In deeply considering women’s breasts and how I feel and have felt about them, what they truly represent - and as I write these words I can almost hear that kind of male laughter in the background - for me there has always been such an inner sense of attraction and mystery. My relationship with female breasts has had a long and sometimes fraught evolution but always there has been an elusive or ineffable quality about feminine breasts that defies any restriction of function, form or desire.
What do I mean by this? Simply, that her breasts are such an integrated part of a woman who knows herself as to be truly inseparable. Integrated, inseparable, in-union-with. So the mystery and truth of breasts is really that of woman in all her luminous beauty.
However this is not how the overwhelming majority of women live - with comparatively few exceptions.
With so much (especially male) attention being given to breasts, they have become an industry in themselves, seemingly divorced from women in their fullness. Thus silicone enhancement, breast reductions, uplifted by ‘underwired bras’ in the 1950s, bound and flattened against the ‘flapper’ chest thirty years earlier. Accentuated by fashion, hidden as a virtue. ‘Topless’ bars, string bikini tops, leather brassieres; breast stretch-mark removal creams, breast pumps for nursing mothers who work, subject to mammograms, needle aspirations, palpations; fixated on by babies, substituted with cans of infant formula.
I wasn’t breast fed, being born at a time when in developed countries there was a strong trend away from this most natural process. I can however, vaguely remember the sense of wellbeing when being held close by my mother, the security of her soft, reassuring flesh.
As I grew things changed, there came a point when it felt strange to see my mother’s underwear on the clothesline, what she strapped on - more function than allure in that era - before going to work. Fast forward a bit and in my early teenage years breasts began to assume prominence as the girls around my age group developed. This was a mesmerising time and at the Catholic boys’ college I attended, teenage speculation about girls and their breasts was as omnipresent as the weather. Tattered black and white ‘girlie’ magazines were passed around, masturbation was rife (unfailingly persecuted and condemned with an inquisitorial zeal) however the desire to encounter the real thing was inexorably growing.
Several years later, I became transfixed by a girl who lived two streets away, who to me was gorgeous, with long hair and a figure beyond her years. That she had some interest in talking to me was heaven-sent. The first time I was able to touch a girl’s breasts was utterly thrilling, it really did feel electric - an after dark rather innocent tryst on a beach where the sand was a genuine obstacle to intimacy. But behind the breathless trembling there was a definite sense of connecting to something I ‘knew’ but up to that point hadn’t ‘consciously’ known existed. A connection.
As I write this I am aware that this seems almost impossibly naïve in an era awash with hardcore porn and the rampant sexualisation that is now accepted as more or less ‘normal’ in most developed countries and beyond. It is a fact that childhood and early-teenage innocence is under assault as we as a society abjectly fail to protect that which should be treasured. Allowing such a pernicious hardening to occur at a younger and younger age is simply the highest abuse. This is not an extreme statement.
The sexualisation of the young is a deep pervasive, corrosive abuse; the monetisation of which is seen from fashion to the explosion of child porn, found on the laptops of those from all walks of life.
My own corruption occurred as my twenties began, while the sexual revolution of the 1960s merged into the psychedelic 1970s. I experimented with much that was on offer.
I spoke earlier of a ‘connection’. This point of return began for me in my mid-forties when I was outwardly successful, divorced, with all my three children old enough to vote. I was having a sexual relationship with several women at once but hiding this fact. I had, just the year before, completed my ‘dream house’ on the beachfront - complete with views of the surf breaking - and was living alone except when my sons stayed over. After one of these loveless sexual encounters I awoke in the middle of an intense, dream-filled night in a state of absolute self-disgust. This was a ‘real cry or call from my heart’ - I could feel in my body how hard I had become, how against all that I knew to be true I was sexually using women and leaving them and myself bereft in loveless-ness. Somehow I connected to something healing in that climatic moment and I knew I couldn’t do this any longer. And I stopped.
It was just a few months later that I began to ‘court’ my current partner of nearly twenty years.
The EBM modality has delicately peeled her like a sweet onion. Any remaining protections that were still held are being released and this is such a blessing to bear witness to, to feel the effects of, to be a part of….expansion begets expansion. As she embraces the undeniable love she is, as she holds the power that this loves endows, the call for me to respond in equality is continuous.
This is what everyone truly desires from a relationship, not as an ideal, just simply an evolution that does not rest in familiarity.
Practically, we live together with a lack of reaction to each other that fosters a palpable harmony. Visitors to our house remark upon this sense of stillness. Of course issues arise but they don’t linger and we both are able to take the time and return to the love we share without holding onto a hurt - as long as we express without reservation.
My partner’s undertaking to receive ongoing EBM sessions and now to give them, has been such a catalyst for us both. I feel that the opening out of her body in her breasts, her shoulders, her posture, her lymphatic system, has communicated wordlessly to me and I delight in this as it resonates in my body as well.
These profound changes continue with no end point, no place to rest and say that it is done.
Earlier today I felt my partner as a ‘portal’, a doorway behind which a vast stillness was arrayed as a radiant light that suffused everything in all directions. No source, just fullness - and truly divine.
My partner, who is in training to be an Esoteric Breast Massage (EBM) practitioner, was and is, a true woman, that is, a woman who knows her truth.
Most women do but due to various issues cannot allow this into their lives and relationships. In my experience my partner always did this, as much as she could, truth was her touchstone. This is not to say her expression and living of this hasn’t evolved - but at that point in time, in my life, when she walked in, she knew herself and what she did and did not want. I recall, on my second ‘date’ with her, sitting at a small riverside café with tears streaming down my face. This is not usually a good look on a date, but what was occurring was a deep recognition, just forming, that this woman knew and was the love that I had apparently left behind. It was flickering in me again.
We didn’t make love for three months after meeting. We took the time to learn about each other and the most amazing thing was that time we took was often no time at all. Hours just lying together with our bodies held close seemed to pass in minutes - and I recall kissing her and my ‘I’, my sense of embodied self, just disappeared and what remained was: a oneness.
This was a far cry from the protection and mutual manipulation I had had with women in the previous few years. It wasn’t all plain sailing however. With making love, not having sex, in the ongoing development of intimacy, everything that is not love surfaces - to be discarded.
It is a grand and gritty process. In my case I went through a period of throwing the baby out with the bathwater. That is, in my earnestness to not bring a ‘coarse’ sexual energy to love- making I struggled to feel what love felt like in my body. A confusing, fearful and hesitant time.
As I now understand, as my partner has consistently embodied, as Serge Benhayon the originator of EBM modality has repeatedly offered: love making and the divine connection to the soul that it offers, happens in and through the body. It is never conceptual, some kind of ‘captured knowledge’ or spiritual awakening. It is an evolving, at one with the intimate physical/divine expression of ‘embodied’ love actually being made manifest. Love is made.
And the body undergoes changes - which feels like a crucial refinement.
This immanence and change is what I have experienced as the partner of a woman training to be an EBM practitioner.