My apologies to anyone who’s noticed my absence these past couple of months, but things in my world became a tad full-on for a while, and the blog was an unfortunate but necessary casualty in the midst of it all.

Not that it was entirely unforeseen…though the fact is that I chose to over-ride the cautionary signs because a part of me has this ridiculous notion that I am some sort of cosmic Lara Croft who can somersault out of the way of boulders and laugh in the face of monsters.

Which, to be fair, I often can. But what I’d forgotten is that even Lara retreats to her country estate for some R & R now and then, and in hindsight, I too should have heeded the call to jettison the utility belt rather sooner than I did….but sometimes, in all the dust and grime of Planet Serious, it can be difficult knowing whether we’re being asked to stand firm and dig in, or take a deep breath and just let go…

To continue the metaphor from my last blog, there have been one or two upturned pots of paint in my world of late….which is an admission that I appreciate may come as a surprise to some of you, who may presuppose that those of us who help other people get their stuff together, would not be so remiss as to allow our own to become so messy.

Which may, on the face of it, seem like a fair enough assumption, though perhaps it was such unreasonably high expectations that led Krishnamurti to comment, “You mistakenly believe that by pursuing the spiritual goal you will somehow miraculously make your material goals simple and manageable”, and indeed, my observation is that many people who are endeavouring to walk a spiritual path at this pivotal point in the earth’s evolution, are actually experiencing a pretty bumpy journey, and that furthermore, those of us with the temerity to espouse spirituality in our work certainly don’t live in ivory towers. Far from it.

Take, for example Brandon Bays [of ‘The Journey’], who has built a global self-help empire based upon her willingness to share her own cock-ups, grief and losses with the world. I remember hearing her tell a packed conference centre at Earls Court that she’d once literally lost everything she owned in a fire, and I well recall the mixture of amazement and bemusement that met this indomitable and apparently switched-on New Yorker’s admission that she had been living the California Dream minus the safety net of household insurance!  And likewise, the renowned spiritual luminaries who were featured in Rhonda Byrne’s film ‘The Secret’ may be comparatively rich and famous, but in some cases, the jig-saw puzzle of their personal lives allegedly contains many missing pieces. 

And part of the problem is that all this manifestation malarkey overlooks some fundamental trip-switches; the first being that the Law of Attraction is certainly not operating alone out there, and another is that the more masterful we become with this sort of energy work, the more attuned we need to be to our own inner saboteurs, so that we can be sure that when we ask the cosmic waiter for champagne and caviar, we’re not simultaneously pointing to a picture of egg and chips.

And of course, anyone daft enough to try and grapple with such subjects in a public arena has to accept the possibility of being shot at now and then.  And so, in a scene where life started to imitate art, shortly after I wrote that last piece, Captain Ego was involved in a skirmish in which some hostile spiritual soldiers were basically running amok and firing off rumours that Juice was a hotbed of black magic and kinky sex.

Now, I should have been able to deflect the bullets with a quick flick of the wrist, but it caught me off-guard, and it suddenly felt as if my ‘baby’ was being threatened and that some defensive action was necessary to prevent people buying into the nonsense.  And so, Lara swung into action and endeavoured to pull off a rescue mission… which turned out to be a complete waste of time and effort, and succeeded only in winding me up and wearing me down.

Yours Truly at last year’s gorgeous Midsummer Night’s Dream-themed Juice event.  And for the record, that’s a child’s toy in my hand, not a sex toy!

Of course, in hindsight, I can entirely appreciate that salacious stories like this are inevitable; after all, they’re so much more ‘juicy’ than talking about what we really do….which is have a lovely time, with much healing, magic, fun and laughter in the company of gorgeously warm and open-hearted people. Yes, of course it has its juicy moments, but it’s all – as Kenny Everett used to say – in the best possible taste, in an atmosphere of trust and respect, which is designed to deepen people’s connection with themselves and others.

And maintaining the safety of that environment is important; people will only drop their mask and open up to the magic when they feel safe and supported. And so I go to great lengths to ensure that Juice provides a safe playground. Sadly, however, others don’t necessarily share this viewpoint, and I found myself in some hot water with certain influential people recently over my stance in respect of somebody whose conduct [outside of Juice, I might add] had given me – as well as others – cause for serious concern.

It seemed I was unwittingly in the middle of a battlefield, and a reactive part of me wanted to pick up Lara’s Kalashnikov and wade in all guns blazing; but there was another, wiser part of me that thankfully recognised the only sensible option was to beat a hasty retreat.  And so, I packed up all my kit and caboodle, and yomped off to safe house…a haven of solace and solitude in the middle of nowhere, where I’ve been able to spend time looking within and recognising my own trip-switches, and the dichotomies of where I have – and haven’t – been in alignment with myself.

One of the first things I had to face was that daring to ‘be seen’ creates excruciating vulnerability, and I realised that walking my talk would entail finding a way through that discomfort without numbing out or perpetuating the drama.   And I realised that, for me, this means taking a leaf out of Brandon’s book and being willing to be authentically ‘whole-hearted’;  to let go of who and what I should be in order to be who I am…which enables me to become what I have the potential to be.

And from this vantage point, I can see that other people’s opinion is none of my business.

Whatever we may feel about their judgements, ultimately, people’s opinions are their stuff, not ours. It’s what we do with what it brings up in us that counts, and what I’ve woken up to is the realisation that sometimes, people’s disapproval of us can actually set us free.

Self-sabotage through fear of what other people think is a huge tripper-upper, and I’d succumbed on all sorts of levels – both in respect of Juice and particularly with my deeper therapy work , elements of which I’m well aware just don’t stand up to rational scrutiny. And so, in fear that I would be maligned and misjudged, a part of me was hiding in the closet and scuppering a lot of my more visible endeavours.

But thanks to all these powerful lessons, I’ve re-discovered the missing key to my own treasure trove and have found the courage to finally step out into the light with a new website, fresh enthusiasm and a firm footing in this big old adventure we call Life.

In the words of sexual shaman Baba Dez [who was featured in my very first blog entry], people engaged in transformational energy work need to learn to “eat shadow and shit light”, and there’s a wry and raw wisdom to that statement.

And to that, I would add that we also owe the people who entrust us with their hearts and minds and bodies, a sacred and unflinching duty of care.

So it’s not, perhaps, the easiest work in the world, and there is a delicate balancing act between honing our spiritual muscles, whilst being mindful of the ‘fragile beauty of our own humanness’.* But the gifts of the adventure are beyond measure and I feel privileged to play a part in such wonderful transformations.

And maybe the biggest one of late is my own.

There is undoubtedly a huge karmic and cosmic recalibration going on ‘out there’, and we’re all part of it. Many people are experiencing similar unforeseen and unwanted ripples and undercurrents in their lives right now, which could well be connected with the ‘2012 effect’ that’s long been prophesied by a plethora of august seers and sages of old.

Perhaps the tsunamis and earth-quakes that our planet is experiencing are either reflected in, or a reflection of, our own inner, personal turmoil…and perhaps what we’re now being asked to do – as never before – is to get completely clear about where we are, about who we are, and what we fundamentally stand up for….and – without ego, and with humility – live it. Day by day, minute by minute. Even when it feels uncomfortable, and especially when people try to knock us down.

Because if we haven’t got ourselves, then what have we got?

So let’s get real, people… but in-so-doing, let’s remember that nothing any of us do is in isolation; everything we do, say or even think, sends out ripples. And just as with recent geological disturbances, whether something is perceived as a disaster or a transformation is very much in the eye of the beholder, and some fallout is unavoidable….in here and out there.

Crisis precedes transformation, and healing sometimes isn’t pretty…but it’s always beautiful.

 

Shift happens.

And remember – what the caterpillar sees as the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.

Join us for some Midsummer Magic at Juice on 26th June

Click here for more about Lynn’s Holistic Sexual Energy Healing work

* from ‘The Dance’ by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

 

 

September 1^st.   God, I hate this time of year.   A sad admission – particularly coming from a fan of Eckhart [‘The Power of Now’] Tolle – but it’s a fact.

I vividly recall learning Keats’ lovely poem ‘To Autumn’ when I was at school, and although I share his love of the beautiful foliage and general ‘mists and mellow fruitfulness’, I have to confess that I really struggle with bidding farewell to the summer.

I think it’s partly a throw-back to the ending of that blissfully long school holiday;  I well remember seemingly endless days of indolent teen idleness, hanging out with my mates in various parks, fetes and funfairs, and can still feel the rebel within me rise to the surface as I recall having to strip all the pinks and purples out of my hair, and don the regulation pleated skirt and sensible shoes for the return to school and that awful descent into the grey abyss that’s known as the Autumn Term.

 And it got even harder when I had to surrender the incomparable joy of spending gorgeously relaxed summer days with my own children;  how I resented having to return them all pressed and dressed, back into the rigours of school timetables, lunch boxes, playground squabbles and the mum’s mafia.  I know there are parents out there who count down the days until their offspring are safely ensconced back in the bosom of the education system, but I was never one of them, and I absolutely dreaded relinquishing my babies at the beginning of September.

I’m finding that it doesn’t get much easier as they get older.  School is now thankfully a dim and distant memory, but the uni system of ridiculously long holidays means that no sooner do we become accustomed to our own company and freedom, than back they come, crashing into our hearts, minds and spaces with all their ‘stuff’….. a whole spare room-full in my daughter’s case.  And students, it seems, can’t function without the incessant buzz of some sort of noise in the background, and this drives me nuts.  As does the general disarray, sleep patterns that would put a vampire to shame, and an expectation that there will always be a full fridge and a cooked meal on the table.

And then, just as we begin to settle into it all and start to enjoy the company once more,  then wooosh, back they go, and we’re left to make the empty nest readjustment all over again. 

Letting go is never easy, and yet it probably ranks alongside the need to ‘remain present’ as joint number one in the annals of spiritual commandments.  Why?  Because, sooner or later, we all have to do it.  Life offers us a series of practice runs – small, medium and large – until we finally have to let go of life itself. 

Ah, that one.  Hmmmm….let’s go and make a cup of tea.

Amazing, isn’t it, all the distractions we find to avoid our stuff?  And I can be just as bad as anybody else!  ‘Resistant’ is what it’s called in the trade.  Bloody stubborn is another word that’s been used about me many times.  Oh yes, I’m a therapist’s worst nightmare, but from a clients’ perspective, maybe this isn’t all bad;   I’ve figured that if something works for somebody as difficult at me, then the chances are that it will work for most people…though, for me, it’s got to be heart-centred and honouring;  I’m not remotely interested in being broken apart and put back together again like a piece of lego, and only expand my boundaries at my pace, not as part of someone else’s egoic agenda.

It’s these powerful and empowering tools and techniques that I’ve adopted into my own healing repertoire, and I’ve been deeply honoured to witness the most amazing transformations in my clients over the years….though taking myself on that same journey has often been a different matter entirely!

And really, I should have become a seasoned pro at a relatively early age.  In anybody’s language, losing both parents by the age of 27 was a monumental baptism of fire, and as well as life’s other array of inevitable disappointments and let-downs, a painful divorce after a very long marriage was, I guess, another heaven-sent opportunity.

Relationship break-ups – whether they’ve lasted a day, a month, a year or a lifetime – have the power to hook us into our stuff like almost nothing else, and those feelings of anger, abandonment, loneliness and insecurity can be utterly debilitating and totally excruciating.  And knowing that it’s all part of life’s rich pattern just doesn’t cut the mustard.

And it was discarding an ex’s favourite mustard from my kitchen cupboard which finally allowed my own emotional dam to burst asunder earlier this year….it’s true we’d only been together for a matter of months, but it had been intense, and the ending was hard. 

The hauntingly beautiful song ‘The Little Things’ by the now defunct group ‘Bliss’ says it all :

You turn my bed down;  you make my coffee right.

You listen to my thoughts;   you hold my hand tight.

I meet you half-way home, I pretend you know my soul.

I met myself in you, and then I blame you.

You rip my heart out, you sever all my dreams.

You teach me how to die, then you abandon me.

How do we let go of all of the little things?

All of the made up stuff, sounds make it seem so real.

Must have been true sometime, sometime so long ago.

Now I don’t believe…. I can’t receive your soul.

You make my heart feel.

“You make my heart feel.”  Ah yes, that’s the one.  How we love it when people make our hearts sing, and how we hate it when they do anything that causes them to break.  Hurt hurts.

But it could be said that life is essentially about getting us to truly open our hearts and really, truly, deeply FEEL, and it is often the little things that do this so effectively.  I probably shed more tears over my beloved cat’s passing last year than I did my father’s all those years ago!  Coffee, cats, mustard and seasonal transits aren’t the issue in themselves, but they are the catalyst for the bigger stuff, and that’s absolutely fine….just so long as the release follows and isn’t suppressed. 

And just to put that song into perspective, it was actually written after the sudden death of the 80-year-old aunt of Andrew Blisset (he who gave Bliss their name).  Now, that’s real letting go.  Just how her partner subsequently coped with that loss after a lifetime together we shall never know, but it does put things into perspective.  There are different shades and depths of letting go, and perspective is very useful  –  and is something for me to consider as I contemplate the stillness of my empty nest, which is nothing in comparison to the gut-wrenching desolation of some of life’s brickbats.

The question is whether our coping mechanisms improve or deteriorate with time, and we’ve probably all witnessed the adaptability of children, as well as the taciturn resolution of some older people who steadfastly refuse to change.  But it’s this resistance that, over time, causes us to calcify, or perhaps to blow a gasket in the form of breakdowns, or – I suspect – develop symptoms like dementia.  We just get too worn down, or too overloaded, and basically conk out.

And so, all the little letting go’s along the way are actually really good for us, and thankfully, there are innumerable people out there who can help us, even though we often kid ourselves that we can cope without them.  But traversing the dark night of the soul alone can be a terrifying experience, and it astonishes me how scared we are of asking for help – though, as ever, I’ve often been my own worst enemy;  it took me almost five years to begin to process the loss of my parents – but once I got into therapy, I rolled up my sleeves and really got down to work. 

And that ending eventually became my new beginning, for it was to form the seedbed for my development as a Healer, and this is a path that has been trodden by many others, as in learning how to come to terms with our own losses – large and small – we understand how to help others travel the same road.  Even luminaries like Brandon Bays [The Journey] and Oriah Mountain Dreamer [author of ‘The Invitation’] have been very open about their own trials and tribulations, and the foundations of their monumental business empires were very publicly watered by the tears of their own suffering along the way. 

Which makes a complete mockery of the popular misconception that, somehow, healers, visionaries and warriors have got it all sussed and sorted….that they live in ivory towers, and never get sick, or sad, or lonely or scared.  Serene gurus in white robes delivering hugs or pearls of wisdom are wholly inspirational for some, but for me, I want down-to-earth real, and  my own choice of teachers and therapists has always been people who’ve been there…. who know pain, have traversed the path of their own sorrow, and emerged all the stronger for it. 

One such person is Tegwyn Hyndman, presenter of next month’s Juice workshop, ‘Hearts of Fire’, whose work was borne as a result of her journey with her six-year-old daughter Elkanna, who died ten years ago. 

Tegs is one of the most inspirational, bright, shining, passionate and fiercely protective warrior-women I’ve ever met;  she’s not scared to feel, and she can take others on the most amazingly healing and transformative shamanic journeys.  And the warmth of her laughter is highly infectious!  Unlike so many ‘old-age-new-age’ therapists, whose energies can be so heavy and serious, she embodies joy, fun and freedom, and brings those qualities to her work.  I’ve learned  from her that letting go doesn’t have to be hard.  It’s never the end….just the beginning of something new, and it can be enormously refreshing, rejuvenating and liberating!   

And indeed, it just so happens that everything we’re doing at Juice in September follows this theme;  we have Tegwyn’s seasonally-inspired workshop, or there are sessions in Thought Field Therapy, and my ‘Quantum Light Breath’ meditation….all of which will really help the transmutation of old, stuck energy into something unbelievably, amazingly, joyously wonderful!

And I know that my quiet, empty nest in the early autumn sunlight is imperfectly perfect.  My own little ray of sunshine may have gone, but she is walking a path of her choosing, and I’m so proud of her.  I relinquish her to her own life with open arms and enormous gratitude.

How do we let go?   By surrendering to the flow of life, and allowing every moment to die so that the next moment can live. 

And the brilliant leaves of autumn will show us the way.

Juice is on 26th September.  Please see the Events page for more information, or visit the website www.juice-kent.co.uk to book

 

Further details of Lynn’s therapy practice are on the ‘About’ page of this blog.

Ganga Nidhana, my co-presenter for the Juice workshop this month, is no more.  Or at least, her name isn’t.  For the second time in as many months, she’s changed it, and has asked me to tell everyone that she’s henceforth to be known as Roxanaah – which, interestingly, is more-or-less the name she started out with.

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Strange all this name changing stuff that goes on in certain spiritual circles.  I was at Osho Leela last week, and a significant number of people who go to this well-known Dorset retreat centre are sanyassins (for the uninitiated, this is traditionally a Hindu spiritual disciple, but more specifically in the Leela environment, it’s a devotee of Osho, who’s chosen to live a life of totality and conscious awareness), and the path of a sanyassin entails changing one’s name to a new moniker given to them by their particular guru, as a  mark of their transformation from their ‘old’ lives to their awakened status as a conscious, free individual.

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And, much as I respect Roxanaah’s decision – and indeed, anybody else’s choice to be known by any name they wish – I was rather amused to come across this quote by Osho himself :

“Don’t be deceived by the names.  You are always hankering to catch hold of something, to make something big out of nothings.  The names I give you are just like lovers’ sweet nothings.  Don’t make much fuss about them.

 A name is just a name.  You are nameless.  No name confines you, no name can confine you.  They are just labels to be used – utilitarian, nothing spiritual in it.”

Osho, The Diamond Sutra, Number 10

So, it seems that Osho and Shakespeare (“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”) perhaps have something in common after all….?!

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‘Tantra’ is another word with several, widely diverse interpretations, signifying anything from a very high and pure spiritual path to a dodgy ‘massage therapist’ [and everything in between], and indeed that was something that was quite rightly addressed very swiftly last week at Osho Leela’s amazingly beautiful Tantra festival, and it was interesting just how many so-called experienced ‘tantrikas’ nevertheless continued to insist it’s all about intimacy, and male and female relations…..which, of course, it can be, but it’s so much more than that.

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Tantra, sacred sex, sexual healing….they’re all phrases laden with taboos and all manner of misconceptions, and I entirely appreciate this is a difficult service to accurately place and promote.  Hence, I entirely sympathise with Baba Dez’s decision to market his wares to the tantra world, but my feeling is that what he’s actually doing isn’t so much tantra as shamanic healing of sexually-related traumas, as well, of course, as his totally shamanic ‘sex magic’ ritual, but of course, most people wouldn’t begin to comprehend the differences (or, indeed, the similarities) of those terms, and more importantly perhaps, most of them wouldn’t give a damn.  And, perhaps, if I adequately considered Osho’s wise words I wouldn’t either, but it’s an interesting dynamic. 

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But however you describe Dez’s work,  the event I hosted with him in Kent last week was great, and as I guessed, he was the undisputed Superstar of the Osho Leela festie, and his workshops there were absolutely awesome….particularly the work about reclaiming the inner masculine, which was incredibly powerful.

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And an amusing little postscript to my last blog is that my daughter actually met the man whose movie had precipitated her quip about needing therapy, as she kindly agreed to be his taxi service from the station, and when I later told him the story, he said what a pity it was that she didn’t stay for the workshop….and he was right.  His work is sacred, respectful and if enough of us get behind it, it could change the world.  Really. 

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But to get back to the ‘rose by any other name’ analogy, I understand that there may have been some surprise – offence, even -  by the inclusion of the C-word in one of the responses to my last post. 

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Lizzie, a grandmother and probably our oldest Juice participant, chose to use that word instead of the more acceptable spiritual description ‘yoni’, and I was taken to task by a couple of readers [...and far from being affronted,  I was over the moon that I even had any ‘readers’...!  - but I digress...] for including such an ‘offensive’ term in my blog. 

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Interesting one, this.  I remember watching an interview around eight years ago with Knights of the Realm Michael Parkinson and Sean Connery, in which the latter used the ‘C-word’, and as my daughter was – at the time – an ardent fan of Mr. ‘C’, I was furious.  So furious that I did, in fact, don my best ‘outraged mother’ hat and penned a letter of complaint to the BBC.   They did reply, but to all intents and purposes, their response was basically ‘Bollocks’.

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And I apologise to anybody who might be offended at that particular word, but why is it that we have created such a rich language of derisory, degrading language to define the sexual organs of both genders?  And, ultimately, who is it that decides whether a word is ‘acceptable’ or ‘offensive’…?  Clearly the BBC considers ‘cunt’ to be a socially acceptable post-watershed term, and so I decided it would be okay to post Lizzie’s comment without censoring it.

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And why is it, that with both genders’ organs being derisory terms, it is the female anatomy that is still considered the most taboo.  Radical feminists in the 70’s (of whom I suspect my blog respondent might have been one) sought to eliminate disparaging terms for women, including ‘bitch’ and ‘cunt’, and feminist luminary Germaine Greer has dared to suggest on national TV that there is something precious about the word, in that it is now one of the few remaining words in English that still retains its power to shock.

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So, if anything in my blog shocked, good readers, then I refuse to apologise, but would instead ask you to consider one question :   Why?  What is a word, after all, but a vibration, and ultimately, the only person for whom that vibration will have a resonance is ourselves.

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And to return to where I began this little ramble, a beautiful and very experienced Tantrika by the name of Roxannah Cayrri Grainge (hitherto known as Ganga Nidhana) and I (Lynn Jackson – no alternative derivations that I’m willing to share here…) will be co-presenting a workshop called ‘Tantra Transcendence’ at Juice this month. 

We’re going to create a very safe, juicy space for a beautiful and blissful exploration of this sacred path, and we’ve got everybody from complete tantra virgins, to those with tons of experience joining us – and would love to invite you along too.

I think you’ll find that whatever you call it, what we’re doing really is rather lovely – essentially the formless being reached through form…. and that, actually, this is a rose that will smell very sweet. 

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Juice is this Sunday, 22^nd August, from 3pm – 11pm.

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The ‘Tantra Transcendence’ workshop will be followed by a bonfire ceremony and a live performance of sacred soundscapes by ‘Anima’ (kindly sponsored by Diviniti Publishing) as well as lots of other beautiful, experiential magic.

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The online booking facility will be open until Saturday at 6pm. 

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www.juice-kent.co.uk

www.Babadez.com

www.hypnosisaudio.com

www.nidhana.com

www.osholeela.co.uk

“You must get a blog, L.J.”

Why?

“Because it’ll help direct traffic to your website.”

How?

Google loves blogs.

Ah, the mighty Google god.  Hmmmm. 

But isn’t it all a bit self-indulgent?  Aren’t these on-line diaries just our ’15 minutes’ of fame’, and can I get over my own ego sufficiently to be able to share my innermost thoughts with the world…?

And, at the end of the day, will the world actually give a toss….?

Ego again, Lynn;  just get on with it.

But won’t it blow the whole thing apart?  Won’t people suddenly realise I’m not the sane and centred Wise Woman I’m supposed to be and see the ‘real’ flesh and blood little me behind the facade…?

Precisely.  That’s what it’s all about.  People want authenticity.  Just be yourself. 

So, I tell them about what an amazing time people are having at Juice and what an awesome Healer I am….?

Yeees…. but remember, this is where people get to know you, this is real ‘under the skin’ stuff…

 

Shit.

 

I tentatively dip into some friends’ blogs for inspiration.  Grandmother and well-known media guru Lynne is telling us all about her latest relationship break-up and her subsequent forays on various dating websites, whilst Kavida is sharing her recipes for raw chocolate mousse.  And no, she’s not a cook – she’s a sex goddess, and the chat isn’t so much culinary as cunnilingus-ly inspired [though I’m sure the purists of you out there will be pleased to know that the mousse is, at least, made from trendily healthy raw chocolate....]

 

But that brings me to my next point of concern;  precisely how much of myself do I share with the world?  How to make the mundane sound interesting, and the more ‘interesting’ suitable for my daughters’ eyes, should they ever get bored enough to want to read the musings of their – clearly delusional – mother, who seemingly believes that anybody would be remotely interested in her ramblings?

Quite.

 

And it poses an interesting conundrum:   just how do parents of grown offspring conduct their own supposedly private, ‘adult’ lives under the scrutiny and thinly disguised amusement and/or disdain of their kids?  My youngest continually complains that I’m never here whenever she’s home from uni, and it’s a fact that these days, I’m often out more than either of my daughters.   It’s not exactly a sex, drugs and rock and roll lifestyle, but, quite frankly, I’d have been utterly horrified if my own mother had frequented tantra workshops, trance dancing, goddess gatherings and ‘hippy’ festivals when I was my daughters’ age….in fact, any age – but is it the world that’s changed or our status….?  With me and the majority of my friends having long-since jettisoned our marriages, would things be different if we’d remained in wedlock?  Would we, like our mothers, by now be ensconced in middle-aged domesticity, and an endless diet of TV soaps and trips to the supermarket and garden centre, if we’d remained in wedded bliss….?

 

 

Should we, in short, be old enough to know ‘better’…?   

 

A very pertinent question, since my youngest (who’s now 20 by-the-way, just to give you some sort of context) burst into my room the other afternoon to find me watching the cavortings of sacred sexual healer Baba Dez in the soon-to-be-released movie ‘Sex Magic’.  I should add she’s a student in Brighton, so isn’t entirely unaccustomed to the ways of the world, but nevertheless, she was totally aghast to find her mother sitting watching ‘porn’ at 3 o’clock in the afternoon (whether it would have been okay at a more decadent hour was never entirely clarified), and after a brief but fairly intense hissy fit, declared that she would probably be in therapy for the rest of her life.

 

Welcome to my world, good people.  I am the healer, therapist, counsellor, life coach-type-person whom my long-suffering daughter would consult…. if only she didn’t think they were all as loopy as her mother. 

 

And actually, she doesn’t need therapy at all.  Far from it actually;  both she and her older sister have far exceeded me in the wisdom stakes, and I just love it that despite living a relatively unconventional life, I’ve managed to raise two such totally fabulous and wonderful daughters.

 

But I digress.  I look at the lifestyles of my three happily married friends, and, actually, they’re not so different from mine.  So it would seem that our choices have expanded, and our mindsets loosened.  60, so I once read in the Sunday Times magazine (my ex used to get it – I’d never be seen dead buying a paper….!) is the new 40.  Yippeee!  Perfect.  I’ve arrived at middle age [whatever that is] at a time when it’s okay for us to push boundaries, and turn back clocks – with or without surgery.

 

 Except in the eyes of our 20-something daughters, whose expressions sometimes tell a different story. 

“So, he’s a sacred sexual healer….and that means he’s healing people and not just having sex with them…?”

Exactly.  The guy’s doing some amazing work healing sexual trauma and releasing all kinds of psycho-sexual blocks.

“And you’re going to be working with him next Monday…?”

Yes.  But it’s a fully-clothed tantric ritual in a workshop situation, darling.

“Yeah, right.  Pull the other one, it’s got bells on it.”

No, really.  He’s currently doing a world tour, and he’s travelling with a huge entourage, including his son.

The guy does sexual healing work with his son in tow….?  Oh, good God!  Where’s that shrink…..?”     

 

Come and meet the amazing shaman and sacred sexual healer Baba Dez Nichols [and his son] in Meopham, next Monday, 9^th August.

Satsang – ‘Conscious Tantra’   £15/£2o

Ritual – ‘Conscious Manifestation with Tantra’    £40/£55

Combined Satsang & Ritual   £60/95

Call me to book : 07935 466029

 

And, for the record, my long-suffering daughter will be working with me at Juice on 22^nd August;  her help on the organisational front was nothing short of life-saving last time.  (Amongst other inevitable last-minute ‘challenges’, my juicer had broken down, and I had several kilos of fruit and vegetables to process in readiness for our new Juice Bar.  Yes, I know…..there’s some savage irony in there somewhere!)

So, please, come and say hi to her! 

Her mother’s co-presenting a workshop entitled ‘Tantra Transcendence’;  not sure she knows that just yet. 

 

And no, darling, it’s spiritual, not sexual.  Cross my heart.

 

Links :

www.kavidarei.com 

www.lynnefranks.co.uk