The Gift of Yoni Massage

The first time I looked at my own vagina in the mirror I was 17 years old. I had my first yeast infection and I thought I was going to die. The pain certainly drew a lot of attention to this area of my body and, being the artist type, I decided to not only take a look-see, but also draw a picture of it. I popped a Suzanne Vega cassette tape in the stereo (the first one, the one with the song "Small Blue Thing"), grabbed a hand mirror, my colored pencils and sketch book and made myself comfortable on the bed.

There she was–my vagina, my "coosie-mae" (a southern nickname). I spent a good few minutes staring and exploring. I noticed the outer lips, the left labia majora was hemmed at the edges with a dark brown-purple. Was this normal, I wondered? It all looked so complex and unnerving to me at the time, like I had found some sort of secret cave through the tumbleweed forest of my pubic hair. I drew the best representation I could (I am more of an abstract artist) and decided at the end to draw a snake coming out of the opening of my vagina. At the time I remember thinking it symbolized the pain of the yeast infection. Later, that symbolism changed.

So what about the word "vagina"? Yes, it’s clinical and induces giggling. But what does the word actually mean? It is a latin word that means "sheath or scabbard." That’s right, the kind of sheath or scabbard you would insert a sword–or a penis (aka “lingam”). In other words, its very definition is via its function for men (no hard feelings, guys). That definition gets its very identity solely from how it is of service to males, not to mention the war and weaponry imagery. The divine masculine energy is certainly important, but it doesn’t beg that divine feminine energy exist to define it. Are there any alternatives to the word “vagina”? Thankfully, yes.

The word "yoni" is a sanskrit word for "divine passage," "place of birth" and "sacred temple." Other words that yoni encompasses are "abode," "place of rest," "nest" and "source." I first heard this alternative years ago and it has taken me several more years to embrace it. When I started taking my tantra practice more seriously, "yoni" became more natural to me than "vagina."

So how is my yoni? Good question. Frankly, the only time I give her attention is when something is amiss "down there," just like I did years ago with the yeast infection. I am disconnected from her and she from me. She is a separate entity, a warm conundrum between my thighs. My breasts are very sensitive and responsive, which indicates I am more heart-centered than root-centered. But I wanted to connect my yoni with my heart and my heart with my yoni. Not only that, I wanted to clear years of sexual abuse, trauma, pain, shame and guilt. In addition, if the yoni is a divine passage, it is certainly possible that “visitors” have left things behind over the years. In other words, energetically I am convinced some of the men I’ve had sex with might have left some of their own shame, guilt and pain behind. If so, I didn’t want it anymore.

Entering the Temple

With a few pujas and one red session under my belt, I felt safe and empowered enough to get a yoni massage. A yoni massage is a tantric ritual that involves honoring and healing the divine passage. During this ritual, the giver touches the yoni not from a place of arousal and orgasm, but from a place of joy and wonder. The ritual helps connect a woman’s heart to her yoni, and also increases awareness and sensation. Healing and honoring are the goals, not orgasm (although that can certainly be a byproduct). The giver holds space while the receiver (in this case, me!), relaxes, breathes, processes and simply enjoys. It is very possible, also, to “unearth” old traumas and pains. This is a prime healing opportunity if you’re able to “go there.”

After years of feeling blocked and short-circuited in my sexuality, I was ready to “go there.”

Steven Jay, tantra teacher, daka, somatic/spirit entrepreneur, closet genius and sensual guru guided me through this, my second red session and journey on the tantra path. As usual he greeted me with a whole-body, deep breathing embrace that works like magnetic lava in keeping me grounded and helping me feel safe. He led me to a warm red room bejeweled with candlelight and infused with healing intentions. Steven is one of the most intuitive men I’ve ever met, and he has a keen knack for sensing where your gateways and boundaries are. Because of my prior experiences with him, I was not the least bit nervous.

After doing the sacred tree meditation with an emphasis on feeling in to my yoni, Steven helped position me comfortably on the bed with strategically placed pillows. He explained what he was going to be doing and how important it was for me to breathe and communicate throughout the session. The session commenced with a wonderful and gentle body massage. With loving, nurturing strokes on my legs, breasts, stomach and arms Steven prepared my body to relax and receive. During this stage I felt calm and focused on my breath. The hardest thing about it was staying present in my body and not being carried away by thought.

At this point I want to mention why it is so hard for me to stay in my body during a sensual experience. This is one of the most frustrating challenges I’ve been dealing with, but I know I need to love myself and my body through it. When I was 11 years old, my step grandfather molested me. The main thing I remember is focusing very intently on a wagon wheel that was on the television screen. I willed myself to escape my body for obvious reasons. Four years later, at age 15, three men broke into the room where I was staying and raped me. Again, my major recollection of that experience was concentrating on the corner of the room, where cobwebs and shadow gave me momentary refuge. I tried every trick I knew to leave my body behind.

These survival tactics were perfectly legitimate at the time, but I discovered as I went through the rest of my life that I disassociated during sex all the time, even when I wanted to be there. It was as if I had been programmed to leave my body as soon as a man touched me. I have done a lot of healing, forgiving and growing. However, my body still remembers and has yet to let go. Learning how to get in touch with those numbed out sensations may be the key to finally moving through to the other side.

The Vestibule of the Temple

After receiving a few glorious minutes of massage, Steven checked in with me to see how I was doing. He asked me how my body felt and if I had any sensations or emotions I wanted to discuss. I mentioned how hard it was for me to stay present, even with the breath, so we agreed that we would maintain eye contact as much as possible to help facilitate as strong and present a connection as possible.

Steven Jay squeezed some oil into the palm of his hand, warming it with his own body heat. He then began massage the outer lips of my yoni. The soft strokes segued into a very light “pulling” upward of my outer lips. I stayed with my breath throughout this process and focused on reception and awareness. He circled up and around my clitoris—the crown jewel—and continued with the rhythmic strokes. During this time my entire body began to awaken. My arms and hands were tingling, my head felt heavy and my legs danced with pleasure.

This was heaven. No, this was heaven magnified with rainbow light, dusted in your favorite memories and then kissed by hunky angels.

Just when I thought I was going to lose my mind (in a good way), or fall off the bed, Steven paused, met me eye to eye for a check-in and announced that we were about to move on to the next stage. You mean there’s more? Hallelujah. It seems we were still only getting started. Now it was time for body mapping.

The Temple Clock

I am not unusual as a survivor of mental, physical, emotional and sexual abuse in that I had to learn—not relearn, as I never knew it— body awareness. What this means is that for years I had no clue what my body, my skin, my organs my muscles, tendons, ligaments felt like. Sure, I felt pain. But it had to be an intense pain, and I had a very high tolerance.

When something traumatic happens to us, and it doesn’t have to be dramatic or defined at all, our physical body communicates in an instant with our thoughts and emotions, as well as our emotional, spiritual and etheric bodies. It can happen in a split second—your father yells at you for crying at age 2 and your little brain decides to try and never do that again because it’s “wrong.” Or he hits you for dropping your plate and your body protects you by trying to numb the sensation of his large, rough hand on your tiny body.

Conversely, it can be something as simple and seemingly benign as your caregiver not being there for your second grade play, making you feel abandoned. The point is this: the survival tactics and means of dealing with stress—if not processed and confronted head on—accumulate in our bodies. We forget to learn new ways of being in the world as we grow up. We have to figure out, retrace and heal our pain and indignities. If we don’t, in my opinion, we will continue to live half-lives as shadows of ourselves.

Thanks to a lot of hard work over the years, I can feel my beautiful body now. I learned that chest pain and tightness was anxiety and moved it through. I learned that my vice-like jaw clenching was anger and I roared loudly. You get the picture. I danced, I moved, I sang, I cried, I got all types of body work done. It seems my yoni, et. al., is the last frontier.

Back to body mapping. Now that I was all juiced up, alive and ready to explore (and be explored), Steven gently inserted a finger (come-hither style) into my yoni, pressing my g-spot. I couldn’t feel it at first, but after a little inspired finger wiggling (thank you Steven Jay) I felt a faint sensation in my pelvis, toward the center and above my pubic bone. The only other way I can describe it: for me it felt like muted pleasure, as if your lover were whispering sweet nothings into your ear, but your ear is filled with water from your sexy romp in the ocean. I think the point is to transmute that muted feeling into multisensory pleasure. Steven spent a few moments massaging my g spot and then he began the process of moving around the wall of my yoni clockwise (from his perspective as giver).

Your g spot is 12 o’clock. Ladies, I am sure it is different for everyone, but 1 o’clock is quite nice. It has its own nook or groove that is, dare I say it, groooovy. For every position on the yoni clock, Steven massaged as we synchronized our breath and he helped me remain in the moment. When he got to 5 o’clock I felt a sharp pain. He said he felt a pulse point there, which is an indication that there may be some hidden or armored pain or emotion. Indeed, I did well up with tears. I felt an ancient aching that I couldn’t even grab hold of. He asked me to take a deep breath and hold it, what he called an “air breath?” and then forcefully breathe all the pain out. He helped move the pain away with his breath and energetically with his hands, and grounded it into the earth. The only other pain I experienced was something that felt like broken glass inside my skin at 7 o’clock. We did the same air breath practice and, when I was ready, we moved on.

I felt like the pain I released was pain my mind and heart had already healed. But now it was my body’s turn to heal and let go of all the aching and sadness and guilt.

Integrating Shakti

As the yoni massage drew to a close, Steven Jay supported me and held space (which essentially means honoring my emotions and “being there”) while I came back to reality from my journey into the folds of my intricate emotions. Immediately following the massage, I felt euphoric, dizzy, giddy and cleansed. I was so wired that I had a hard time falling asleep that night, which is something I rarely have a problem with. Not only had he help me release a lot of negativity I no longer needed, he helped awaken my shakti.

Shakti is a personification of the divine feminine. It represents the active, dynamic principles of feminine power. Awakening it and awakening to it helps a woman live from her center, her truth and her passion. She learns how to embrace and live her true beauty. Being escorted, loved and supported to this place is a high honor. My shakti, at this tender moment in time, feels much the same way I felt as a small child before I fragmented my soul and left pieces of myself along the white cross strewn road of my life. I am feeling alive. I am feeling more creative and passionate. I am feeling sensations in my yoni where once there was a sad stillness. I am letting my emotions flow through me to completion.

But perhaps the most surprising outcome so far of my yoni massage is the way men are reacting to me. Many men generally find me attractive and I’ve taken for granted the attention I get. I think due to my sexual abuse, I have lived most of my life guarding myself from men and feeling very unsafe and exposed. Ironically, I also tend to send out erotic feelers, which I am guessing has been my shakti trying to come out in spite of me. Nevertheless, my usual modus operandi when faced with an overwhelming energy or attention from a man has been defensive. I either shut down, close off or, in extreme cases where I am the object of an unwanted advance, I have even started fist fights! The flip side of this coin is that I have also acquiesced when I did not want to, my lack of boundaries painfully obvious.

The first day after the yoni massage, I noticed that men seemed to be looking at me differently. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it seemed as though the same men at the office who I perceived as ogling me, were now simply appreciating me. I didn’t sense any disrespect and I felt no fear. I felt open and clear and safe in my own body. I think it is this safety–in my own sexual power and my connection to source—that made it possible for me to open up and let in good intentions. A few days later I was confronted on the street with an obvious boundary violation from a very obnoxious man. I simply took a few deep breaths and handled the situation calmly and with a feminine grace I didn’t know I had. I felt safe.

I have been waiting my entire life to feel this safe.

The Kundalini Express

Remember the drawing I made of my yoni when I was 17? That snake I innocently drew coming out of the opening, which symbolized pain for me at the time, is now a stark symbol of the kundalini energy (which some consider the same as shakti) that is very much alive and awake in me now. Kundalini is a corporeal energy that sits coiled around your root chakra like a snake until you activate it through spiritual practice. Once awake, it rises through your body and chakras, clearing you and empowering you to live in your light.

The snake is also symbolic of transmutation, rebirth, feminine magic and healing. In the branch of shamanism I study snake is the east animal in my totem. This represents my biggest challenge in life: combining spirituality with sexuality. Thanks to the masterfully grounding and healing yoni massage, I can say that I am feeling very snake-like and shakti-fied these days.