The Garden of Ian Blog

         I remember as a little boy growing up on a tobacco farm in North Carolina listening to the men in the fields under the hot summer sun talk about their sexual conquests, one trying to outdo the other’s story.  As they boasted and teased each other with their fantasies and stories up and down the tobacco rows, I would find myself, sitting up on the tractor, immersed in a feeling of kinship with them, even though I had no stories of my own to share.  I would also notice that each time it happened, I would be taken into a place of deep longing—a deep internal yearning—for something which, at the time, was unknown to me and yet, at the same time, felt so very familiar.

     That same yearning would take me over the next forty-some odd years in many different directions.  It would draw me into exhilarating/terrifying sexual exploration games of “show me yours and I’ll show you mine” with my fifth grade classmates on Saturday afternoons.  It would inspire an idealistic college freshman to reject the prohibitions and exclusivity of his childhood Protestant religion because “it just didn’t make sense”.  It would drive a confused and image-conscious young man of twenty to run blindly in denial into a marriage and a life of conformity.  It would cause an ambitious and curious medical student who wanted “to help people” and “to every day be a part of the biggest miracle on the planet” to pursue a career in Obstetrics and Gynecology, bearing witness constantly to the power of creative sexual energy to birth itself.

     Indeed, it was that yearning that caused my body to betray my own mind and my own morals to seek itself out in connection with other men.  It was that yearning that refused to be silenced through infidelities and failed relationships, accusations of being a slut and hours of therapy, shame-filled SAA meetings and endless nights of loneliness.  It was that yearning that kept me driven and seeking more, attempting to find happiness in material things and more awards, and then when that didn’t work, turning to more esoteric and spiritual pursuits.

     And it was that very yearning that led me in 2001 to call for an appointment in response to an ad in a Portland, Oregon, newspaper that offered Tantric Bodywork.  I didn’t really know what Tantra was about but I knew that it had something to do with sexuality and spirituality—and that was enough for me.

     To say that that experience changed my life would be a drastic understatement.  For in that blissful hour and a half that I spent on that gifted man’s table, I found what I had been yearning for.  I found God—and it was in me.

     My Tantric guide told me after the session that he sensed in me the innocence of The Garden of Eden but that I would have to undo years of learned shame in order to access it fully.  He invited me to lunch, during which we got to know each other, and he shared with me his own personal journey into the world of the sexual healing arts.  I left there deliriously hungry for more and at the same time cowering in awe and confusion and fear at all this new information and the sheer power that I had experienced.

     Initially, the fear won out and I promptly put my head in the sand and returned to my routine life, rationalizing away my experiences as some kind of freak accident.

     And then the yearning returned.

     It was louder this time, more visceral, and more persistent.  It would not take no for an answer.

     I began attending Body Electric workshops, doing Breathwork sessions, and then Tantra workshops, and then Sexual Healer Conferences, where one of the facilitators (who would later become a good friend and mentor) asked me if I had reached “the point of no return.”  “Yes”, I said.  “I have.”

     I had indeed.  I could not get enough. I read and studied and listened and attended more workshops.  And suddenly the Universe seemed completely aligned with me.  EVERYTHING became synchronistic. (I finally had to let go of the idea of coincidences.)  It seemed that everywhere I turned the Universe supported me.  I had powerful dreams and met powerful teachers.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, I would get new insights and clarity, have access to certain knowings and truths, and experience bursts of creativity and intuition.  I became aware of new sensations in my body, an intense vibrational orgasmic energy that would rise up from my pelvis and lower spine and sweep upwards through my body, jerky and erratic at first, and then over time becoming a more subtle, riveting hum.  I learned that this new sensation was the awakening of Kundalini, the Life Force energy, often described as “the closest energy to God.”

     And then one day, returning from a Tantric initiation in Hawaii, flying somewhere over Kansas, came what I can only describe as THE CALL. “It is time for you to do this work”, the loud voice said.  “Me?” I said.  “I’m not ready.  I don’t know enough.  I don’t know how.”  “Just do it!”  the even louder voice said.  And there was no room for negotiation.

     And so—I continue to midwife.  The scenery has changed. The body parts are different. The hours are better.  I don’t have to wear scrubs anymore.  But the witnessing is still there.  The sounds coming from clients are often the same—as they give birth to themselves.  Just like my patients before them as they brought new life into the world and just like the many men and women who speak the name of the Most Holy at the moment of orgasm, I now hear client after client shout—or sometimes whisper, as if they are somewhere far, far away—“God.  Oh my God.” 

     “Yes, it is”, I say softly, smiling.  “Welcome Home, my Brother.  Welcome Home.”