Jane Alexander β hoping to overcome her lack of body confidence β stepped into a week-long retreat to find out what really goes on. In Sting casually mentioned seven-hour tantric sex sessions and that was it; nobody was interested in the spiritual goals of tantra any more.
Nor that sex was originally just one of many tools in the search for enlightenment. Tantra was typecast as, well, a bit smutty. These words struck a chord. For as long as I can remember I have been at war with my body. Even as a child I never felt happy in my skin. My mother was very slim, very glamorous and very screwed up. She continually commented on my sticking-out tummy. When puberty struck, I skipped past the trainer-bra stage and went straight into a double D-cup bra.
With my generous cleavage and skinny legs I felt painfully out of proportion. I also realise that I have punished, ignored and loathed my body for my entire life.
Inevitably it has had a knock-on effect in my relationships. How on earth did I imagine a tantra workshop was going to fix me?
A wave of unease washed over me. He ushered me into the retreat centre where a smiling woman handed me a waiver form to sign. I blanched. This was tantra β what did I think was going to happen?
