was terrified and sad.
Despite not seeing each other for a year, I reached out. After confirming this was an actual date, we eventually got together that week, sharing an awkward few hours of walking on a beach, swapping life stories as I came down from the adrenaline high of my first first date in 10 years. We shared some laughs, and parted on uncertain terms, the pandemic again depriving us of hugs. As the magic wore off, the week passed, and we texted cordially. By the next week, we shared a phone call before the weekly ecstatic dance, in which we both slowly admitted to wanting to continue getting to know each other, but were mutually afraid or unsure how to ask for it. Adorable. We agreed to put some sort of ‘getting to know you’ label on this thing we had together. I threw down my phone and proceeded to run into the dance studio with all the gusto of a man only seen in the world of lyrical love ballads. I greeted every single person, made sure I knew how everyone was doing, made new friends, shared an incredible dance with a beautiful fusion dancer, and felt like a new human. I truly embodied the ecstatic nature of new love.
As time passed, I measured my life in ‘weeks post-Ceremony.’ Enlivened with a new sensual energy, my everyday experience became exponentially contrasted, the highs and lows like fluctuations on a seismograph. My nervous system was somehow transplanted 10 years back in time, once again expending too much energy trying to make girls like me. I made lots of new friends through the ecstatic dance community. Women I would have never had the courage to approach were just other humans to me. Pretty, good smelling humans. Eager for lovers, I tried all the apps, did a lot of swiping, and became helplessly tethered to my phone. The dopamine reward cycle was merciless, and I knew this wasn’t for me. I held the dichotomy of instant gratification with the true hunger for something organic, natural. I knew that everything was my choice, but an urgent, lizard-brain pressure to find a new sexual partner before this ‘permission’ was revoked, gnawed at my logical wise self.
My mission became defined: to demolish sexual shame. Over a beautiful wedding anniversary vacation, we talked about possibilities, and I felt supported in ways I could have never dreamed. Browsing sex work information online with my wife was one of the most bizarre experiences in my life. It was as if I had been holding shame about eating anything other than porridge for all meals, and here we were browsing an entire grocery store of possibilities. Frozen food aisle! Baked goods! Home delivery! To know that I was supported to pursue a professional provider to meet my needs and curiosities felt uplifting, and I was filled with such gratitude.
As weeks turned into months, this ‘Sexual Renaissance’ was shaping up to be a failure to launch.. My wife had laid this term out to her therapist to describe my journey, and upon taking on this label, I immediately saddled up with all the expectations that came with it. The sex parties had never materialized. I had one date that ended in an amicable awkward parting, made a lot of friends, and lived a lot of frantic ups and downs. I had explored the magic space of fusion dance with partners, feeling true compersion at seeing my wife dance with others, and getting my own tastes of limerence as unrequited crushes tugged at my heartstrings. But I had made no sexual connections. Had I failed?
One day, almost on a whim, I took action. Emboldened, I wrapped up all conversations I had going on the dating apps, deleted them, and returned to the sensual providers we had researched earlier in the spring. On that last perusal, a certain someone had struck a chord in me as we searched, and I retrieved that mental bookmark to reach out. Her mention of energy work, mission of healing, and sacred focus brought me a level of calm. She responded immediately, with a nonchalance, grace, and positivity that told me I was right to trust my instincts. We agreed on a date and time, and nearly three months after my Ceremony, I was on my way to another cliff jump into the unknown.