There I was, backstage, contemplating the curves and edges of my body. A canvas of flesh into which I'd weave a narrative of a lifetime. As a performance artist, my art was my expression, my liberation. The high I got from merging my body with the flow of music, the assertive movements and sensual swaying were more addictive than any substance. The energy I would summon, the attention I'd hold, it came from a well nurtured through years of Tantra.
For the uninitiated, Tantra isn’t just about sex. It’s about connection—to the self, to the other, to the universe. It's about riding waves of energy, embracing the divine feminine within. Think of it as mindfulness and body-consciousness in one breath. It’s not about the climax but the journey you embark upon to reach there.
As I moved from the shadowy backstage to the coiling neon lights of the vast stage, the beating heart of the theater, I allowed my breath to compose me. The throbbing bass of the music echoed my own heartbeats, raw and passionate. And then, just as I stepped forward, sliding into the spotlight, I realized—all my favorites in one place. The audience, the music, the stage. A vibrant concoction waiting to be shaken and served.
I was a fearless female lead character, exposing the colors of my personality; I was the vulnerable actress breaking down the fourth wall. And as my story played out on stage, my confidence merged with my tantric energy, creating an invincible aura around me. I danced through the music, shedding any inhibitions, discarding my worries, and my movements became more fluid, more sensual. I was the moon taming the wild tides, both the dancer and the dance.
As the crescendo approached, I threw back my head and let the universe in. All my practiced discipline of Tantra welled up within me, and I released it, like a vivid exclamation of my existence. A heady blend of raw emotion and practiced control, a journey of self-discovery, and a celebration of womanhood. In that climactic moment, I was free—beyond the judgments, beyond the expectations, lost in the music and utterly alive in the dance. Confidence wasn't just an accessory I wore; it had become an intrinsic part of my being.
Each performance was a voyage of discovery. A dialogue between my body, my energy, and my spirit. An exploration of my boundaries, of how fearlessly I could blend the practiced discipline of Tantra with the wild, unchained rhythm of my soul. As a Korean woman in a profession shadowed by taboo, it was my act of defiance. My declaration of independence. And, each night, as the final notes would fade away, I'd stumble back into the echoing silence, drenched in the afterglow of my performance.
To perform, to dance, to connect so intimately with the universe and myself, was a privilege I held dearly. It wasn't just about the applause or the appreciation. It was about the transformation, the freedom, the pure, unbridled joy of being alive. Tantra had made me fall in love with myself, my body; it had taught me the art of being compassionate towards my vulnerabilities. And on that stage, surrounded by my favorites in one place, I was fearless, confident, and utterly myself.
For the uninitiated, Tantra isn’t just about sex. It’s about connection—to the self, to the other, to the universe. It's about riding waves of energy, embracing the divine feminine within. Think of it as mindfulness and body-consciousness in one breath. It’s not about the climax but the journey you embark upon to reach there.
As I moved from the shadowy backstage to the coiling neon lights of the vast stage, the beating heart of the theater, I allowed my breath to compose me. The throbbing bass of the music echoed my own heartbeats, raw and passionate. And then, just as I stepped forward, sliding into the spotlight, I realized—all my favorites in one place. The audience, the music, the stage. A vibrant concoction waiting to be shaken and served.
I was a fearless female lead character, exposing the colors of my personality; I was the vulnerable actress breaking down the fourth wall. And as my story played out on stage, my confidence merged with my tantric energy, creating an invincible aura around me. I danced through the music, shedding any inhibitions, discarding my worries, and my movements became more fluid, more sensual. I was the moon taming the wild tides, both the dancer and the dance.
As the crescendo approached, I threw back my head and let the universe in. All my practiced discipline of Tantra welled up within me, and I released it, like a vivid exclamation of my existence. A heady blend of raw emotion and practiced control, a journey of self-discovery, and a celebration of womanhood. In that climactic moment, I was free—beyond the judgments, beyond the expectations, lost in the music and utterly alive in the dance. Confidence wasn't just an accessory I wore; it had become an intrinsic part of my being.
Each performance was a voyage of discovery. A dialogue between my body, my energy, and my spirit. An exploration of my boundaries, of how fearlessly I could blend the practiced discipline of Tantra with the wild, unchained rhythm of my soul. As a Korean woman in a profession shadowed by taboo, it was my act of defiance. My declaration of independence. And, each night, as the final notes would fade away, I'd stumble back into the echoing silence, drenched in the afterglow of my performance.
To perform, to dance, to connect so intimately with the universe and myself, was a privilege I held dearly. It wasn't just about the applause or the appreciation. It was about the transformation, the freedom, the pure, unbridled joy of being alive. Tantra had made me fall in love with myself, my body; it had taught me the art of being compassionate towards my vulnerabilities. And on that stage, surrounded by my favorites in one place, I was fearless, confident, and utterly myself.
