THE SECRET DOCTRINE, HPB

 

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The Magnetic Pull of Your Twinflame~ A case study~ PART 2

e0b609e2a42ead46e4835a0a4ff749b3“You can only meet someone as deeply as you have met yourself”

This is the very truth. No matter how much you crave your twinflame/soulmate you will meet them(if you do in 3d) with the same depth that you have met your very own soul. The twinflame journey starts with touching base with your soul.

https://mywritestuffblog.wordpress.com/2018/05/13/the-magnetic-pull-of-your-twinflame-a-case-study/

I told you a strange story of a twinflame experience in my viral article(click link above) and now I want to give you an update…below you can read parts of the letter the woman experiencing this twinflame connection writes…

Dear Tina,

It has been almost a year since I deleted and blocked him on social media. And till date, not a word from him…I had decided that he is a coward and will never speak up, so I did my best to immerse myself in life and continue to exist without thinking of him. Which was inevitably impossible. His face and name kept swimming up in my consciousness. Why? Why the fuck am I so into this one person? Someone I have never met? Someone’s voice I have not heard? And I mean, he is not like some Adonis. But then why? Why him? Why can I not forget his existence? It irked me endlessly, until I had the PLR and hypnosis session with you.

That session took me back to timelines…places and situations I cannot even imagine. Through the great wars of antiquity, through the fertile plains of Sumeria/Mesopotamia and Egypt. I saw us together through numerous timelines. It was not easy to express. You know exactly how long I wept after I came back…

But then lucid dreams started to come rapidly. They arrived randomly and I woke up with him in bed. Our children were playing outside. I even know their names. I spend time with him in our home and all we did was make love and I heard him tell me that I was everything for him. He said he missed me, tremendously when I was out, travelling for work.

I couldn’t stop wondering if I had arrived here, then who was at home with my husband and child? What happened to my body staring at the computer, in lucid dreams?

I dared not reveal anything to spoil that day and what can I say, he took me all over his city and we had the best day ever. I went to sleep with him and I was worried that I might never see him again. But I did not wake up back in my reality, I still remained in his world. In some alternate universe.

There he was making breakfast and my kids walked in. I cannot forget their faces. They looked so familiar. But I knew I had never seen them before. Then as left to take them to playschool, I passed out watching a program on TV in his language. And strangely, I knew the language. Then I blacked out and I found myself in front of my computer. My body soaked in sweat, my computer had crashed. Someone was ringing my doorbell frantically. I ran to open the door, my legs could barely carry me and saw my husband had come home. He just returned from tennis practice with my baby. I was so shocked and it probably showed on my face. My husband stared at me, long and hard, while I could not find a single word to say. It’s like I had forgotten English. His language and his voice kept intruding my thoughts and I was sure as hell that I was going crazy. He came towards me and checked my temperature which was soaring. He took me straight to bed and forbade any movement while he called the doctor.

The next seven days were a haze. I know I had high temperature and my body was not keeping food down. I was sick, I felt sick. Like I was dying. But then suddenly, I woke up in the alternate Universe. And this time, I was in front of him and he was sick. I sat by his bedside, weeping gently. That night I met his mother. His father was dead. I knew all this information about him and I did not know why and how. His mother was such a wonderful woman and we really bonded. Surprisingly, she noticed a difference and she told me that her son was really lucky to have me. Because no one can love him like me. I think I started howling. We spend sometime cradled in each other’s arms.

He was ill, high temperature and the doctors thought it was some kind of infection. But they did not know for sure. He lay in bed, in front of me. Murmuring in his sleep and I remembered my own sick body back home, in my own universe. Suddenly he opens his eyes and looks at me and tells me that no matter what, I must find him. I was shocked, he’d say that. I asked him what he meant and he said that if he dies, I have to find him. He did not mention other timelines or alternate universes.

It was time to tell him…Listen _, I am not from your Universe. I have no clue how I turned up here. He didn’t look as surprised as I thought he would. He coughed and motioned for me to continue. I told him that in my universe, we have never met. I mean we did, only once or twice. Very briefly and we never spoke. But I could not forget his energy. His soul energy, all these years. I told him how I found him on socialmedia and how I added him and then deleted him. I told him that I’m not even sure, he knows me in this reality. But then maybe he was not sensitive.

But this man in front of me, he was so very sensitive. He was exactly the man I thought he would be. He looked disturbed at the idea of us never knowing each other in my universe and he said he must have been a real idiot to let me go. In my reality that is. In his reality, he met me in the exact same place. The situation was pretty much identical. Except one detail. We had bumped into each other at the bar and in his reality, he started a conversation with me and within the next six months we were together. In his country. And then we were married soon after. In fact, in his world, it had been over twenty years we were together.

Listening to him talk, it was clear why I could not forget his face. Why I kept remembering him in my reality, although I did not know him. But obviously, this him, in his reality is indeed my soulmate or maybe my twinflame. And we have made a life together. But he did say, that from a few years, he was having marital problems with his version of me. It looks like they are drifting apart. This surprised me as that is exactly when I had found him on social media in my universe.

Spending time with him that night, watching him sick and feeling his sickness, like an empath, I shifted between hope and despair. This emotional chaos is raising only more questions and there are never any answers…I am glad I told him about my confusion, about how I coped all those years without him and how I felt lost and helpless every time I saw him on social media. There is so much to tell him, but no words…

When I held him and kissed him, I understood what you told me. That the twinflame experience is not always about being together and creating a life. It is about so much more. It is a subtle connection, like quantum entanglement that cannot be explained by punitive human language. This is true psychic connection and it saddens me that only I feel it. Not him.

Watching us both together, as the observer this time, I felt the most indescribable and amazing feeling. A feeling of unconditional love and deep fulfillment. And we did not even have any sexual experience. We just slept together, in each other’s arms. He knew it could be the last night we have together and it was painfully making itself aware in my psyche. This is it, this is why I crave to be with him in my reality, without even knowing him. It is because of this life we have and have had through time. But, but….that life is falling apart in his universe and in mine, we have never met. I spend time going through the pictures of our life together and they remain embedded in my mind forever.

Returning back to my universe was ugly. My body felt like I was about to die. I could not take the fever burning my soul…and there was emptiness and pain, physical, mental and spiritual. It felt like my heart has been ripped off. Death is better than this pain. I felt so ashamed at the love my husband had for me. I was his great love story and here I am, chasing after a ghost. Guilt, shame and hopelessness were my companions till I gradually got my health back. And my sanity or so I think.

I made a conscious effort to erase him from my soul. It was difficult, but not really because I never had any connection with him. In 3d. We never touched or kissed or anything. Forget about his universe. I still remember the names of our children and hope that he made peace with his wife. Me, in his reality. But sometimes, his words ring out…So what if I have forgotten…you find me…drop me a message.

I scoffed at him then…like are you serious? You are fucking married and you don’t even know me. He scoffed back and told me that its not possible, he does not know me. After I added him and then deleted him. He said that he knew himself and he surely would be excited to see my posts. I told him that I knew nothing about anything about him and he held my hand, touched it to his heart and told me…everything is here, all my love for you…right here. This heart beats for you…

I remember laughing at him. But I made it clear that I am not ever getting in touch. Like never. But my friend, the one who was there with me when I met him in Goa, suddenly added him. Yes she knows about these PLR sessions and she is convinced that he was interested in me back then. In that bar and in the party afterwards, he was looking at me. I was initially mad at her for adding him. Like wtf. Why? But she wouldn’t listen. And she says she will talk to him one day about me. I told her if that happens, I am blocking her. But her wicked smile tells me she might tell him. She also says that from the time I deleted him, he’s hardly posted. Like nothing about anything. Like he has gone silent. I told her to stay away from his profile. And she told, try to stop me bitch…

I have no intention of telling him…I know this can only be felt and if he felt anything, he would get in touch. The other day, randomly, a facebook friend of mine tells me that she saw me marrying a white guy. And she has no idea about this man or anything. So that shocks me. These twinflame energies are being picked up by so many close to me.

Well, in his universe, he is definitely not a coward, so his silence in this one can only mean one thing…he is not sensitive to the energy flow. I do hope to share this post Tina after you publish it, maybe he is secretly following me through a different account. Maybe reading this will jog his memory. That is all I can expect.

That is all Tina…thank you studying my case…

 

Dear     ,

Your story excites me like none other, because here we have a story of twinflames who have never met. One looks to be awakened and the other asleep. Or maybe not. During my meditations, I have felt that man’s feelings for you and even the tarot told you what you needed to know. This is a connection of numerous past lives. One you cannot ignore.

My work with twinflames is so important…why?

It’s because the earth needs these powerful bursts of twinflame love at this time. As more twinflames awaken and recognize their work in 3d, the better they will be able to contribute to the coming of the next race. Race is not about color or anything. This is the next level of humanity. Humanity 6.0. Yes you heard that right.

_ I believe every single word you say, you know why? Because twinflame energies are not to be understood logically. You cannot look at it with the analytical thought processes. It goes beyond…one needs to experience this kind of pull. This magnetic pull towards one person that defies logic and practical wisdom. This energy is tthat of Shiva/Shakti, it is of Padma Sambhava and Yeshe Tsogyal, it is of Yesua and Mary Magdalene. It is eternal. It is the interplay between the divine feminine and masculine polarities. It is all a play. It is all a simulation. And not…it is nothing and everything.

We need to accept this fact that the mind level cannot grasp this soul connection. Basically this experience is like nothing you have ever felt before or will again. If you do feel this again, then you have to reevaluate what you felt the first time. If it keeps happening to someone, then they have surely not met their twinflame.

Your story is believable, because after all these years you have felt this for a man you have never met. This case is rather exceptional in my opinion and you have managed to collapse timelines and you have made contact with your twin. And hope you do so again.

So what do you think? Is this possible? Were her visits just hallucinations? Or some coping mechanism? Do you have such a story…tell me…

DONATE~

http://www.tinaheals.com

SPECIAL TWINFLAME READINGS/SESSIONS AVAILABLE…BOOK YOURS..

 

 

 

 

The Magnetic Pull of Your Twinflame~ A case study~

Are twinflames about the same soul incarnating at the same time? Our energetic counter parts? It could be so. Let me share an example. Read from this letter from someone who wishes to remain anonymous.

I had heard his name many times, somewhere around 2002 or 2003, I cannot remember. Now it seems so long ago when I saw him back then, by the beach. I don’t know why my heart skipped a beat. I had just broken up with someone, but it was not easy for him to move on from me, so he lingered. I was never happy in that relationship, so I looked for that something special. I think I heard his name before I ever saw him. And then one day shortly our eyes met and we were briefly introduced. I saw him a few time, but we never exchanged a single word. I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I think he kept looking at me every single time our paths crossed. I think he wanted to speak with me as badly as I wanted to. But this never happened. After that I left _ and returned to _. Life continued on and I could not stop thinking about him. This is not my usual style. I never find myself thinking about someone like this. Yes he was cute, but he was not really my type. I was not sure of my type, maybe I still am not. Now my friend calls me for a party and when I reach, I bump into him near the gate. This time, our eyes meet and lock. I am sure his heart began to beat as quickly as mine did. And then he got lost again in the crowd. Finally I saw him and our eyes met again, and no words were needed. I never forgot that moment in history. Nothing more happens. Shortly after this, I meet my now husband, _ and we both decide to revisit that little town where I had fallen in love with a stranger. The ache in my soul as I entered that place almost paralyzed me. His loss was immeasurable. Unquantifiable. But why did I feel so intensely, I repeatedly asked myself. This is not like me. Our times there were lovely, me and my husband bonded greatly and although I could never stop thinking about my perfect stranger, I realized it was a futile endeavor, because he lived miles apart. At this point, I knew nothing of him expect his name. One day, while we are at this bar, suddenly again, I bump into _. It looks like he is back from his country too. Our eyes meet and my heart almost stops beating. I am sure, I felt something similar happen in him. But no words were exchanged and my husband comes up behind me and holds my hands. _ sees this and steps back. That was the last time I saw him. Now cut to 2015, I see him on Facebook. I confess, I have tried to hunt him down. I finally learnt some stuff about him, but we never connected. Till 2015. I added him on Facebook and he okays my request the next day. My heart fluttering in my chest, I visit his profile to realize he is married! Yes, it startles me, not that I was hoping to hook up with him. I just had my baby. But, it felt wonderful to be connected with him on Facebook. Remember, we never spoke, so I still do not know what his voice sounds like. I have imagined it a million times. At least watching his life on Facebook, it felt oddly reassuring. Like somehow I had become a part of his life and he mine. No we never exchanged any likes or loves on FB. It was like he did not exist for me and I did not exist for him. I am not even sure he knows about this connection we have. I know he is my twinflame. Don’t ask me how and what and why. Because I have no rational answers. I love him like crazy and cannot stop thinking about him and having him on my FB is making it super hard for me to function in my normal life. He is miles away and a total stranger and I cannot stop thinking about him. What is going on? Can you help? I have seen visions of us together and when I stare into his pics, I know that he is my twinflame and I have remembered everything. But he has not. He seems happy in his life and relationship, so I have decided to not bother him with my energy field. I have started spiritual chord cutting from him and soon hope to get enough courage to delete him permanently from my Facebook. Not because I do not love him. He is the only human with my core soul frequency and I cannot help but love him totally and unconditionally. I will do so because I love him and in my love, I will let him continue his life’s journey till we meet again. I do not think we will meet in this life. We live on two different continents and we’re both married. Forget all that, we never even spoke. Then why do I feel so strongly about him? Because my heart knows the sound of his heart. Because my hand knows the feels of his skin without ever touching him and my lips know the touch of his lips, without ever kissing. I know I love him and always will. But it has become too painful to have him on my list. Should I delete him and block him? He has his life and I have mine. I know we will never meet, so why prolong this agony. Why not just release all these feelings and release him in the process? IMPOSSIBLE! But…I have intended to do just that…very soon…

What do you make of this letter? Is this woman delusional in her love for this stranger about whom she knows nothing? They have never even exchanged a hello on Facebook after being in each other’s lists for over three years. The stark pain and honesty in this letter moved me beyond words. I wonder…is it possible to fall in love with a stranger and then still remain in love with him after all these years. And here she is not even sure, he is aware of her presence? I mean he is surely is. She is a very beautiful woman, but you know what I mean. He has never tried to initiate contact on FB, after all these years.

I actually suggested that this woman let him be on her list because what difference does it make. She has thousands of friends on her list, so why can’t she just treat him as another name on her list. But upon seeing how difficult it had become for her to know he is on chat but never pings her or speaks with her, I suggested that yes, she delete him. Now, I did tell her that maybe he is shy to comment or like her posts, who knows? But she refused to agree to that. She feels that if he wanted to contact her, he could. Anyway, to cut a long story short…she deletes him…

And now what…let us see…will she forget this crazy connection she has with this stranger? Her love for him is getting stronger and that makes me wonder…what’s this? It is heartbreaking to see…

What do you think can be done?

Now back to my research. Twinflames do not give us the sense of security like a soulmate does. Soulmates are the likely comrades of 3D. Twinflames are like one person in two people. That does not make them identical. In fact, their differences can appear stark, but their core energy signature remains the same. Every time I come across, a probably twinflame relationship, I can tell you if this is for real. How? Because as someone meets their twin, their energetic vibe shifts. You cannot avoid this and for someone who studies psychic energy, I can feel this happening.

Another notable thing about the woman who writes the letter is that she feels unconditional love for this stranger. And isn’t that crazy? She is not some delusional nutjob. In fact, she is a high achiever and is doing extremely well for herself. She is an excellent mother and a great wife. What I mean is that she is no psych-ward inmate, she is just like you and me, yet, she met her twin almost a decade ago and never forgot about him. She loved him with utmost fervor and unconditional love. Even before the days of social media. She never even saw or heard about him online till 2015. This story has really touched me, which is why I decided to share her letter.

Yes, she has deleted him, but she will always love him. I am quite sure of it. No man will ever take his place, because no man caan. And she has not even spoken to him, even once!

Have you ever felt such a strong connection to someone? A pull you cannot explain, and if you answer yes, then maybe, just maybe, that person is your twinflame. Obviously, very few people will continue to love a stranger with such passion after all these years, but even if this feeling goes on for a few months, it is well worth investigating. Especially if you feel a telepathic connection to someone. This can manifest in many ways. When I work with twins, I usually ask them to send signals and work on their telepathy. Some twins even document this telepathic exchange they share and the results are stupendous. There can be color synchronicity. Name synchronicity and numbers. You have to have eyes to look and ears to hear.

You see with the Ascension energies at play right now, there will be many twins who will finally meet in the same space/time continuum. This is for the awakening of the masses. This is for the lightwork they have to do.

This woman’s story highlighted another aspect much discussed in the twinflame community. It is seen that when twins meet, they least expect it and often times it is burdensome to be free to hook up. Most twins meet when they are already in relationships. I know how crazy this sounds, but don’t take my word for it. Look it up and see what the twinflame gurus have to say. Much of their research points to this. Twins never meet when they are in a happy place or if they are content. It is only a spiritual itch that keeps nagging at them, driving them nuts and then finally, boom, they meet.

I called her up today asking her if she had missed having him on her friend’s list, to which she could not stop howling. She was as miserable with him on it than without him there and now she has even blocked him. She did confess that although she had deleted him, she could still not stop thinking about him. And she felt his physical distance disappear when she thought of him. In fact, she could bring him alive in her thoughts. She even touched him, kissed him and made love to him in her mind. For all these years…all this took place in her mind. Were these moments then real? The fact that they took shape in her mind. Can thought be energy? Yes, now we know that by observing an atom we can change its course, so then with intention we can create universes.

Maybe this man is her partner in a parallel universe and she is feeding into that information loop. I often feel that some psychic apparitions I have, are glitches in the system. They are entities from parallel worlds, living their lives, oblivious to their existence as shadow people in our universe. Yes, they terrify us, but what if we terrify them equally so? Who knows what they think of us? Could such emotional attachment be some malfunction in the matrix algorithm? What is this strange magnetic pull she felt for this man? I wish I could interview him to discover if he felt anything at all. But she refuses to allow me to contact him. So I am helpless. I have to let it go.

Maybe they will never meet. Maybe they will meet someday when they bump into each other randomly somewhere. Maybe he loves her as much as she loves him. This broke my heart. What a waste of true twinflame love if this is the case. I do find myself wondering if he is missing her on his friend’s list. Maybe, he will look her up on some other social media, since he is blocked on FB. Maybe they will connect.

I can only speculate…the rest will gradually unfold itself as the days rolls by…will he ever seek her out? Will she ever unblock him and re add him? What will happen?

I will keep you posted…

READ PART 2 HERE

https://mywritestuffblog.wordpress.com/2018/05/13/the-magnetic-pull-of-your-twinflame-a-case-study/

 

 

Special Offering of SPIRIT SESSIONS~

I am light, My mind, body and spirit are LIGHT.

I inhale love/GRATITUDE, I exhale fear/GUILT.

I share love, I receive love, I am love.

LOVE IS ALL THERE IS….

Many of you are familiar with my work in the Spirit World and during Pisces Season, I can see the necessity of offering my services for more people who want to contact this realm.

Are you looking to communicate with your loved one?

I have been doing some very interesting MEDIUMSHIP work and I can see an increased activity in the ether when it comes to information that is coming to us from parallel worlds.

Pisces is after all about this PARALLEL WORLD and now we have so much going on in this 12th sign of dissolution that spirits and entities are leaking out of the woodwork and bleeding into our lives.

Sometimes they are quantum information that has entered our field through another Universe. Stuff like this does happen.

Time also does not move in a linear manner. Scientists are now saying that the FUTURE MOVES BACKWARDS TO CREATE THIS LINEAR EXPERIENCE OF TIME FOR US. Yes the future decides the past!

Book your session. I do use the TAROT, RUNES and MEDITATION to contact the dead. Sometimes I do AUTOWRITING and in some cases I do MEDIUMSHIP and invite your loved one in.

1) CONTACT YOUR LOVED ONE: $130.00 for the first session. 30-60 minutes.

2) CONTACT SPIRIT GUIDES: $120.00 for 45 minutes.

3) CONTACT YOUR ANGEL GUIDES $125.00 for 45 minutes.

4) WORK WITH THE FAERIE REALM. $220.00 for 45 minutes.

5) DEITY/YIDAM MEDITATION for $170.00 for 30 minutes.

 

BOOK your TAROT SESSION for $100 for a limited period.

BASICS OF YOUR CHART/TAROT session is now for $150

 

Thank you and do spread the love…

 

tinamukerji2002@gmail.com

http://www.tinaheals.com

Notes on #PussyTalks: Sluts and Whores~~

Wow thank you all for the letters and the notes, the memes and the pictures; they made my day just that much brighter. I had retreated into a very deep place, something to do with my natal Pluto, Mars and Venus aspects from where I might never fully return. Astrological work will be coming up shortly as well as more on Sacred sexuality.

Jupiter in Scorpio brought about a wonderful surprise, remember it is on the third house from Ascendant. The house of communication and the energy is Scorpionic with Jupiter amplifying all those attributes. I spoke to a group of empowered Escorts and sex workers who know and love their work. They also love their clients(well most of them).

You might not know, but I have been interacting with escorts, Johns, Dominas, Tops, Bottoms, Crossdressers and many others from the sex industry for very many years. Collecting data and looking through a Uranian filter on such SCORPIONIC ISSUES.

Something about the way women’s sexuality presented itself in society did not do much for my identity as a sexual being. In fact, I told that virginity was something to be saved for your husband. Fuck yes, I remember it. Fuck, everything to do with sex was such a stigma. All the time.

Obviously bad girls like me do not listen and we do what we need to do to experience life in all its awesomeness. How can you leave out sexuality which is at the very crux of human civilisation?

It made no sense that it was so hush-hush. It made no sense why my BFS got so jealous if other men(including their brothers and their best friends) looked at me or spoke to me with excitement. They behaved like I was their possession and it pissed my rebellious spirit off to no end.

In fact, it happened to me recently. I lost an old friend because her husband could not contain his excitement at meeting me! And this is one woman who should have known that I will never be into her man. Even if he was my type. It hurt me tremendously and is a wound I have been carrying for a few months. There I spoke of it…

Such is the place from which Pussy Talks was conceived. I had to discover for myself that I was not alone. I was not the only woman who CRAVED TO CONNECT. I was not the only woman who wanted it uninhibited, raw, deep and fiery.

I knew there were others.

That is when I learnt of the Virgin/Whore archetypes. That is what society has reduced us to. Either we are good little virgins(wives, mothers, sisters) or we are whores(free minded bitches). I may be a wife, but my husband knows very well and loves the fact that he does not own me. I am as free as he is.

I saw girls gossiping amongst themselves every-time someone lost her virginity. There were always the most psychotic, obsessive, desperate-to-accomplish types who held on to their hymens.

It was strange the way they held on to their virginity as a commodity with which they could in some way leverage a better deal.

Not for me. Hahahahahaha! Some even went for hymen transplantation. Such is the saga of human sexuality today.

Working through the sacred slut archetype yesterday with the ladies MADE ME SO EXCITED that I made up my mind to write this post. Every woman has the right to feel this orgasmic bliss that rocks her whole being. It is as much your birthright as it is mine.

Most times, men will not give it to you, so you must learn to give it to yourself till you find the ONE you can merge in sacred union with. Trust me there is someone who will make love to you and stick all the broken parts back together. Dreamy shit…hahahaha!

Anyway girls, your virginity is not a commodity and the first time you make love, keep in mind that even if the person is not your Mr. Right, even then, be PRESENT in the moment. In the NOW. Be there. Smell him, feel him, feel the whole scenario and just experience it. Do not feel upset if it is not what you had in mind. Embrace the reality while knowing that the fantasy might happen, someday.

There is nothing as disturbing as losing your virginity while drunk or drugged. In fact, if you decide to lose your virginity, make sure, you and your beau abstain from alcohol, especially if you are doing YONI PUJA or tantra meditation sex. Remember, this is not Neo-Tantra, so my ideas may differ from what is being sold in the West as Tantra.

I know that to activate your sexual energy, you have to connect with your pussy. It has to be done. My work with women focuses on activating the GODDESS FORM INSIDE EACH OF THEM and the YONI or the PUSSY becomes a direct symbol of the GODDESS.

The ladies I spoke with were working with sexual energy and if they work with the GODDESS FORM, they might find more magick in the work they do. The men will also respond to this energy flux. This might result in lots of kundalini activity.

Although they were pretty adjusted on the surface, yet, some of them failed to really tap into their INNER SACRED SLUT/WHORE and sex work can become healing work if you just understand how to work with the energy and it all begins with INTENT.

Most girl were telling me that they find no time to meditate or do anything spiritual at which I told them and showed them how putting on your daily make up can become a meditation.

They were thrilled I can tell you that.

As Jupiter moves through Scorpio, society will be confronted with FEMALE SEXUALITY like never before.

Believe me, wild sister, man wanted monogamy. You did not. He decided to control you while you were pregnant and had to depend on him. And look now, what has changed. Women’s reproductive rights are a joke.

Women are way more sexual than men and the Courtesans and Sacred Whore of yore knew this. They were SLUTS because unlike the wives they did not belong to any man, but chose to mate with whomever she liked.

No man controlled her, not with money, not with sex and not with children.

She was free to explore her sexuality and in most cases made it a spiritual practice. Women have this inherent wisdom and trust me, talking to sex workers from all over, I can tell you that they are some of the wisest and experienced women, especially if she has successfully drawn on the COURTESAN archetype.

For the Courtesan was a truly accomplished Artist and MUSE, sometimes of really powerful men. She was a Philosopher, a musician, a singer, a confidant, a seductress and even a top in bed and she played all these roles to perfection.

Why are wives sacred of the Courtesan? Like some women are scared of sexually empowered women? These women are your witches, your bitches and your bossy bosses. Don’t you just hate them? Hahahahahaha!

The wife fears the courtesan because the courtesan does not need any man. But the wife does. Remember she is a wife and her whole identity is wrapped around that little concept.

The Courtesan is free from this. She is sexually free, in most cases(if she is smart, lol) then she decides and chooses her lovers and they in turn provide for her. Yes the Courtesan is seen as a FREE and available woman and in most cases vilified, but it was not so in ancient times and it is also imperative to end the stigma behind sex work and prostitutes. They are girls, like you and me.

Escorts and sex workers have to understand SACRED SEXUALITY, because they work with kundalini energy at the very base level and if they manage to rise up in vibration as a collective, then imagine what could happen. Our society could change.

Being in love with somebody and cohabiting with someday- two totally disparate concepts. How can you love someone if you know them intimately? The courtesan provides the allure, the mysterious. Whereas the wife is an open book that the husband mostly ignores because he has read every page. So instead of going through the painful process of reinventing yourself over and over again(spending tons and tons on the way you look and getting stressed AF), wouldn’t it be better if we redefined feminine sexuality.

It is so very important for women as a collective to come together and scream out that- WE RECLAIM OUR SEXUALITY, our reproductive rights…We will decide as well how sex and sexual imagery will be portrayed in media and in society.

Look at the images in front of you…hacked and quartered limbs of women selling you products. The breast will sell you everything, but when it pops out to feed an infant- ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE. While breastfeeding my toddler the other day at the airport, I was stunned at how many men stared at my breast, forgetting the fact that they were once babes suckling on their moms.

Look sexual imagery is created for the MALE GAZE. There are no spaces for women to express their sexual preferences, desires, fantasies and the rest. Fuck that, there is really no avenue for women to be sexually empowered. Look around you, wherever you go…the violence on women is apparent and evident.

You cannot hide from it now.

Working through SACRED SEXUALITY and all the archetypes in our consciousness must be a top priority, not just for sex workers, but for all women and men out there.

Men are being fed a garbage diet of misogynistic porn and soon to come, robot sex. Think hard. How will a man handle the idiosyncrasies of a real woman. So men, tune into your sacral chakra. It has a lot of wisdom.

Men are not from Mars and women are not from Venus, although they are the cosmic archetypes of masculine and feminine. Both men and women are from Earth and it is time to join together.

A woman is way more sexual than a man. Believe me and please note that the walls of the vagina do not get stretched or loose with sex. In fact the pussy is full of elasticity, the muscles and tissues can expand and contract easily and return to how it used to be.

I have heard so many women bring this up as a lack of interest in the men that I feel like shouting it out from the roofs tops. Google it bitches…check it out. You can start the Kegels later on now.

There is so much bullshit propaganda around female sexuality thatt it has perverted human sexual expression and its freedom. Society never makes women’s sexuality a priority. It is a filter through which a male can masturbate and enjoy. Watch the lesbian porns out there and you will know of what I speak. You already do.

The clothes we are meant to wear. They are so freaking uncomfortable, some of them, yet they serve the purpose of the male gaze. Look at the bikini, it is an elaborate subterfuge to get women exposed so men can stare at them while sitting with their wives. Making the wife insecure and getting her hating on the younger girl. See how it is a vicious cycle. The wife hates the sexually free woman, even though they both stand oppressed in the hands of patriarchy.

Little girls are falling under the trap of hyper sexualisation and that is creating a more perverted scenario where they find it hard to fit in and adhere to set norms of beauty because they are unrealistic.

If women became sexual beings and decided to take matters in their own hands, then things could change. Women can bring about a change in the way society perceives and separates us.

Maybe there can be BALANCE if men and women contribute to the sexual repertoire. It will benefit us as a culture.

Ladies reading this, you need to reclaim the INNER WHORE and trust on your vagina. You have to begin a relationship with it and start to love it. Like your womb.

You can only bring pleasure to your husband if you learn to pleasure yourself and take sex as an artform. If you tap into the COURTESAN archetype, you will see how it shifts your whole energy signature and sexually awakened tigresses are beacons of hope for the rest of the females because we have been so repressed and controlled in that department that we have lost our voices to speak of sexual pleasure. Or wait, people might call you a SLUT/WHORE.

So what?

 

DONATE TO ME AND SUPPORT THIS WORK

I intend to work with escorts, sex workers and others from the sex industry and am available for Talks, Seminars and Discussions. Feel free to book me for such events.

tina@tinaheals.com

The Mansfield Story

BELOW IS A PART OF MY NOVEL CALLED THE MANSFIELD STORY.

IT IS ALSO DEVELOPED AS A SCREENPLAY.

HELP ME PUBLISH~ BECOME MY PATRON

 

CHAPTER 1

SHAMBHAVI’S POV

I am not going to pretend that I’m this master story teller, in fact I’m seriously beginning to question my choice of vocation as writer/ filmmaker. No HD has my film on it and the analogue era was before my time. I have made all these films, in my head. From script to post prod, I’ve created these monstrosities and they exist. Don’t know where, don’t know how, but they do. Mistakes are portals of discovery, right Joyce. Works every time, doesn’t it. But then you were seeking to be immortal, hence the elaborate subterfuge, but for me. I am the nothingness, the mistake. These films that I’ve made in my mind, over and over, lead me nowhere in the real world, for they don’t exist. Neither does she, but there she is, invading my senses, my ideas, my dreams.

I think of these bizarre stories and it’s not even that I write them, they write themselves. I’m just their victim. They laugh at me, they torment me, they wake me up at four in the morning in jest, they drive me insane tossing and turning in bed at night. They are my oppressors. Not always. There is a friendly angle to our relationship. It does exist.

To the world, I’m this depressed writer who types away for hours on end on her laptop, writing God knows what. I’m in the fraternity of paid-poorly writers who are paid next to nothing to develop content. That’s my day job, at night I’m batwoman! You wish right?

I write screenplays and then make my films over and over again. And then there are these surfeits I have to deal with, like my friends from these stories, they begin to cohabit with me. These characters, they decide to pop right out of the Final Draft document and strut their stuff in front of me. There’s a reason why I’m constipated. How do you drop the excrement off your body when someone is reciting to you, a fluke line out of Keats, or no Shelley, I think. The Romantics definitely. Or you have this beer bar dancer doing make up! She keeps wanting to know if she’s looking saxy, not sexy, but saxy.

How the fuck is someone to shit in peace? Then there’s this boxer, he’s got tuberculosis and I write about it. Bam! I develop this terrible cough and an unbearable pain in the chest. The next day, I go to clear my throat and the phlegm sitting in the basin has blood. What does the boxer do? He laughs at me.

Then there are these pregnant women. I don’t think I’ll get into that right now, but yes you guessed it right. My periods stopped coming. Who could be the father? There were three possible candidates, but no one I could discuss this with. Not like they were my live-in boyfriends. They were nothing, not even friends. I stared at the pregnancy stick, yes, two lines. It didn’t matter how many times I re-took that test, it was the same. Now I’m no fool, I use protection. So did it not work? Did the bloody condom burst? Am I… I don’t think I could bring myself to voice that word. PREGNANT!!! I was and I did what I had to.

Not only am I plagued by these people, but strangely the things I write come to pass. No don’t think of  it as some kind of gift, it’s a fucking curse actually. It might have been a gift if all I wrote about was unicorns and fairies, but here I sit in silence and type away. What do I see? The desperate situation we’re in, yes us humans. I see the pain, no I think it’s more like I am in pain. I suffer day and night, sometimes with reason, sometimes without. I’m just a sucker for pain and my heart is perpetually broken. These films that I make are extensions of my tragic self and the most persistent theme of them is suicide.

You can say that I have a morbid fascination for suicide. My mother committed suicide when I was four or five, her mother too killed herself and so did her father, so yes it kind of runs in the family. I’ve been subjected to hours and hours of counselling so I don’t jump off a high-rise or hang myself with a dupatta. Morons! As if those sessions helped.

You see to me suicide is an art-form. You’ve got to be an artist to kill yourself with grace. You’ve got to see the beauty in death and embrace it. You’ve got to worship the power you have, the power to decide when it’s over. There is no fucking God, there is just you and the choice is yours.

My mother named me Shambhavi, I have an abbreviated form that I’ve chosen- SHAM! Yes I’m a sham! I’m not artist, if I was then I’d have already created the master piece- my death! The suicide, but I am not an artist, just a writer.

There are these three projects that I’m working on- developing for filmmakers who are too lazy to write their own shit and need to hire morons like me. The boxer does tend to get on my nerves, otherwise I am actually pretty involved with the rest. They tell me what to write and I do. It seems to be working. Of course there are times when these directors feel the need to impose upon my feeble intellectuality and ask me to make corrections. Temper tantrums will be thrown, but somehow we manage. We don’t exist without each other. We need each other.

Then there are these turbulent characters that take birth from my mind. They wreak havoc on my life, depressed, suicidal, maniacal, it’s difficult to deal with them. There is no sense of closure, no sense of comfort with them, only angst is the best way I could describe the feeling.

I have also tried setting MSS on fire, but once they’ve been conceived of in my head, there is no annihilating them. They are a part of my life, actually these creatures are my life whether I like it or not. The only way I can get rid of them is to finally begin work on the masterpiece.

It was so strange, when I met her that night. She stood in front and for the life in me, I couldn’t fathom her identity. There was something so familiar about her. P.S- I don’t subscribe to God or reincarnation. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive as I did when I saw her.

Don’t ask me how I landed up there, but I’ve had such strange and absurd situations happening to me recently that I just let go and watched her. She was tiny and her hairdo reminded me some old flick on Joan of Arc. Dressed in all black, there was this pendant around her neck, a spiral in jade and it looked like a fern would spring right out of it. Waist-upwards she had this sphinx like quality, her short crop was unkempt, her bangs fell on her forehead. She blinked her eyes through thick glasses as she looked at me. It had to be me, right. There was nobody else there, just a cat.

She lumbered across the vast living room. I could see her legs did not carry her well and she was stooping. There was a fire in her eyes which I could see even through those thick glasses. She sat right in front with a cuppa tea. I was not offered any. We sat like that for I don’t know how long. I was looking to say something. “Hello, I’m Sham,” “Hello, I’m a sham.” But I said nothing.

There was something that caught my eyes- an old calendar that screamed 1922.

Okay officially I have lost it, I know it to be 2017, not 1922. That made me look around. The deco was very vintage English, complete with Victorian furniture and then there were books. Quite a collection! I could happily bury myself in there for the rest of time and not bother about those people who live in my head or even the person in front with her sparkly eyes. She was not old, maybe thirty, but she looked much older. Her body was bent out of shape and her face showed signs of physical pain. I could tell she was sick and ailing. I looked on.

That belligerent and witty tongue could lash out at me, but it remained mute. It could raise a tempest but the waters remained still.

“You know I want to be like those ballerina’s of Dega, frozen in their graceful posture…” Those were the first words that came out of her mouth.

A reply, it came quite effortlessly. Then I bit my tongue. Crap! I sound like an idiot, I thought. “But those ballerinas are frozen, there is no life in them. They’re dead, like dolls…”

She threw her head back and laughed. That sound awakened a primal part of me and the ballerinas of Dega were right in front of me, suspended in space. There was this one figure of a ballerina and right next to her was this strange woman whose face you could not see, hidden by a hat in black attire and they both seemed to be waiting. It felt like us, that moment that time. I felt like the ballerina, massaging her foot in eager anticipation to perform and she was like the chaperon, waiting for that moment when I would set the stage on fire, pushing my body for fleeting moments of grace that would captivate one and all. I do that every day. I push my mind so I could come up with that work of art that would have entire generations enthralled, now you see what a SHAM I AM.

She wanted to be like those ballerinas. Why? Did she not feel their pain, their exhaustion? Did she want to be frozen in time?

“I never leave the house anymore and don’t like having servants,” She told me.

“T.B is painful and in 1920 it is incurable and you also have gonorrhoea, you must be in severe pain, most of the time.” I replied.

“You speak as if you come from some other world.” You can tell the gutsy woman she is.

“I come from the future…” I burst out laughing as I said it. “It sounded like some corny Sci-fi that no one would go to watch.

“You mean the motion picture…” She sounded interested, but then who is not interested in film.

“It’s very interesting that you would bring up the motion picture, because I have this story that I’m working on and the protagonist makes motion pictures, but from a feminine perspective, you know…”

I knew. “You want to explore the feminine angle? You seem content telling us stories through the male POV, Point of view…” I had to explain as she had no idea. Feminism, not one of her strong points.

But then what do you expect from her in 1910? Seems a bit bizarre, absurd if you ask me. I reach out in my pocket to stroke my I phone 6. The screen is cracked, just like my life.

You do not abandon your husband in 1920, you’re a woman and your place is right by his side. There are no other options, do not seek them. She seemed to know about real people, not some theoretical characters, but people of flesh and blood. That captivated me for years. How does a woman of her class and upbringing understand the human condition that well?

How does a marriage last only a day? There are no answers to such theoretical questions? Are writers really so crazy to get married to see what it feels like? Is this research? What is a marriage anyway? There was so much to talk about, but we sat silent.

 

CHAPTER 2

MANSFIELD’S POV

The tuberculosis has drained all my energy, the pelvic pain is getting worse, but my dream portrayal must continue, if anything today there is a seeing that I have felt. It’s not writing, it’s seeing. There are moments when I see all black before my eyes, need to sit down and gather myself, but the imaginative process never stops, it’s akin to breathing.

Much of my work remains unpublished and there are days when I lovingly gaze at them as a sign of acknowledgement and appreciation. Writing or rather seeing is a need and it must be done. In fact this sabbatical from my amorous lifestyle has given me time to write and I am thankful for it for all my stories come from the depths of my being.

Bliss and other Stories has just been published this year and it seems to be doing rather well. But there is suddenly a story inside me. I don’t even know what it is, suddenly I see Maata’s face and her breasts like a motion picture, a silent film and once again I’m back in the Hippodrome and I see the audience. Predictable! Their hands, their heads, their expressions.

I dreamt a story last night, every little detail etched in my mind, down to the smells and sounds and I was a part of it.

I see her eyes. A dark melancholia! An intense hankering for experience in the world of echoes and shadows. Who is she? She could be my alter ego. Her olive skin glows like logs burning at the fireplace, her long, dark hair is threaded like the negroes. Her mind is where she lives, the outside world has no fixity for her. I remember gazing at the audience, why not, I was a part of them. In this story I’m a part of both- I am her and I am the audience.

This story about her, this absurd protagonist who writes these films. Could it be that she makes them? Lumbering away with that heavy contraption of a camera? Who knows in the future there just maybe such women? I’d have loved to discover that platform.

Story-tellers tell stories, it doesn’t matter what the medium is. I have been told my writing is descriptive, just like the way they do it in the studios in America. I could have gone there, but travel for me is not a possibility. It’s why I cannot even go home- New Zealand!! Oh my pain and pleasure.

I’ve been criticized, compared to Chekov, snubbed for my hankering to be free, my will, my feisty nature, but people forget I’m just human. Where is the time? I’ve lost so much, I’ve gained so much. I have cried, I have laughed, I have lived and now I will die.

But this story, it wants to be written. Murray will surely publish most of my work even though I’ve told him not to. It sells, my writing and so shall its fate be, it’ll be sold! I need to sit down on days when the pain is bearable and write. I want to give my readers hope, yes everything is twisted, but there is hope. I was tired of reading every single thing out there from the perspective of a man, I mean how long is society going to ignore us? The fact that the women in my stories have decided to speak up shows me there is hope for us. Our voices need to be heard.

The Fourth way may just be my way, reading Gurdjeiff is a complicated process, yes it has opened up new portals to my experiencing life, but then there is so much left to be discovered and do I have time? Regret, don’t we all have a pinch of that with every sip of life we take. I for one, am swamped with regret. I regret my childhood, I regret the taunts and mocking because of my rather hilarious glasses, I regret not writing more often, I regret not supporting the women’s suffragette in the U.K, I regret not being vocal about it, I regret not telling Maata how much I loved her, I regret my obsession with Chekov. No I take that back, no regrets there. I regret my brother dying like that. I can still see him in uniform, bloody and dusty.

Although I have been quoted as saying that I do not regret anything. I have asked my readers to never regret, but that is only the half truth. Yes regret is an appalling waste of energy and nothing can be built on it, but it exists. I wish I could just erase it away. REGRET ERASED!

The Work must be done, it’s 1922 and here I am in colonial India, Calcutta to be precise, all alone. A sick white woman in the midst of all these natives.

Then I saw her, she was vibrant, her olive skin was smooth as it tasted the Sunlight which played on it and created so many hues that I just watched. I don’t know how she arrived right in front of me, definitely not dressed like the ordinary native girls or like an English lady. She had on trousers like men, I think they’re called denims. The road workers in America wear them as overhauls. I never expected a woman to dress in them and then her long, dark negro like hair. I thought she was a figment of my imagination, the medicines playing a trick on me. After all I was a sick woman. I waited for the apparition to disappear. But she sat there and just stared back. I think we briefly spoke, about Dega’s ballerina’s, but it made no sense.

Theosophy and Gurdjeiff! You know the three types of men or women found in this world- those that are centred in their physical bodies, then the ones centred in their emotional space and those that focus on their minds. What type am I? I have never been able to quantify myself in any one category, I’m indeed a mixture of all three. I have lived centred in the physical, more than not I have existed only in my emotions and then of course my mind is one of my favourite places to visit and spend some time. So yes, I’m a bit of all. All writers are as we have all these stories inside us where we become those people when we write them.

I remember alluding to this story of this woman who makes motion pictures, these dreamy silent films. I think she is my protagonist.

Right now, all I can think of is Van Gogh’s painting- the self portrait. I consider myself a writer/painter. I paint too like Van Gogh, I paint with words.

I just wish I had more time. I want to be healthy again, to experience a full, living-breathing life. I want to be with the Earth and see all the wondrous things- the sea and its infinite waves, the mellow Sunrise of a perfect morn.

I know I exist in this state of hypnotic waking sleep. I want to wake up and I’m willing to see if the Method will help. This story needs to be written. I need to find her again. That woman, no she’s more like a girl. I need to find her.

And then I see it, the Insect scuttles away and there are these strange voices that I can hear. Sounds like some Hindu chants. What is it?

Is my illness getting the better of me? I see myself, is it me or some other woman, no wait it’s her, dressed as Van Gogh, holding a gun to her face. She pulls the trigger!

I see a thick manuscript by the coffee table and note that’s its rather gloomy this afternoon, the wind shakes the trees so. Flashes trouble me- I think I see Lawrence. Murray tells me that THE LOST GIRL is modelled on me. I know, I know that my writing and me in person have had a significant influence on him, and he’s drawn parallels between me and some of his noteworthy characters, but why do I see him, in Colonial India?

My neighbour from Cornwall, my friend, the eminent D.H. LAWRENCE. I am his Albina and we both struggle everyday for our independence and outcasts we’ve become. We shared a number of things in common, I was a colonial outsider; he was from a working-class mining town. I am more like Lawrence than anybody. We are unthinkably alike, in fact. Four of us did form a peculiar brief and uneasy friendship in bleak Cornwall, yet, I treasure those days.

And now I find this letter from Murray. It does nothing for my mood right now, but leafing through it seems to be my only option. So I do it.

“You are all about me – I seem to breathe you, hear you, feel you in me and of me.” I actually wrote those lines for him and felt like I was home in his tent, sitting at his table. It seems far away, back here dreaming of silent films and Virginia Woolf.

There were times when I wanted to strangle my beloved Murray. I go back in my mind to one such incident. It left a sour taste in my mouth. I was cruel, we were verbally bashing one another, oblivious of who was present. I’d like to think it was tragedy that kept us together.

There’s nothing I want more than a cigarette. The curls of smoke rise up to meet their oblivion as I take a pull. It calms my frayed nerves and I take a sip of the tea. Darjeeling tea from the foothills of the Himalayas, a colonial addiction. Tea snobbery!

As I relax, she appears in front of me. Seated in a cluttered desk, she seemed to be looking at something. It looked like a boo, but a light emanated from it. She seemed to be typing like it was some sort of type writer. I couldn’t see properly, the smoke and mist clouded my vision.