The Night I Got Lost

As a fiercely independent, self-proclaimed “alpha woman”, it was in the darkest surge of the pandemic that I turned 50. I, like many women, had been dreading that number for years, as if it were a line I would cross into oblivion, where I no longer mattered. All the things I loved would be out of my grasp from then on. Sex, love, attention, vitality, success, joy, all would vanish at the big 5-0. I would plummet down a deep well of irrelevance for the rest of my life. Pleasure would be permanently deleted.

Game over.

I was also in the throes of perimenopause. I was depressed, lonely, and 30 pounds overweight. My self-worth was at an all-time low. If you’ve been through it you *may* have some idea of what I mean.

Between the isolation of being single during a pandemic, turning 50, and the afflictions of perimenopause at a moment when the world was in collective catastrophe, my soul was aching for an escape.

I needed to feel alive again. To sink into a blue ocean and float. And cry.

So on impulse, I took an extended trip to the Big Island of Hawaii.

I had been there about a month when one day, after a long day of working, I needed air. So I looked in my handy guide book and found the perfect stroll - an interpretive nature walk in a cloud forest. 1 mile in total, about a 15 minute walk.

When I arrived I saw people walking dogs, out for a casual leg stretch, walking alone with no packs or gear, so I left mine behind and opted for just my phone.

It was a *gorgeous* trail, through a dense and misty jungle. I strode in deep appreciation of Hawaii’s splendor, in a steady sure-footed pace.

But it went on a lot longer than 15 minutes. Where was the turn-around spot? And the guidebook had said that signs would guide me => But there were no signs.

With no cell signal, my GPS was useless, so I kept going, figuring the loop would deliver me back to the parking lot.

The late afternoon light was waning, I knew I had only about an hour of daylight. At least I had a flashlight on my phone - just in case.

On and on the trail went, and I felt an uneasiness rise in my chest. My heart began to flutter. This just wasn’t right.

My best intuition, typically sharp with navigation, told me to stay on the trail. It began to wind UP the steepest grade I've ever climbed. Aside - I later learned I was walking up the side of a volcano.

After an hour of straight uphill, over sharp rocks and vines, sweating and aching and dehydrated, I knew I was in trouble. I fell to my knees and prayed to Pele, the fiery patron goddess of the island. That b*tch has always dealt me in the fiercest way. I called on all my angels, guides and ancestors for help.

It was now completely dark, the blackest night I've ever been in, with the clouds obscuring any moon or star light.

I used my phone light to hobble up the treacherous mountain, at times on my hands and knees. It had to go *somewhere*. Another hour passed.

My phone was draining, I had just 10% battery left.

I was completely, utterly lost.

And then my light went out.

I froze.

I could not even see my hand in front of my face. How was I going to get out of this jungle?

My heart was drumming inside my chest, my mouth went dry, and hypervigilance set in. Every possible threat ran through my mind. Are there predators? Snakes? Centipedes? What about crime? Or weather? I decided my greatest risk was of injury if I kept going.

So I sat down in the mud. At worst, I would spend the night here.

In the darkness, the jungle was alive with bird songs, insects, and mysterious rustles. Even the silence was alive. I was at once immensely grateful for my years of personal work - because I used *all* of it to attune to my surroundings.

I used my breath to calm my system.

And I became the jungle.

Who I was, at the level of my identity, broke into pieces. It had to. I had to become someone new in order to survive this experience. I felt the old Eva dissolve into particles of vibrant, multi-colored light.

I felt my spine grow taller. My chest lifted, courage pooled into my heart, and I started to sing.

My voice leapt out of my throat as if I weren’t the one singing. It rippled out in some unknown language. I sang songs of reverence to the jungle and I felt Her singing back through me. Not in words, but in sounds I had never heard before.

I don't know how much time passed in this liminal state - singing and merged with the jungle - but suddenly a floodlight appeared on the path ahead. Maybe a car!? A flashlight!? I managed to crawl up the path, hooting and hollering for help, and it was....the MOON. The bright, full Moon. The mist parted to reveal Her in a blinding glory.

The moon lit up the jungle enough so that I could scramble to a clearing - and my phone had ONE tiny bar of signal!

I was at a choice point.

One part of me said,

"Great! Now there's light - now you can figure out how to get back!"

Another voice said, "EVA - CALL FOR HELP".

The latter sounded like my mom's voice, and tears spilled out of my eyes, because for 3 years now she had been gone.

Still doubting, I asked God if I am really that important to cause all the trouble of getting rescued.

The answer came swiftly.

“YES”.

I placed a reluctant, trembling call to 911, and immediately after, the clouds closed over the moon and that inky blackness returned.

The clouds had cleared just long enough for me to place that call for help.

An hour later a helicopter arrived, thundering over the mountain with a searchlight, and for a long time that light scoured the jungle looking for me, and no matter how loudly I shouted it did not find me. The jungle was too dense. It didn’t see me. I panicked. Riddled with adrenaline and exhaustion, my voice went out and I gave up.

The helicopter disappeared.

I sat in silence and reached again for the energetics I had studied. I broadcasted my location through the quantum field, proclaiming. “I AM HERE, and I MATTER”.

Another 30 minutes passed when a military-issue ATV came roaring up the mountain. I managed to wave my arms. When it reached me, a *very* strong man in fatigues jumped off, knelt by my side, and said, “Are you ok?”.

This time, it was MY answer that came swiftly.

“YES”.

He smiled, and lifted me onto the back of his ATV. I wrapped my arms around his waist, placed my head against his back, and held on for my dear and precious life. I could feel his heart. I let myself be carried by his enormous strength. Throughout the long trek back to safety, he assured me: “I’ve got you.”

When we emerged from the jungle there were fire trucks, paramedics, a stretcher, and about 20 military personnel ready to care for me. I thanked them all for their service.

My rescuer never left my side, he escorted me all the way home.

I let him.

While I wouldn’t wish this type of emergency on anyone, Hawaii had her way with me.

The worthless me gave way to the worthy me, and now I will never, ever let her go.

I look back and see how silly it was to believe that for women - the good life ends at 50. Or with menopause. Yet I know I am not alone in this conditioning.

Just like that dark jungle, I, too, am alive with feracious mysteries.

Just like the path that diverged, I , too, diverge from the narrative of women aging.

Mahalo Nui Loa Pele, thank you for reminding me:

I am wise, I am wild, and I am worthy.

What If You (or Your Partner) Needs Clitoral Stimulation?

“What if  your partner needs clitoral stimulation to reach orgasm?” 

This was the title of a video recently published by a male s@x coach.

I felt furious, exasperated, in disbelief.

Really? 

The largest study of female 0rgasm in The Journal of S@x and Marital Therapy (2017) found that only 18% of women can reach 0rgasm through penetration alone [I actually think it’s lower].

SO YES, TOUCH HER CLITORIS [and ask before you do].

Annnd what she needs even more than that is…

=> For you to show up, follow through, and keep your word
=> To get still and listen to her bodyTo give her your undivided attention
=> To softly inquire how she feels, and listen to her
=> To explore her body with the tips of your fingers, the palm of your hand, the edge of your tongue, and ask, “Like this? Or like that?”
=> To stroke, massage, and hover your hands over every part of her body EXCEPT her genitals for oh – about an hour – before you even THINK about touching her clitoris.
=> When you suspect, but are unsure, if she’s just had an orgasm, ask her, “how are you feeling?” or “was that an orgasm? A wave of pleasure?”
=> Make it safe for her to express herself. Say, “I want to hear what you like.” “Let me know what feels good.”

==> When I teach men how to understand the female body, and most importantly – how to communicate with her, guess what?

She enjoys it. A LOT. So does her partner.

Let me be clear –
A woman needing clitoral stimulation to reach orgasm is NOT:
A problem 
A barrier to overcome
A sign that that a man is inadequate

But how do you know for sure?

✨Communication✨

Hot s@x awaits you, just talk to each other. 

That is all, I love you!  

PS => The well-meaning sex coach’s advice: “If your woman can’t come through penetration, and touches herself during s@x, don’t worry, it’s not YOUR fault, buddy. Enjoy your life. You can also use a different position that presses on her cl1t, or you can use your thumb.”
.
PPS => Coming soon! My follow-up article, “What to do if your man needs his pen1s touched to reach orgasm.”

Make Love to Your Demon

If you want better s*x, then MAKE LOVE TO YOUR DEMON. Your dirty, snarling, messy inner demon. 

Stop cleaning yourself up. 

Stop pretending anything. 

Stop worrying about how you look, or if he’ll finally pay attention to you now that you f*cked him. 

And for the love of god, stop stalking him on Instagram. It’s a road to nowhere 

Your inner Demon has a deep intelligence, She represents a rebellion that you need. That the world needs 🌈

Women have a millennia’s worth of cellular memory that says if we displease a man, he’ll hurt us – or even worse, abandon us (which to the female evolutionary brain equals death. No kidding). 

Even if that’s not logically true these days, our survival instinct is alive inside our bodies. It buries itself in the throat and it chokes us. 

PLUS –
Trauma
Resentment
Culture
Religion
all conspire to steal our voice. 

Makes it hard for us to say
No…
Not yet…
Like this, please…
I want…
I feel…
I would love…
Could you please…

But your Demon says “FUUUUUUCK THAT SHIT” ⚡️

She’ll ROAR, KICK, DROOL, HISS, and make a profound mess of things that NEED to be messed up – like our current paradigm of sex .

Can you feel Her?

TIME TO LET HER OUT 🌟

I love you (and your dirty Demon) 

Pleasure and Pain

Tune into your heart deeply enough and you’ll find that you’re always running a spectrum of feelings simultaneously. Your salvation is in the excruciating awareness of it all.

Pleasure is messy, dirty, pungent. And the heart is complex, with layers upon layers of emotion, all of them necessary to bring us alive, fully.

Pleasure doesn’t always come in a pink box. It’s not a frivolous indulgence, like a luxury vacation or a promise of orgasms. It lives side by side with the realities of life. Pleasure can mean feeling that whole mind-boggling spectrum so acutely, that you actually discover ecstasy through it.

It’s a commitment to loving yourself and all your messiness, and to walk the path you were born to, however difficult it might be.

Pleasure can be a volcanic upheaval that threshes you naked. A devastation that robs you of all the ways you hide. A crisis that forces you to ask, or beg, God to walk beside you. It can mean crying so hard that a sort of euphoria befalls you and you soar into the stars – have you ever done that? I have.

You might dance because you have to. You might feel your breath more exquisitely because there is nothing left to hold on to. You might let a friend in, because they love you enough to insist (Anah).

Now more than ever I’m accessing a broader practice of pleasure – in yoga, dance, prayer, rest. 

PLEASURE GIVES US THE COURAGE TO FALL APART.

When you’re in pain, what do you reach for?

“Even the ache in your heart is holy.” – THE RADIANCE SUTRAS, translated by Lorin Roche.

We’re in this together. I love you ❤

Loneliness Is Your Lover

Dear Ones,

Stop reaching for shallow, temporary fulfillment.

Stop trying to numb yourself with things and people that have no capacity to love you in the way you’re aching to be loved.

There are treasures hiding in your sorrow, let yourself break open to them. All the way open, until you have no other option but to dance with the darkness inside you.

Until your hunger drives you to plunge your tongue into the sweet pot of chaos in your heart. Until you savor your aloneness like wild honey on the tongue. 

Transform your craving for love into POWER.  And rock your loneliness. Full out.

Because when you realize you are everything already, then…you can bravely curate the connections that aren’t nourishing you. Shift them, or let them go (ask me how).

Delight in the sumptuousness of your own company.

Breathe into your belly, that tender bowl of wisdom and longing, and love it. Oh my goodness, love it.

Loneliness is sacred kindling for the fire of desire; put your breath upon its flames.

Feel it burn away what’s holding you back from love. Let it show you what you really, really want.

Then, see that your heart is a vast and holy temple. Kneel upon its steps. Inhale the crisp air of possibility hanging in its halls.

And when you’re ready, let it fill with light.

Only light.

I love you,

Eva

How To Have a Big, Fat, F-ing Juicy Everything

Recently I stood before a large, blank sheet of paper with the intention of listing my goals for the new year. The clear white of it felt so good to me; limitless, and available. I had an exhilarating sense of possibility. Goals began to swirl around my mind – This, That, and The Other. “I need…I should…I ought to…it all came thundering through my mind.

I froze in overwhelm, my pen poised. And then my hands found my belly, and I extended my breath into the soles of my feet, and with a deep exhale, I felt the fires of desire rise and engulf me. Only ONE goal emerged for the year, and it somehow wrote itself: “I want a big, fat, fucking juicy EVERYTHING.”

Like many women, I’ve spent years toiling to achieve in the masculine paradigm that says, “hard work earns your worth”. And in my line of work, achievement is not measured by money, but Service (with a capital S). How many lives can I positively impact? How much hope and joy can I infuse on the planet? My driving ambition, coupled with 20 years of service as an activist, healer and teacher, stressed me to the point of severe exhaustion. Things have recently changed.

These days I take naps. I do yoga at my leisure. I read poetry and dance every day. I got a cat -and- a boyfriend. As I write this it’s 3:20 in the morning and I don’t care. I pause to listen to my body, it never fails me. And you know what? I’m deliriously happy. And my clients are soaring.

What’s your vision for the next year? Or five? Where (and how) are you aiming your focus? And why?

I invite you to tune into your deepest desires, not your pragmatic, obligatory needs, but your outrageous emotional longings. Start there. Give up your need to know how to achieve your dreams, just breathe into those aching places inside you, those parts of you craving something fun, more meaningful, more rewarding.

Stroke your soul like a sleeping lion, and watch it wake with a ROAR.

Good things are coming…..

I love you,

Eva

When You Really Just Need to Lay Down

So – I’ve been tired. You know – that kind of tiredness that comes from the bones, the soul. My work in the world is exploding, which is GREAT, but I decided to take a break and head to an ashram for a spiritual re-set (an ashram is a Hindu religious retreat).

I know there’s a place for structure and discipline. I’m a big believer in it.

I tried in my over-achiever way. I sat chanting for hours at 4am. But everything in me screamed “THIS IS NOT WHAT YOUR SOUL NEEDS.”

The dogma, the orthodoxy – it had no joy, spontaneity or pleasure! There was no flow, nothing honoring the feminine form, no song, dance, or expression.

Turns out I’m not so good at ashram-ming.

It was a profound reminder for me of the necessity for pleasure as a spiritual practice, of the place that ecstasy holds in our sacred process, and that the REAL spiritual authority is my own inner guidance.

And my inner guidance said, “EVA, LAY DOWN”.

So I did. On rocks, grass, and for endless hours in a hammock. I skipped all the satsangs and asanas and sadhanas and followed the religion of my heart.

At the end of my week, I felt spiritually re-set, NOT from the chanting or rigid postures of the discipline, but from the deep nourishment of nature.

In fact, I extended my trip and I’m still here in the Sierra Mountains, listening to nature and laying in all sorts of places that call me.

You’re allowed to find enlightenment in YOUR way.

==> MY way is ecstasy.  And at the moment – LAYING DOWN.  

What is YOUR soul craving that might be outside the rules?