by Ann Regentin
(03/10/04)
Sex isn't the first thing most people think of when they think of Yoga. Yoga tends to bring to mind pictures of Indian men with long beards and loincloths or rail-thin Westerners in expensive leotards. Many, looking at the poses and wincing with anticipated pain, can't relate it to any kind of pleasure at all.
I've been doing Hatha Yoga on and off for nearly fifteen years. I started when I was diagnosed with lupus and fibromyalgia because it was a good way to ease the aches at the end of the day, and it turned out to be an excellent way to keep as fit as an arthritic body can.
It also had an unexpected benefit. Yoga brings a deep, physical gratification that I can only compare to partner sex. After about twenty minutes to half an hour of these incredible stretches, my heart is pounding, every muscle is glowing, and I am relaxed and happy with life. More than anything else except sex, Yoga puts me in touch with both my body's limitations and its potential.
Of all the celebrities who practice Yoga, Madonna is probably best known for it and she's also known for being far from divorced from her sex drive. Gwyneth Paltrow practices for a rumored ninety minutes a day. Christy Turlington, Nicholas Cage, and Sting also spend considerable time in positions most people think the human body wasn't meant to achieve. In fact, among the jet set, Yoga reached craze proportions a few years ago and shows little sign of easing up. A trickle-down effect has brought it into the mainstream as a good way to get or keep fit and as a fashion statement. When I started my practice, sticky mats were available in blue, purple, green, and maybe black. Now I see them in neon floral prints, and "Yoga clothing" has reached the racks in mall outlet stores to be purchased by people who will never speak a word of Sanskrit.
Exercise of any kind has a positive effect on the sex drive, but I didn't make the specific connection between sex and Yoga until one day about five years ago when I was practicing while listening to a taped lecture by Susie Bright. I was, at that point, about a year into what would become over half a decade of being, if not asexual, at least not sexual in a social sense.
Celibacy may seem like a peculiar state for an erotica writer, but I had just come off of a demoralizing divorce and was realizing that there was something seriously wrong with my mate selection process. I decided to pull myself off the market until I could figure out what, a journey that ended up taking much longer than I expected. Masturbation, obviously, was a staple as it has been throughout my life, but my on-again-off-again relationship with Yoga was in a serious on stage, and it was only then, as I was listening, that I realized why.
A bit of judicious jilling could take care of the need for orgasm, but there's a lot more to sex than just orgasm. Sex creates a strong connection to another human being and a hormone-induced euphoria that beats out every drug I've tried. These things are not easily replaced, thus the proliferation of online and offline dating services and singles events. We are, as a species, built to fuck and not just for reproduction. Sex has a host of benefits, both physical and mental.
While Yoga isn't a perfect match for sex, I find that it comes very close. The poses, or asanas as they're called by those who do them, when done gently but firmly, have an effect similar to a full-body massage and result in a sweet, gentle high more than vaguely reminiscent of post-coital bliss. Lying in Savasana (a.k.a. Corpse Pose, flat on my back on the floor) after half an hour of extreme stretching and balancing, I get the feeling that I've just made love to the whole universe. It reconnects me to my own body and to the world as a whole in the way that sex connects me to myself and my partner. When I practice before going to bed, I sleep better. I also sleep the same kind of better after a good tussle under the covers.
Those who do associate Yoga and sex tend to think of Kundalini Yoga, which is known for effectively harnessing and increasing sexual energy. And of course there is Tantra, which deliberately uses sexual energy and connection in a spiritual way, sex with full awareness, sex taken to another level as a thing in itself, sex as sacred and divine. As with Kundalini, most serious practitioners of Tantra will argue that it is much more than the sexual effects. Both are fully rounded spiritual practices. However, the two have at least one element in common with Hatha Yoga: they use the body as a vehicle for enlightenment.
The idea that the body, especially something so elementally physical as sex, can be a source of spiritual energy runs contrary to a lot of Western thinking. It's common to attribute this to the Judeo-Christian ethic, but in fact it goes back much farther than that. Paul was not the first Roman to suggest that a deep commitment to religion was made easier by foregoing sex. The notion of celibate clergy is both ancient and global.
Yoga, in fact, has within it a tradition of celibacy. Brahmacharya, or "self-restraint," is often taught as strict abstention from sex, masturbation, and even erections, not to mention ejaculation. Extreme versions of Brahmacharya, like some forms of Tantra, hold the idea that semen is too powerful and sacred to be shared or even expelled at all.
Others, however, teach Brahmacharya as the proper direction of energy. There is plenty of room within it for sex that nurtures and sustains, and in fact some of Yoga's greatest teachers have been sexually active in one way or another. What it warns against is sex that destroys, distracts, or drains energy, sex that hinders the connection to the Divine. This leaves open a great many possibilities.
Physical denial as an integral part of spiritual practice is an ancient concept, but running along side it is a pervasive, and sometimes even perverse, current in the opposite direction. Even Christianity, infamous for denying the genitals, has had adherents that embraced alternative forms of sexuality. The Carpocratians, a Gnostic sect, rejected the notions of male superiority and marital possession in favor of what Professor Norman Cohn called "anarchic eroticism." A more recent example is the Oneida Community, founded in New York in the mid-1800s. They practiced Complex Marriage, which rejected the notion of exclusive sexual pair-bonding -- although the downside was that they also rejected the idea of ejaculation for any reason other than reproduction. The dichotomy between spiritual abstinence and spiritual sexual indulgence was perhaps more obvious when there was more open worship of multiple deities, as some preferred the asexual and others favored the promiscuous, but the fact that it's less apparent now does not mean that it has gone away.
It's ironic for me that it was while engaged in a practice that, on the surface at least, holds celibacy in high esteem that I started to understand who I was sexually. Yoga, in giving me an infusion of the things I need from sex, freed me to explore in ways that I could not with a partner. Without the tendency toward enmeshment that comes with partnered sex or the overwhelming urge to join the great love hunt, I was better able to come to terms with the effects of lupus and fibromyalgia on my sexuality, develop a clear idea of what does and doesn't turn me on, and even explore mentally and emotionally things that many of the men in my life were unwilling to explore physically. I now have a good understanding of what went wrong in my marriage and am better equipped to avoid making the same mistake again. Yoga helped make this period of celibacy possible, which in turn has opened a door to a healthier, more satisfying sex life.
A growing trend in the United States is partner Yoga. Touted as a good way to explore and maintain a connection between two people, partner Yoga is said to enhance communication and trust within a relationship. Each participant has a chance to support and be supported by the other's body, a delicate, subtle form of power exchange, and the asanas synchronize both movement and breath. Given the feelings of intimacy created by solitary Yoga, this is something I would approach with more caution than sex itself. There are people I would be willing to sleep with who I would not allow to even watch me do Yoga, much less participate. To me, partner Yoga would both require and create an extraordinary relationship. Sex, by comparison, is easy to come by.
Yoga and sex, it turns out, have quite a bit in common. They're both physically demanding in a particularly rewarding way. They create intimacy and sustain a sense of connection with things outside oneself. They can both be a bit painful, but it should never be a pain that injures or wounds, rather one that challenges and exhilarates. Combined, Yoga and sex have the potential to create new avenues of communication between partners, and offer yet another venue in which to explore the dynamics of interdependency. Yoga, in fact, means to join together or unite. It's not very far away from sex at all.
