#taller tantra

[11templodelasabiduria33]

Te invitamos a nuestro Taller sobre Tantra, Kamasutra y Sexualidad, te esperamos:

https://chat.whatsapp.com/DvTVV1fG1Cr0SFJ6sJGxlT

#tantra #tantric #yoga #meditation #ocultismo

[thatesqcrush]

Accident and Fortuity

Bryan Kneef x Reader. Rating: NSFW/18+ for kissing, smut (male & female oral, fingerbanging; p in v penetration), talk about birth control in varying forms; salty sailor language.

AN: For Wet Hot Summer Bingo hosted by @melk917 @lannister-slings-and-arrows & @pascalispretty [camping square]

AN2: S/O to @beccabarba for all of your help

WC: 4.1K

Looking back, you should have paid more attention to the campground pamphlet. Or the deeply discounted single room ticket. At the time it seemed like a too good to be true kind of deal - a weeklong yoga retreat in the tropics. Hindsight after all, is twenty twenty. It wasn’t until you arrived at the campsite that you realized you were at a couples intimacy retreat.

You had hoped that this vacation would be exactly what you needed to release some much needed stress. Instead you were eating a granola bar, semi-hiding behind a large tree, watching everyone gather around the bonfire.

While signing in, you spoke with one of the group leaders who kindly (and maybe pitifully) explained that while there would be focus on tantra, the retreat emphasized connection with yourself or with others. You hoped the latter was true and the week wouldn’t be as mortifying as you built in your head.

There was the sound of footsteps behind you. You turned around and locked eyes with a pair of intense green eyes, which belonged to an obscenely handsome man. He was slightly taller than you with dark, but greying hair and a neatly trimmed beard that matched. He had broad shoulders and the T-shirt he wore clung to his upper body, showing off a thick, solid physique. The v-neck of his shirt hinted at a broad chest dusted with hair. His shorts were fitted and shorter than what other men around were wearing. His lips curved upwards in a smile before speaking.

“You know Kind bars are just glorified candy bars, right?”

You shrugged. “This is all I’ve got, you’re not taking this from me.”

The man laughed and then extended his hand. “Bryan Kneef.”

You smiled back and took his hand, introducing yourself. You jutted your head towards the bonfire. “Aren’t you going to go join the group?”

Bryan snorted. “Can’t join the group if I’m all by myself.”

“No kidding, so am I.”

Bryan nodded. “Girlfriend was supposed to meet me here and well, she ended it over text while I was already halfway here.”

You let out a low whistle. “Sorry, that sucks. So why are you staying?”

Bryan shrugged and looked you over. You were attractive to him. Your hair, your eyes, full lips, the curve of your waist, thick thighs and broad hips. The cropped tee, leggings and high pony-tail look that you were sporting made you look like you were coming off an 80s fitness video. Still, he’d bang you. You lacked the shiny tautness of someone who frequented aestheticians and he found that refreshing. Your lips were lush and he wondered if they were as soft as they appeared.

“I already have the time off. I paid too much for this trip anyway. What’s your deal?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t realize it was a sex retreat when I signed up. I was just looking for a week of yoga and disconnecting from social media.”

Bryan let out an obnoxious laugh, which garnered the attention of some people in the circle. The main leader, Kamran walked over. “Please, make way to the circle.”

You and Bryan eyed each other warily and you let out a chuckle when he rolled his eyes. It appeared that everyone was coupled-up, sharing about their relationships and why they were at the retreat. The first day’s activity included journaling what goals you were hoping to achieve at the retreat followed by trust falls. The group gathered in a line and you were in front of Bryan. You turned to him.

“Don’t drop me.”

“I won’t drop you.”

“I’ll sue you if you do.”

Bryan laughed. “You realize I am a lawyer, right?”

You let out a laugh, not responding. It was now your turn. You stood in front of Bryan with your arms crossed and closed your eyes. You took a deep breath and just as you were about to go, Bryan interrupted your thoughts.

“You’re holding up the line sweetheart, just fall already.” His deep voice was dark and the timbre rolled over you warmly.

You swallowed hard, and then whipped your head to glare at him. His green eyes met yours, the gaze intense. Childishly, you stuck your tongue out. Bryan cocked his brow, as if to say ‘oh really’ and he smirked. You felt the impact of that gaze in the heat and wetness that gathered between your thighs.

Bryan would be remiss if he didn’t enjoy this interaction - granted he didn’t know you well, but as a lawyer, his job is to read people for who they truly are. You had a spark about you, something that made you seem playful, quick, but with a bratty, teasing side. All the other people he had been with who did unspeakable things at unspeakable hours all had the same personality that could be found in a fruit fly.

Bryan caught you, his big hands on the back of your rib cage. His firm grasp on you sent a bolt of pleasure throughout your body. As he brought you back to standing, you felt your cheeks warm. He lowered his mouth to your ear, letting out a quiet growl. “I wouldn’t dream of purposely hurting you sweetheart.” Your panties flooded again in response. Bryan rubbed a small circle on your back, enjoying how soft your skin was. He imagined how soft your skin was in other places.

By the time evening fell, you and Bryan were hitting it off as the third wheels. The last thought you had as you settled into sleep that night was how maybe the week won’t be as terrible as you thought. Sleep was futile on the shitty mattress and lack of air conditioning. Your back felt achy and you were sweating. Every once in a while you had to smack a mosquito off of you.

The next morning, you made your way outside after getting ready. The water pressure had been terrible so you still felt unclean. Someone had made coffee for the group and there were packets of oatmeal and fruit. You spotted Bryan sitting, having coffee. After getting some coffee of your own and a banana, you walked over to Bryan.

“Mind if I join?”

Bryan raked his eyes over you, taking in your exhausted appearance with dark circles under your eyes. “Not at all.”

You sat down and peeled your banana “How’d you sleep?”

Bryan grunted and you nodded. “I get it, same here.”

“I wonder what they’ll have us do today,” you continued. “Did your girl-ex I mean, give you any details about what to expect?”

Bryan shook his head. “She blathered about it but to be honest, I wasn’t listening.”

“No wonder she broke up with you,” you quipped before smacking your hand over your mouth. You felt your cheeks burn. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come off that way. I —“

Bryan smirked and held up a hand. “It’s fine, you’re not entirely wrong. My line of work doesn’t really allow for relationships. But yeah, I have no idea what’s in store for us.”

The day focused on a group discussion on the ‘roadblocks to orgasm’ which encouraged everyone to to dig deep into their past; pinpointing their difficulties in letting go. Thankfully no one called on you for answers. Bryan made sure to share his sexual prowess. You thought about how his hands felt on you as he regaled everyone. And just when you didn’t you could handle anymore insider knowledge, he had the audacity to wink at you.

The mortifying group time evolved into meditation and you were grateful for the quiet.

You had your eyes closed but the quiet didn’t last. Bryan was leaning over to you. “This is the saddest circle I've seen.”

“All right, everyone, let the sound of the bowls wash over you,” Kamran announced. “Let it cleanse you from head to toe and everywhere in-between.”

“These bowls got their work cut out for them,” Bryan continued to which you snorted in response. “I rather smoke a bowl.”

“Everyone, close your eyes and quiet the mind, and receive the healing vibrations. Let the sound bathe you. When you feel called to join the bowls, begin with a soft hum.”

“How are we gonna get out of this?” Bryan whispered.

“I'm not going anywhere,” you replied as you tried to focus your mind.

“Oh come on, you really going to stick this out?”

“What are we gonna do? We're in the middle of nowhere. Besides, you said you already spent the money. And I did too.”

Bryan grunted. “I’ve had enough anusara savasana vinyasa downward facing dog mumbo jumbo that’ll last me a lifetime. I am going to use the shitty reception we have and find another place. There has to be something better close by.”

“Well some of us are going to take the higher road.”

When you were roused by the sound of quiet knocking on your door, it was well into the next morning. It was still dark and you slowly shuffled to the door. You let out a yawn as you opened the door, finding Bryan fully dressed with his suitcase.

“What’s going on? Are you leaving?” You croaked. You frowned at the sound of your voice and tried to clear it.

Bryan nodded. “There’s a resort not too far, 5 star, all inclusive. Come with me.”

You were tempted by the idea of possible air conditioning. “I don’t know,” you replied, worrying your lower lip. “How are we getting out of here?”

“Gee whiz, why don’t you get into my invisible car?”

“Ha.” You thought it over - the idea of going off on an adventure with a hot stranger was titillating. The rest of the week without said person’s company would be awful. “How am I sure you’re not going to murder me?”

“I am not. I am an asshole but not a murderer. If I was going to murder someone, I’d hire someone. I’m not getting my hands dirty.”

Bryan saw the look of horror on your face and he was quick to reassure you. “I’m kidding, I’m joking.”

“Don’t quit your day job.” You replied dryly. After a beat, you continued. “Why can’t we leave in the morning? I need time to get my stuff together.”

Bryan shrugged. “Fine, in the morning. I’ll arrange for a cab.”

And in less than twelve hours, you were poolside basking in the sun, drink in hand. “Isn’t this much better?” Bryan asked. You agreed wholeheartedly.

Bryan was next to you, arms behind his head, resting his eyes. Thanks to a boutique inside the resort, you were now sporting a swimsuit. Bryan took notice of your attire and he had to will himself to not get an erection. And with his eyes closed he could ignore how the material barely covered you, highlighting your assets.

A member of the resort staff approached. “Mr. Kneef?”

Bryan opened his eyes. “Yes?”

“There is an issue we need to speak with you at the front desk.”

Bryan groaned as he stood. You used your hand to shield your eyes from the bright sun as you watched him walk away. His sinuous back muscles flexed and rippled and you had to clench your thighs together, desperate need growing. You wanted Bryan badly and figured a little hookup would be perfect. The attraction seemed mutual as you figured why else would he invite you along.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the sound of the outdoors. A shadow came over you and you opened your eyes to see Bryan standing over you.

“There’s a small issue with the room.”

“What is it?” You sat up straighter in the lounge chair.

“There’s only one room sweetheart. Computer glitch. They’re a bit overbooked.”

You felt your cheeks warm and you knew it wasn’t the sun. He called you sweetheart again and there was only one room.

“We’ll make do with it just fine,” you replied. “Unless you have a problem sharing a bed with me.”

“Not at all,” Bryan replied. “You’re sure you’re okay with it?”

You nodded. You were growing warm and tingly. “Um, I am going to go take a dip. Care to join?”

Bryan shook his head. “I’m going to order another drink and lay back in the sun.”

You nodded once more and made your way into the pool. You did a few laps as Bryan watched you through his sunglasses. When you eventually climbed out, Bryan laser focused on your tits, your nipples hard and pert due to the cold water. He wanted to take them in his mouth.

You both had dinner at the hotel restaurant.

Dinner was going well, with drinks flowing a bit too easily. The two of you cracked jokes about the retreat and wondered if an orgy had ensued yet. The atmosphere was rife with sexual tension and flirty banter. You both kept waiting for the other to crack.

That night, Bryan had said he would sleep on the floor but you insisted he sleep in the bed - it was king sized with plenty of space.

When you came out, Bryan was already in bed. He was on top of the sheets, furiously tapping away on his phone.

“Even on vacation work calls,” he replied to you, without looking up.

“Well you don’t get to be a partner at a law firm without having to do some work,” you replied. You climbed into bed, noting that logically there was plenty of space between you, but somehow it felt as if you were right next to him.

“Yeah but as a partner, I get to unload a lot on those beneath me. I have strict rules about not being bothered when out of the office.”

The thought of him unloading while you were beneath him flashed through your mind. You ached to touch him, to feel the warmth of his body, to have his cock stretch you. You imagined how it would feel like, to sleep in his bed each night, with his arms around you, his lips on yours.

You had enough.

You needed to get laid.

“So Bryan, we’ve been at the hip since the retreat.”

“Uh huh.”

You paced the room, continuing your questioning. “And then you invite me to take off with you.”

Another ‘uh huh.’

You walked over to Bryan’s side of the bed, where he was still tapping on his phone. Bryan looked up at you in your sweatshorts and tank top. Your skin was flush. “What does a gal have to do to get fucked by you?” you inquired as you plucked his phone from his hand.

“Hey! My pho—wait, did you just say?” Bryan’s bright green eyes darkened with lust. He pulled you into him, so you were now on top of him.

“You are right. An orgasm never hurt anybody.”

You blinked at his comment. And then you let desire take over. You sat up and yanked your top off before ducking your head down to kiss him. He returned your kiss, moving at a fervent pace, as if he was trying to get as much of you in him as he could.

Bryan rolled you onto your back. He covered his body with yours and used his hand to grasp your jaw, angling your face up to kiss you deeper. His tongue delved into your mouth and rolled against yours. Bryan broke the kiss reluctantly and sat back on his haunches so he could remove his tee.

“Do you have protection?”

Bryan nodded. “Never go home without. What about you?”

“I have an IUD,” you remarked as you lift your hips to remove your shorts and underwear. Bryan’s eyes lowered, taking your naked form in. He lowered his own bottoms off, revealing his very thick, very veiny, very hard and weeping cock. He spat on his hand and gave himself a stroke. Pearly fluid collected at the head of his cock. He used his thumb to swipe it and pump himself again.

“See what you do to me sweetheart?”

He lowered himself over you again and brought his mouth to your ear. His fingers descended onto your throat, squeezing lightly.

“You’re gorgeous,” he replied huskily. “Makes me want to ruin that pussy.”

You let out a whine at his comment. Bryan didn’t waste any time teasing, just pushes your ample thighs open, pressing a finger to your weeping slit. You cried out, grinding against his finger as he marveled at how wet you are already.

He removed his finger and gingerly traced your folds before rubbing your clit. “Such a needy pussy. Gonna be so easy to stuff my cock inside.”

You closed your eyes, your chest beginning to rise and drop in an unsteady fashion as pleasure courses you. Bryan inserted another thick finger inside and resumed thrusting his fingers. Your slick covered his hand, dripping. Your hands gripped the sheets. “Fuck,” you draw the word out into two syllables.

It’s when his tongue hit your clit, that your back arched. Bryan pushed his face all the way in, licking a broad stripe up your cunt. He is methodical, starting off slowly and softly, teasing you with his fingers and tongue. He then increased his pace as he ate you out, making sure to devour every inch of you. His beard scraped against you, causing a delicious burn along your sensitive skin. One hand shifts to grab your ass, bringing you closer to his mouth. He kept his lips wrapped around your clit as his fingers continued to work your cunt, the pace faster and faster.

Bryan pulled back for a moment. “Come for me sweetheart. Make a mess for me.”

So you did what any good girl would do in your situation — you grabbed a handful of his hair and begged him to ruin you.

He crooked his fingers, finding that tiny spongy spot that no one else was able to find. A few strokes in a come hither motion and you’re done for, crying out his name as you come hard. There was a rush of wetness that burst out of you but it didn't make Bryan stop. He continues to eat you out, sucking and slurping your juices through your orgasm. He finally does pull away, but not before nipping your thigh. You look at him, all dazed. His face is a mess of your arousal, his beard and mouth coated.

Your legs are wobbly but you managed to get onto your knees. “Damn, you’re good.” You wrapped your arms and kissed him, tasting and smelling yourself on him. Bryan embraced you tightly, returning the kiss. His hands landed on your ass and he gave a good squeeze.

Your hands reached into his beard and tugged as you opened your mouth to allow him to deepen the kiss. Bryan tilted your head so he could kiss and lick your neck. You let out a swear when his teeth graze your skin sharply. Your tone quickly changes into a sigh as his tongue ran over the sore spot, soothing it. Bryan beamed at the purple mark quickly forming.

“I want to suck your cock,” you whined. A rumble emanated from Bryan and you could have sworn the sound alone made you even more wet.

Bryan flopped onto his back, his cock landing with a smack against his stomach. His cock was in his hand and he used his other hand to beckon you. You laid on your stomach and shooed the hand holding his cock away. You gripped his cock and opened your mouth, ready and willing to take his cock deeply. Bryan let out a groan as you swallow him. His hand runs through your hair in a caressing manner as you begin to bob along his length. You breathed through your nose as you took him deeper, all the way to the back of your throat. Bryan groaned again and his hand in your hair tightens. “Gonna fuck your throat,” he grunted.

You let off his cock with a gasp. “Yes, fuck my throat. Use me.” You swallow him back down and you fight the urge to recoil and gag as he pressed your head down even tighter. Your nose was buried in his (neatly trimmed) pubic hair. His long, thick cock filled your throat. He thrusted into your mouth, the pace fast, abusing your throat. He momentarily mourns the fact that you don’t have makeup on because he would have loved to see the dark tear streaks on your cheeks.

Bryan’s hips continued pumping upwards into your mouth and you took it, delighting in how it felt. You just hoped he didn’t plan to come down your throat because you sure as shit, wanted him to fuck you. You noted that his thigh muscles twitched and his hands got rougher as they pulled your hair. You were let down because it didn’t seem like you were going to get fucked. To your surprise, Bryan pulled your hair, forcing your head back, popping your mouth off his cock.

“Next time I’ll shoot my load down your throat sweetheart but I really want to fuck that tight pussy of yours.”

You were sweaty, your hair sticking to your face. Your lips were wet and swollen. “How do you want me?”

Bryan slapped his thigh. “Saddle up.”

You nodded and climbed over him, straddling his big thick thighs. “I’m going to give you the ride of your life.”

Bryan leaned over slightly and grabbed the condom you didn’t realize he had readily at hand. He ripped the foil and rolled the condom on. Even with your arousal, you still felt the burn of his cock as your cunt struggled to take him in all the way. You sighed shakily, letting yourself adjust to his girth, as Bryan groaned at how tight your pussy was. He barely fit and he hadn't even moved yet. He was so deep. “Fuck, I think you’re splitting me apart,” you moaned. Bryan smirked, he felt like a fucking king.

“You sure you can take me sweetheart?”

You let out another whine as you sunk further on his cock. You leaned forward, gripping his beefy pecs. Your breasts dangled in front of him and he leaned up to take one in his mouth, sucking and licking. His teeth grazed your nipple and you cried out.

Once he completely bottomed out and you were adjusted, you began to roll your hips forward. Bryan’s hands rested on your hips, digging deeply, sure to leave bruises. He matched your pace at first, his hips snapping upwards.

You met him on the downward as he continued to pump his hips upwards. Pleasure exploded inside you as his cock dragged against your special spot with every deep stroke. Bryan watched as his cock pistoned in and out of you. “Sweetheart I wish you could see how your pretty little pussy is taking every fucking of my cock. It’s like my cock was made just for you.”

There were spots inside of your cunt you didn't know existed until Bryan. The scent of sex was thick in the air, along with the sounds the two of you are making. The headboard rattled against the wall and you did not even give a shit if someone complained. Bryan is murdering your pussy and you will happily let the world know.

Bryan slapped your ass twice in succession. “That’s what you get for sticking your tongue at me.”

Your mind drifted to the memory. You slowed your pace intentionally. “I’d do it again. Can’t stop me.”

That earned another two spanks.

Bryan growled, taking the opportunity to grip your hips and fucking you with more gusto. His pace is sloppy and shorter, frenzied almost. You snake a hand down and rub your clit, chasing your high. Bryan felt the walls of your pussy flutter around his cock.

“Be a good girl and let me feel you cum on my cock.” It was Bryan’s turn to beg. “Be my good girl and give it to me.”

You obliged at his words and you let your orgasm wash over you. The sight of your head thrown back, your face wrecked, broken sobs falling from your lips - it was too much for Bryan. He let out out his own deep groan along with a chant of fuck fuck fuck as he stilled, shooting his thick load inside of you, filling the condom.

You slumped forward and the two of you lazily make out for a few minutes. Eventually you dismounted Bryan and he got up to toss the condom. Your body is indeed wrecked and you find your eyes closing in post orgasmic bliss. The last thing you note before you drift off is Bryan climbing back in the bed. “Best vacation ever,” you mumbled as you turned into him.

When you wake up the following morning, Bryan is outside on the balcony. He is leaning against the railing, gazing at the horizon, coffee in hand. You wrapped the sheet around you. You noticed two covered serving dishes had been brought up to the rom alongside a carafe of coffee and orange juice. You pad along to join him on the balcony. Bryan turned to you and smiled.

“Morning sweetheart.”

FIN.

Tags: @madpanda75 @mgarner1227 @beccabarba @alwaysachorusgirl @a-brignac @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @dreamlover31 @neely1177 @skittle479 @witches-unruly-heart @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @garturbo @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindos @storiesofsvu @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @annabelleb49 @bananas-pajamas @zoeykaytesmom @pieceofshittytitty @jazzyjoi @teamsladsandgents @lv7867 @evee87 @rachelxwayne @permanentlydizzy @rampantmuses @bisexual-dreamer02 @averyhotchner @i-justreally-like-cats-okay @tintinxtintin @amelia-song-pond @wanniiieeee @detective-giggles @detectivebarba @law-nerd105

#bryan kneef x female reader #bryan kneef and reader #bryan kneef imagine #bryan kneef insert #Bryan Kneef x reader #Bryan Kneef smut #wethotsummerbingo

[lihikainanea]

i love size kinks and how when tigers realllllyyyy small, she gets a little scared at how big he is, especially in exposed positions like spread eagle. our dude loves tantra, so i see him telling her to keep her eyes on him, hoping she’ll forget how huge he is everywhere else. if she whimpers and looks away, she grabs her chin to focus on him.

OOOOOOOOOOF WAY TO JUNK PUNCH ME.

The size kink will forever be my undoing. Like, it's just too good. It's too strong. I do not have many kryptonites but the hims big but she's smol is the one that will forever get me RAGING.

And like, the beauty with Bill is he is so goddamn tall that it really doesn't matter if you're not conventionally short. You're a 5'10 goddess? Honeyyyyyy, you can wear the highest heels you own because he'll STILL be taller than you.

It, admittedly, does take on a whole new world for us truly short gals who love the tall boys. I'm 5'2 and knowing that this beautiful evolved over-developed coconut tree with his peanut head is over A WHOLE FOOT TALLER THAN ME it is just...oof.

It is oof.

And tiger is reminded of--and affected by--his height on a daily basis. She notices it. He notices it. They both definitely enjoy it. Bill will purposely put things on shelves she can't reach, just so he can hear that annoyed whine when she calls for him and he can come in, chest puffed out, and easily pluck whatever she needs and hand it to her. He purposely and exaggeratedly ducks through doorways, just because he loves the little, barely-controlled lip bite and small intake of breath that tiger does every single time. Tiger will purposely ask him to do small, detailed tasks just so she can see his huge hands try and wrap around a tiny screwdriver as he curses. The day she tried too show him how to sew a button back onto his shirt, they both couldn't walk properly for a few days after.

His size is something that really gets her going, and when she's small it gets her going in a whole other way--because then he also embodies everything she loves. He's big enough to protect her. He's big enough to be scary. He's big enough that she can just fold into his arms and get lost there, and feel as if the entire world just disappears.

It's heaven.

But sometimes--sometimes when she's really far gone, Bill has to be careful. He has to be a little bit more aware. Tiger can easily slip when she’s vulnerable like that, and his size can quickly go from something that makes her feel comforted and safe to something that kind of scares the hell out of her, and it seems to happen incredibly randomly.

And like, Bill is big everywhere right? And that’s a thing, too. When tiger is so out of her mind, pleasure drunk, so far gone she doesn’t even know her own name--all she registers is the delicious, slightly painful stretch of him balls deep inside of her. Maybe she’s having a hard time adjusting this time, she’s still a bit tense or she’s just at a sensitive time in her cycle so she winces, tries to adjust--and Bill helps her out. He goes slow, pulls out a little bit, maybe shifts their position around so her ankles are over his shoulders--sometimes it’s easier for her that way, he doesn’t feel as big or he can’t hit as deep. He runs his lips down her neck, sucking softly, murmuring at her to try and relax.

But like, while this position helps one thing, it kind of makes everything else worse. Tiger is quite literally pinned, and suddenly Bill just looks huge--the expanse of his chest is all-encompassing, the width of his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps as he balances his weight on his arms. He’s just...everywhere. And he’s massive. Tiger whines a bit and Bill doesn’t like the sound of it; she shuts her eyes tightly and starts to shift. He can tell she’s slipping, so he tries to keep his movements slow to not spook her further.

“Easy sweet girl,” he says softly, “You’re okay.”

He eases her legs down from his shoulders slowly, resting them on the bed. He leans into her, pressing his chest to hers, and grounding her with some of his weight--at least this way she can’t see him, so she can’t be intimidated at how huge he looks. She can just feel him, she can smell him, she can curl into him to feel comforted again.

“You’re safe tiger,” he purrs into her ear as he intertwines his hand with hers, “You’re safe with me.”

She whines again but this one is more of desperation, not of discomfort. She pushes her chest up into him so he rests more of his weight on her--she wants more contact.

“My good girl,” he continues, “You’re safe. You just got a little spooked, so we’ll go slow. You’re safe here with me kid.”

And he just keeps repeating that to her, that she’s safe with him, that she’s okay. It’s what she needs to hear in those moments, when she can’t register much else. Slowly he feels her breathing start to normalize again, he hears the wheeze disappear from her breath, and she settles. He won’t ask her if she wants to continue, because she doesn’t want to take any decision--but he knows, when he goes to move away just slightly and she whines, pulling him back into her.

But it might be one of those nights where they have to do things a little differently--and oh sweet nani, how I love this idea of tantra. Maybe Bill knows that she’s just too sensitive to really go for the full monty that night, so instead he sets her up on his lap facing him--this way she can stay grounded by seeing him, and he doesn’t appear as terrifyingly huge to her this way. Maybe it’s a night where he just has to use his hands and get her off that way, because she’s too sensitive and too vulnerable for anything--but he can make her keep her eyes on him, he can make her keep her nails dug into his shoulders there as he runs his hands all over her and makes her feel good.

*chef kiss* magnifique, nani.

#bill skarsgard #BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard fiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard fic #bill skarsgard fanfic

[winterfable]

Culto al cuerpo

Los cuerpos jóvenes son los que despiertan, en el fondo, el deseo sexual, y la progresiva entrada de las chicas muy jóvenes en el campo de la seducción no fue más que un retorno a lo normal, un retorno a la verdad del deseo semejante a ese retorno a los precios reales que sigue a un recalentamiento bursátil anormal. No obstante, las mujeres que tenían veinte años en torno a «la época del 68» se encontraron, al llegar a los cuarenta, en una enojosa situación. Por lo general divorciadas, casi nunca podían contar con esa conyugalidad —cálida o miserable— cuya desaparición habían acelerado todo lo posible. Formaban parte de una generación que había proclamado la superioridad de la juventud sobre la edad madura —la primera generación que lo había hecho hasta ese extremo—, y no era de extrañar que la generación que venía detrás las despreciara. El culto al cuerpo que habían contribuido tanto a establecer las llevaba, a medida que se marchitaban, a experimentar una repugnancia cada vez más viva hacia sí mismas; una repugnancia semejante a la que leían en las miradas ajenas.

Los hombres de su edad se encontraban, grosso modo, en la misma situación; pero el destino común no engendraba la menor solidaridad: al llegar a los cuarenta, los hombres solían seguir buscando chicas jóvenes; a veces con cierto éxito, al menos para los que se habían metido con habilidad en el juego social y habían logrado cierta posición intelectual, financiera o en los medios de comunicación; para las mujeres, en casi todos los casos, los años de la madurez estuvieron marcados por el fracaso, la masturbación y la vergüenza.

Lugar privilegiado de la libertad sexual y la expresión del deseo, el Espacio de lo Posible debía convertirse, más que cualquier otro, en un lugar de depresión y amargura. ¡Adiós a los cuerpos abrazados en el claro bajo la luna llena! ¡Adiós a las fiestas casi dionisíacas de los cuerpos untados de aceite bajo el sol de mediodía! Así chocheaban los cuarentones mirándose la polla hecha polvo y los michelines.

En 1987 hicieron su aparición en el Espacio los primeros talleres de inspiración semirreligiosa. Por supuesto, el cristianismo estaba excluido; aunque —para seres que, en el fondo, eran débiles de espíritu— una mística exótica lo bastante imprecisa podía casar con el culto al cuerpo que seguían pregonando contra toda lógica. Los talleres de masaje sensitivo o de liberación de la orgona continuaron, desde luego; pero surgió un interés cada vez más vivo por la astrología, el tarot egipcio, la meditación sobre los chakras, las energías sutiles. Hubo «encuentros con el Ángel»; la gente aprendió a sentir la vibración de los cristales. En 1991 el chamanismo siberiano hizo una entrada espectacular: la prolongada estancia iniciática en una stueat lodge alimentada por las brasas sagradas provocó la muerte de uno de los participantes a causa de una parada cardíaca. El tantra —que reunía el frotamiento sexual, una espiritualidad difusa y un profundo egoísmo— tuvo un éxito especialmente notable. En unos años, el Espacio —como tantos otros lugares en Francia o en Europa occidental— se convirtió en un centro New Age relativamente concurrido, a la vez que conservaba un carácter hedonista y libertario «años setenta» que aseguraba su originalidad en el mercado.

Tras el desayuno, Bruno volvió a su tienda, dudó si masturbarse o no (el recuerdo de las adolescentes estaba fresco), y al final no lo hizo. Aquellas enloquecedoras jovencitas debían de ser hijas de las sesentayochistas que andaban, en filas más apretadas, por el perímetro del camping. Así que algunas de aquellas viejas putas habían logrado reproducirse a pesar de todo. El hecho sumió a Bruno en pensamientos vagos, pero desagradables. Abrió de un tirón la cremallera del iglú; el cielo estaba azul. Algunas nubéculas flotaban entre los pinos, como salpicaduras de esperma; el día iba a ser radiante. Consultó el programa de la semana: había elegido la opción número 1, Creatividad y relajación. Por la mañana había tres talleres opcionales: mimo y psicodrama, acuarela y escritura. Psicodrama no, gracias. Ya lo había hecho un fin de semana en un castillo cerca de Chantilly: ayudantes de sociología cincuentonas rodaban sobre el suelo del gimnasio pidiendo ositos de peluche a sus papás; mejor evitarlo. La acuarela sonaba tentadora, pero era al aire libre: ¿valía la pena sentarse entre agujas de pino, insectos y todos esos problemas para pintar garabatos?

La monitora del taller de escritura era una morena de pelo largo, con la boca grande y pintada de carmín (de esas que suelen llamarse «boca de mamada»); llevaba una túnica y un pantalón tubo de color negro. Hermosa, de primera. De todas formas una vieja puta, pensó Bruno sentándose en cualquier parte entre el vago círculo de los participantes. A su derecha, una mujer gorda de cabellos grises, gafas gruesas y cara horriblemente terrosa resoplaba ruidosamente. Apestaba a vino; y eso que sólo eran las diez y media.

«Para celebrar nuestra presencia», empezó la monitora, «para saludar a la Tierra y las cinco direcciones, vamos a comenzar el taller con un movimiento de hatha–yoga que se llama saludo al soin. Siguió la descripción de una postura incomprensible; la borracha de al lado eructó por primera vez. «Estás cansada, Jacqueline...», dijo la monitora; «No hagas el ejercicio si no lo sientes. Túmbate; el grupo hará lo mismo después.»

Hubo que tumbarse, sí, mientras la profesora kármica recitaba un discurso calmante y vacío, a la manera de Contrexéville: «Estáis entrando en unas aguas puras y maravillosas. El agua os baña las piernas, el vientre. Dais gracias a vuestra madre Tierra. Abrazáis con confianza a vuestra madre Tierra. Sentid vuestro deseo. Os dais las gracias a vosotros mismos por permitiros ese deseo», etc. Tumbado en el mugriento tatami, a Bruno le castañeteaban los dientes de irritación; la borracha eructaba cada dos por tres. Entre eructo y eructo espiraba con grandes «Aaaaaaah» para materializar su estado de relajación. La colgada kármica seguía con su numerito, recordando las fuerzas telúricas que irradian el vientre y el sexo. Después de recorrer los cuatro elementos, satisfecha de su actuación, concluyó con estas frases: «Ahora habéis atravesado la barrera de la mente racional; habéis establecido contacto con vuestros niveles más profundos. Os pido que os abráis al espacio ilimitado de la creación.» ¡Pelo de cojón!, pensó Bruno con rabia, levantándose con esfuerzo. Entonces vino la secuencia de escritura, seguida de una presentación general y una lectura de textos. En aquel taller sólo había una tía pasable; una pelirroja en vaqueros y camiseta, no muy mal hecha, que se llamaba Emma y era la autora de un poema completamente estúpido que hablaba de corderos lunares. En general todos rebosaban gratitud y alegría por el contacto recuperado, o sea, con nuestra madre Tierra y nuestro padre Sol. Llegó el turno de Bruno. Con voz lúgubre, leyó su breve texto:

Los taxis son unos cabrones no se paran aunque uno reviente.

«Sientes eso», dijo la monitora, «porque no te has librado de tus malas energías. Te siento lleno de niveles profundos. Podemos ayudarte, aquí y ahora. Vamos a levantarnos y a centrarnos otra vez en el grupo.»

Se pusieron de pie, formaron un círculo cogidos de la mano. Bruno le dio la mano de mala gana a la borracha de la derecha, y a un viejo barbudo asqueroso que se parecía a Cavanna a la izquierda. Concentrada, tranquila a pesar de todo, la profesora de yoga exhaló un prolongado «¡Om!.». Y todos empezaron a hacer «¡Om!.» como si no hubieran hecho otra cosa en su vida. Valientemente, Bruno intentaba integrarse en el ritmo sonoro de la demostración cuando de pronto se sintió desequilibrado por el lado derecho. La borracha, hipnotizada, se estaba derrumbando como un saco. Le soltó la mano, a pesar de todo no pudo evitar la caída, y se encontró de rodillas delante de la vieja, que se había quedado tumbada boca arriba y pataleando sobre el tatami. La monitora se interrumpió un instante para confirmar con calma: «Sí, Jacqueline, haces bien en tumbarte si lo sientes.» Aquellas dos parecían conocerse bien.

La segunda secuencia de escritura fue un poco mejor; inspirado por una visión fugitiva de la mañana, Bruno logró inventar el siguiente poema:

Me bronceo el rabo (¡pelo en el rabo!) frente a las olas (¡pelo en la cola!)

Encuentro a Dios en el solarium, tiene bonitos ojos y come manzanas.

¿De dónde viene? (¡pelo en el pene!) de los cielos (¡pelos en la pilila!)

«Tiene mucho humor...», comentó la monitora con una ligera reprobación. «Una mística...», aventuró la borracha. «Más bien una mística del vacío...» ¿Qué iba a ser de él? ¿Hasta cuándo iba a soportar aquello? ¿Valía la pena? Bruno se lo preguntaba con sinceridad. Cuando acabó el taller, se precipitó a su tienda sin hablar siquiera con la pelirroja; necesitaba un whisky antes de comer. Cerca de la tienda se encontró con una de las adolescentes a las que había visto en la ducha; con un gracioso gesto, que le levantaba los senos, estaba recogiendo las braguitas de encaje que había puesto a secar el día anterior. Bruno se sentía a punto de estallar y llenar el camping de filamentos grasos. ¿Qué había cambiado en realidad desde su propia adolescencia? Tenía los mismos deseos, y era consciente de que lo más probable era que no pudiera satisfacerlos. En un mundo que sólo respeta a la juventud, los seres son devorados poco a poco. A la hora de comer, se fijó en una católica. No era difícil darse cuenta, llevaba una gran cruz de hierro colgada del cuello; además tenía esas bolsas debajo de los ojos que dan profundidad a la mirada y suelen delatar a la católica, incluso a la mística (a veces también a la alcohólica, sí). Largo pelo negro, piel muy blanca, un poco delgada pero no estaba mal. Frente a ella se sentaba una chica con el pelo de un rubio rojizo, del tipo suizo–californiano; metro ochenta por lo menos, cuerpo perfecto, aspecto de salud a prueba de bombas. Era la responsable del taller tantra. En realidad había nacido en Créteil y se llamaba Brigitte Martin. Se había operado el pecho en California, donde también se había iniciado en la mística oriental y había cambiado de nombre. Al volver a Créteil, empezó a dirigir un taller tantra en Flanades con el nombre de Shanti Martin; la católica parecía admirarla muchísimo. Al principio Bruno pudo meter baza en la conversación, que iba de dietética natural; se había documentado sobre el germen de trigo. Pero pronto se internaron en temas religiosos, y Bruno no podía seguirlas. ¿Podía Jesús compararse a Krishna? Y si no, ¿a quién? ¿Era mejor Rintintín que Rusty? Aunque católica, a la católica no le gustaba el Papa. Con su mentalidad de la Edad Media, Juan Pablo II estaba frenando el desarrollo espiritual de Occidente; ésta era su tesis. «Es verdad», asintió Bruno, «es un cenizo.» La expresión, poco conocida, despertó el interés de las otras dos. «Y el Dalai Lama sabe mover las orejas...», concluyó tristemente, mientras terminaba el filete de soja.

La católica se levantó con brío sin haber tomado café. No quería llegar tarde a su taller de desarrollo personal, Las reglas del sí, sí. «¡Ah, sí, el sí, sí es fantástico!», dijo la falsa suiza con entusiasmo, levantándose a su vez. «Gracias por la charla...», dijo la católica, mirándolo con una bonita sonrisa. Así que no se las había arreglado tan mal. Mientras cruzaba el camping, Bruno pensaba: «Hablar con tías tiradas es como mear en una taza llena de colillas o como cagar en una taza llena de compresas; las cosas no entran y empiezan a apestar.» El espacio separa las pieles. Las palabras atraviesan elásticamente el espacio, el espacio entre las pieles. No escuchadas, desprovistas de eco, como suspendidas tontamente en el aire, sus palabras empezaban a pudrirse y apestar, era indiscutible. La palabra, que crea una relación, también puede separar.

Cuando llegó a la piscina se instaló en una tumbona. Las adolescentes se meneaban sin parar con el único objetivo de que los chicos las tirasen al agua. El sol estaba en el cenit; cuerpos desnudos y relucientes se cruzaban en torno a la superficie azul. Sin hacer caso, Bruno se sumió en la lectura de Los seis compañeros y el hombre del guante, probablemente la obra maestra de Paul–Jacques Bronzon, reeditado hacía poco en la Biblioteca Verde. Bajo aquel sol casi intolerable, estaba bien volver a encontrarse entre las brumas lionesas, ante la tranquilizadora presencia del valiente perro Kapi.

El programa de la tarde le dejaba elegir entre masaje conductista sensitivo, liberación de la voz y rebirth en agua caliente. A priori, el masaje parecía más hot. Tuvo un atisbo de liberación de la voz al dirigirse al taller de masaje; eran unos diez, muy excitados, saltando por todas partes al ritmo que marcaba la tantrista, chillando como gallinas asustadas.

En la cima de la colina había un amplio círculo de mesas de tratamiento, cubiertas con toallas de baño. Los participantes estaban desnudos. En el centro del círculo el monitor del taller, un hombre moreno y bajito que bizqueaba un poco, hizo una breve introducción histórica al masaje conductista sensitivo.: surgido de los trabajos de Fritz Perls sobre el gestaltmassage o «masaje californiano», había integrado poco a poco algunos hallazgos del masaje sensitivo hasta llegar a ser —al menos ésa era su opinión— el método de masaje más completo. Sabía que algunos, en el Espacio, no compartían este punto de vista, pero no quería entrar en polémicas. Sea como fuere, y con eso terminaba, había masajes y masajes; de hecho, podía decirse que no hay dos masajes idénticos. Acabados los preámbulos la emprendió con la demostración, haciendo que una de las participantes se tumbara. «Sentir las tensiones del compañero...», dijo acariciándole los hombros; su polla se balanceaba a unos centímetros del largo pelo rubio de la chica. «Unificar, siempre unificar...», continuó, echándole aceite en los pechos. «Respetar la integridad del sistema corporal...»: sus manos bajaban vientre abajo; la chica había cerrado los ojos y abría las piernas con evidente placer.

«Bien», terminó, «ahora van a trabajar de dos en dos. Muévanse, encuéntrense; tómense el tiempo necesario para encontrarse.» Hipnotizado por la escena anterior Bruno reaccionó tarde, y era en aquel momento cuando todo estaba en juego. Se trataba de acercarse tranquilamente a la compañera deseada, detenerse ante ella sonriendo y preguntarle con calma: «¿Quieres trabajar conmigo?» Los demás parecían saberse la lección, y en treinta segundos ya se habían emparejado. Bruno echó una mirada de pánico a su alrededor y se encontró frente a un hombre no muy alto, moreno, recio, peludo, con el pene grueso. No se había dado cuenta, pero sólo había cinco chicas para siete tíos.

A Dios gracias, el otro no parecía marica. Obviamente furioso se tumbó boca abajo sin decir una palabra, apoyó la cabeza en los brazos cruzados y esperó. «Sentir las tensiones..., respetar la integridad del esquema corporal...» Bruno echaba aceite sin lograr pasar de las rodillas; el tipo estaba quieto como un tronco. Tenía vello hasta en el culo. El aceite empezaba a gotear en la toalla, debía de tener las pantorrillas completamente empapadas. Bruno levantó la cabeza. Muy cerca tenía dos hombres tumbados boca arriba. Al de la izquierda le estaban masajeando los pectorales, los pechos de la chica se columpiaban con suavidad, él tenía la nariz a la altura de su coño. Amplias nubes de sintetizador escapaban a la atmósfera desde el radiocassette del monitor; el cielo era de un azul absoluto. En torno a él, las pollas relucientes de aceite de masaje se erguían despacio a la luz del día. Todo aquello era horriblemente real. No podía seguir. Al otro extremo del círculo, el monitor daba consejos a una pareja. Bruno cogió deprisa su mochila y bajó hacia la piscina. Allí era la hora punta. Tendidas en el césped, las mujeres desnudas charlaban, leían o simplemente tomaban el sol. ¿Dónde iba a meterse? Con la toalla en la mano, empezó a andar sin rumbo por el césped; en cierto modo, titubeaba entre las vaginas. Empezaba a decirse que había que tomar una decisión cuando vio a la católica hablando con un moreno rechoncho, animado, con el pelo negro y rizado y los ojos risueños. Bruno le hizo un vago saludo, que ella no vio, y se dejó caer al lado. Un tipo saludó al moreno al pasar: «¡Hola, Karim!» El agitó la mano en respuesta, sin dejar de hablar. Ella le escuchaba en silencio, tumbada boca arriba. Tenía un monte muy bonito y abombado entre los muslos delgados, con el vello maravillosamente rizado y negro. Mientras hablaba, Karim se frotaba suavemente los cojones. Bruno apoyó la cabeza en el suelo y se concentró en el vello púbico de la católica, a un metro de él: era un mundo lleno de dulzura. Se durmió como un tronco.

El 14 de diciembre de 1967, la Asamblea Nacional aprobó en primera ronda la ley Neuwirth sobre la legalización de los anticonceptivos; aunque todavía no estaba subvencionada por la Seguridad Social, la píldora podía venderse libremente en las farmacias. A partir de aquel momento, amplias capas de población tuvieron acceso a la liberación sexual, hasta entonces reservada a las clases directivas, los profesionales liberales y los artistas, así como a algunos empresarios. Es chocante comprobar que a veces se ha presentado la liberación sexual como si fuera un sueño comunitario, cuando en realidad se trataba de un nuevo escalón en la progresiva escalada histórica del individualismo. Como indica la bonita palabra francesa ménage, la pareja y la familia eran el último islote de comunismo primitivo en el seno de la sociedad liberal. La liberación sexual provocó la destrucción de esas comunidades intermediarias, las últimas que separaban al individuo del mercado. Este proceso de destrucción continúa en la actualidad.

Después de la cena, la tripulación del Espacio de lo Posible solía organizar bailes. A priori sorprendente en un lugar tan abierto a la nueva espiritualidad, esta elección confirmaba claramente la supremacía del baile como modo de encuentro sexual en una sociedad no comunista. Las sociedades primitivas, observaba Frédéric Le Dantec, también basaban sus fiestas en el baile, incluso llevado al trance. Así que en el césped central se había instalado un bar y un equipo de sonido; y la gente se meneaba hasta horas avanzadas bajo la luna. Para Bruno, era una segunda oportunidad. A decir verdad, las adolescentes del camping iban poco a aquellas veladas. Preferían las discotecas de la zona (el Bilboquet, el Dynasty, el 2001, llegado el caso el Piratas), que ofrecían noches temáticas de espuma, de striptease masculino o de estrellas del cine X. Sólo se quedaban en el Espacio dos o tres chicos de humor soñador y polla pequeña. Por otra parte, éstos se conformaban con quedarse en su tienda arañando con descuido una guitarra desafinada, mientras que los demás los despreciaban de la forma más objetiva. Bruno se sentía cerca de esos jóvenes; pero fuera como fuese, a falta de adolescentes a las que de todos modos era casi imposible atrapar, y para decirlo con las palabras de un lector de Newlook que había conocido en el área de servicio de Angers–Nord, habría «clavado el dardo en cualquier trozo de grasa». Alimentando esta esperanza, con un pantalón blanco y un polo azul marino, se dirigió a las once al origen del ruido.

Echó una ojeada en semicírculo a la multitud que bailaba y al primero que vio fue a Karim. Olvidando a la católica, concentraba sus esfuerzos en una deslumbrante rosacruz. Ésta y su marido habían llegado por la tarde: altos, serios y delgados, parecían de origen alsaciano. Tenían una tienda inmensa y complicada, llena de tejadillos y ganchos, que el marido había tardado cuatro horas en montar. A la caída de la tarde, había hablado con Bruno sobre las maravillas ocultas de los rosacruces. Le brillaba la mirada tras las gafitas redondas; era el típico fanático. Bruno lo había oído como el que oye llover. Según el tipo, el movimiento había nacido en Alemania; desde luego, se inspiraba en ciertas obras de alquimia, pero también había que relacionarlo con la mística renana. Cosa de pederastas y nazis, estaba claro. «Métete la cruz en el culo, tío...», pensó distraídamente Bruno, mirando con el rabillo del ojo la grupa de su mujer, muy guapa, que estaba arrodillada delante del camping gas. «Y remátalo con la rosa...», concluyó para sus adentros cuando ella se levantó, con los pechos al aire, para decirle a su marido que fuera a cambiar al niño.

El caso es que estaba bailando con Karim. Hacían una pareja rara; él medía quince centímetros menos que ella y parecía taimado y malicioso junto a la gran bollera germana. Sonreía y hablaba sin parar mientras bailaba, a riesgo de perder de vista su objetivo inicial de ligar; aun así, parecía que las cosas iban bien: ella también sonreía, lo miraba con una curiosidad casi fascinada, una vez incluso se echó a reír a carcajadas. Al otro extremo del césped, su marido le explicaba a un nuevo adepto en potencia los orígenes del movimiento, en 1530, en un land de la Baja Sajonia. Su hijo de tres años, un insoportable mocoso rubio, aullaba a intervalos regulares que quería irse a la cama. En resumen, Bruno estaba asistiendo otra vez a una auténtica escena de vida real. Cerca de Bruno, dos individuos delgaduchos con pinta de curas comentaban la actuación del ligón. «Es entusiasta, ¿lo entiendes?», decía uno. «En teoría le sobra mujer, no es tan guapo, tiene barriga, incluso es más bajo que ella. Pero el cabrón es entusiasta, ésa es la diferencia.» El otro asentía con cara lúgubre, haciendo rodar entre los dedos un rosario imaginario. Mientras terminaba su vodka con naranja, Bruno se dio cuenta de que Karim había conseguido llevar a la rosacruz a una pendiente boscosa. Le había pasado un brazo por los hombros y, sin dejar de hablar, le estaba metiendo la otra mano por debajo de la falda. «Así que la puta nazi sabe abrirse de piernas...», pensó Bruno alejándose de los que bailaban. Justo antes de salir del círculo iluminado, tuvo una visión fugitiva de la católica: una especie de monitor de esquí le estaba sobando el culo. En la tienda le quedaba una lata de raviolis.

Antes de acostarse, por un reflejo de pura desesperación, llamó a su contestador. Había un mensaje. «Supongo que estás de vacaciones...», decía la voz tranquila de Michel. «Llámame cuando vuelvas. Yo también estoy de vacaciones, y muy largas.»

--Michel Houellebecq en "Las partículas elementales"

#michel houellebecq #las particulas elementales

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NO ME INTERESA TU DOCTORADO.

Ni me hables de espíritualidad, de maestrías, ni siquiera tus prácticas religiosas y espirituales. Tus cursos holísticos o tus talleres de luz, No me importa cuántos niveles de Reiki tienes , si haces Yoga , tantras , Mudras o meditas - Me interesa saber si te permites ser tocado en el corazón , sin ningún peso del conocimiento que cargas, el cómo tratas a tu pareja, a tus hijos, a tus padres, A tu preciado cuerpo.

No me interesa si te comunicas con los hermanos mayores , ni tus sermones de la ilusión del yo separado , de cuantos Namaste , oraciones o Saludos que envías a los de más y al planeta .

Me interesa cuanto de lo divino reconoces en ti, sentir el calor genuino que irradie tu corazón, me interesa cuanto de lo divino ves allí, en aquel ser humano pobre desolado y miserable. Y escuchar lo bien que escuchas y el como te abres a la información que no se ajusta a tu filosofía personal.

No me interesa cuanto conocimiento has acumulado, ni que me digas cuanto estás despierto, si eres Mago, Sacerdotisas, Pastor, Gurú, Maestro, Sacerdote, Aprendiz, si eres Medium, si tocas el tambor, la sonaja o el charango, si has compartido con grandes brujos o chamanes ,de lo libre que es estás del ego o si ves mantras a lo loco.

Me interesa el conocimiento que tienes sobre ti mismo, conocerte por debajo de las palabras, si conoces tus misterios, tus anhelos, tus temores, sueños, saber cómo te encuentras cuándo estás en problemas, si Puedes sentir tu dolor plenamente sin pretender ser vulnerable. ¿Conoces tus sombras?

No me interesa si subiste a la montaña obtuviste la visión, tu dieta vegetariana, Vegana o si eres carnívoro o lo que te metas en la boca. Si vives de luz porque te importa la vibración del alimento. Si tomas medicina o no.

Me interesa si eres capaz de aceptar lo que el otro come, o lo que le hace falta de comer, si Puedes sentir tu irá sin pesos de la violencia, si Puedes sentir vergüenza sin humillar a los de más , si puedes fastidiarlo todo admitirlo y decir lo siento desde tu corazón, si eres capaz de ver todo lo contario de lo que vives y aun así respetar, No me interesa cuanto de trascendencia has alcanzado , si eres un ser fuera o más allá del Mundo, no es de mi incumbencia si has viajado a lugares sagrados. Tampoco me importa si no has hecho nada de esto.

A Mi lo único me importa es: quien eres detrás de todo eso que haces. si puedes ser humano en tu gloriosa Divinidad, Si te ha servido para transformarte en tu mejor versión y si lo pones al servicio, Si puedes caminar entre seres humanos, ver que eres un ser humano más. Honrar y respetar a tu propia humanidad con toda y la decadencia que existe en la misma . Solo me interesa conocer tu Misterioso corazón , al Hermoso humano que lucha por su Luz antes que al iluminado. El resto es ilusión...

[tantratshirts]

Trendy T Shirts and Why They’re so Popular

People are constantly evolving and changing, which means the daily staples of our lives are also in a perpetual state of change. For a long time, clothing options were more streamlined, and people dressed as uniformly as possible. As time passed, people became more conscious about their appearances and came up with various styles to accentuate their palettes. It's also why online stores are stocked up on somewhat Quirky T Shirts to accommodate every person’s needs.

V-Neck

V-neck T shirts are essential for many people's wardrobes. It's a style of clothing that works on men and women, making it one of the most accessible and comfortable pieces of clothing available these days.

V-necks add a touch of formality and class and can even make people appear slimmer and taller, making them an undisputed favorite among consumers. V-necks also go well with almost anything, thus saving people from the hassle of picking out an outfit.

Round-Necked

Arguably the most versatile style of T shirt, a round-necked T shirt is rising in popularity among the urban population as it facilitates many of the needs of the people. They're comfortable to wear and pair excellently with trousers, jeans, joggers, and even track pants.

Round-necked T shirts are versatile and give people the bonus of simplicity since people aren't left perplexed at what to wear with them. Tantra t-shirts also prioritize style and comfort with their collection of Quirky T Shirt. Their round-necked T shirts are made to accommodate all shapes and sizes without compromising quality and style.

Retro/Vintage

While retro clothing is just as comfortable and versatile as v-neck and round-necked T shirts, what sets it apart from the rest is the unique nostalgia factor that comes with it and the fact that it allows people to show off their interests.

The aesthetic of the vintage and retro clothes is also a treat to the eyes, and vintage clothing can also be a good conversation starter since these T shirts also subtly point out people's interests and can help people connect through similar tastes.

Henley

Henley T shirts don't provide the same versatility as this is more in tune with men with a muscular physique. It should be right up their alley for people who want to go with a more rugged aesthetic or style.

As time passes, companies are coming up with more personalized T shirts to target people with different ideas of style and comfort and different physiques. It has led to a surge of Designer T Shirts that cater to different people.

Crew Neck

While this may be the most common type of T shirt worn by most people, it's still wildly popular and stood the test of time because of how influential it's been on the masses.

Celebrities donned the T shirt and made it massively popular with denim. The simplicity of the crew neck T shirt is why it's so great in the first place. They excel at fashion and functionality and provide breathability in the summer and insulation in the colder months. Crew necks also help improve people's business casual look.

Conclusion

The recent trends in T shirts provide an excellent opportunity for people to revamp their dressing sense completely. With so much to choose from and mix, people are only bound to find new ways to enhance their outfits with their T shirts.

#Funky T Shirts #Printed T Shirts #Om Tshirts

[denisexi1-blog]

No me interesa... Los cursos holísticos talleres o maestrías en luz que hayas tomado Si subiste a la montaña obtuviste la visión. Si eres vegano. No me interesa las veces que has tomado medicina. No me importa cuantos niveles de reiki tienes. Si haces yoga, tantra, mudras o meditas. Si te comunicas con los hermanos mayores. Si eres médium, si ves mantras a lo loco. Si tocas el tambor la sonaja o el charango. No es de mi incumbencia si has viajado a lugares sagrados. Si has compartido con grandes brujas o chamanes. Tampoco me importa si no has hecho nada de esto. A mí lo unico que me importa es: Quién eres detrás de todo eso que haces. Si te ha servido para transformarte en tu mejor versión. Si lo pones al real servicio. Lo único que importa es quién eres por dentro... El resto, es ilusión.. https://www.instagram.com/p/Chmq0WJuS9m/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[tallertantra]

Si no quieres esperar más para conectar contigo misma, descubre nuestros cursos de tantra para mujeres en tantrayamorconsciente.com. La mejor oportunidad para disfrutar de un espacio de apertura cómodo y seguro con otras mujeres.

#tantra para mujeres #tantra mujeres #tantra #tantra madrid #taller tantra #cursos de tantra

[pcasabona]

Taller de Tantra de 3 horas "A Corazón Abierto"

Taller de Tantra de 3 horas “A Corazón Abierto”

Este taller de Tantra impulsa el desarrollo de la energía grupal hacia un camino de consciencia.

Es una experiencia necesaria para todos los que eligen este camino. “A corazón abierto” está recomendado especialmente para quienes quieren realizar una primera aproximación a la energía del Taller de Tantra.

Un espacio para integrar nuevos amigos, que simplemente tienen ganas de comenzar a recorrer…

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#Taller de Tantra

[planetaholistico]

🧘‍♀🧘‍♂Aprendé a meditar y a coordinar Grupos de Meditación🧘‍♀🧘‍♂ 🌷-Cómo sacar el mayor beneficio de las principales técnicas de meditación. 🌷-Cómo coordinar Grupos de Meditación 🌷-Cómo organizar Talleres y Encuentros de Meditación. 🙆‍♀🙆‍♂Para realizar este Instructorado no hace falta contar con experiencia previa ni adherir a ningún tipo de creencia, religión, grupo espiritual, etc. ✨Nuestra propuesta✨: 🌈Objetivos🌈: 🕉A lo largo de los 8 módulos de este Instructorado se aprenderá: 💗-La teoría y la práctica de ejercicios de modo de que cada uno pueda descubrir su mejor camino para acceder a un estado profundo de meditación. 👫👫-A coordinar Grupos, Encuentros y Talleres de Meditación en armonía. Manejar los egos individuales de quienes asisten y ayudar a que cada persona pueda descubrir su técnica de meditación más apropiada. 🙏Metodología🙏: 🌞-Se encarará esta temática yendo a las fuentes de las culturas de Oriente que han dado origen a estas técnicas: India, Tibet, China y Japón. ☸📿-Se estudiarán los fundamentos de la espiritualidad Advaita, Tántrica, Taoísta y Budista (Hinayana, Mahayana, Tibetano, Dzogchen, Zen). 👩‍🎓👨‍🎓Este Instructorado cuenta con el aval de Planeta Holístico, uno de los portales de terapias holísticas más importantes de Argentina y América Latina, con 15 años de trayectoria y PortalMeditacion.com, portal dedicado exclusivamente a la meditación con 10 años de experiencia brindando esta formación. 👩‍💻👨‍💻Accederás a los módulos y videos por internet y luego podrás realizar preguntas sobre la teoría y su práctica a tu instructor, quien te irá guiando y respondiendo tus consultas. ⏰Irás realizando cada módulo a tu propio tiempo, según tus necesidades. 📖Para más información: ✍escribinos a 📧[email protected] 🔗Página web: www.portalmeditacion.com #Meditación #Instructorado #Formación #CoordinaciónDeGrupos #Online #DesdeTuCasa #8Modulos #AquíYAhora #Teoría #Práctica #Espiritualidad #Advaita #Tantra #Taoísmo #Budismo #Hinayana #Mahayana #BudismoTibetano #Dzogchen #Zen #India #Tibet #Japón #China #CulturasOrientales #Talleres #Encuentros https://www.instagram.com/p/CO9PW35hP-Q/?igshid=12u6zdc37lmc9

#meditación #instructorado #formación #coordinacióndegrupos #online #desdetucasa #8modulos #aquíyahora #teoría #práctica #espiritualidad #advaita #tantra #taoísmo #budismo #hinayana #mahayana #budismotibetano #dzogchen #zen #india #tibet #japón #china #culturasorientales #talleres #encuentros

[11templodelasabiduria33]

Te invitamos a nuestro Taller sobre Tantra, Kamasutra y Sexualidad, te esperamos:

https://chat.whatsapp.com/DvTVV1fG1Cr0SFJ6sJGxlT

#tantric #tantrik #tantra #sexuality #meditation #yoga

[astro-diosa]

Venus en Escorpio ♀♏

Las mujeres y hombres con Venus en Escorpio tienen una Afrodita extremadamente intensa y pasional, dueña de un poderoso deseo y energía sexual.

Es muy importante que aprendan a canalizar toda esta energía creativa interna (llamada también kundalini), pues si no lo hacen esta se atasca y explota en conflictos, resentimientos o drama.

Para esta Venus es muy importante realizar alguna actividad artística y creativa que realmente la apasione e incluso la obsesione.

Le gustan los temas prohibidos y tabú, y sin culpa debe permitirse explorar las facetas que la llevan a conectarse con ellos y con cosas que la mayoría de la gente rechaza.

Tienen a una Maléfica dentro de sí, la cual tienen que aprender a canalizar y explorar, con conciencia y sin culpa.

Lo mismo ocurre con su energía sexual, es importante que se den permiso para conectarse con ese lado más instintivo y vivan sus deseos.

Son muy recomendables los talleres de Tantra o de manejo de la energía sexual, para que puedan ver cómo espiritualizar y utilizar el sexo como un medio para transformarse a sí mismas.

El amor por lo esotérico y lo oculto también es muy potente, así como poder descubrir qué sucede dentro de las personas, por lo que es recomendable que estudien distintos oráculos como tarot, astrología o runas, entre muchas otras técnicas más que existen hoy en día.

♀♏ astrodiosa.com ♀♏

#AstroDiosa #YoSoyDiosa #Venus #Afrodita #Escorpio #Scorpio #Kundalini #Energía #EnergíaSexual #Creatividad #vídeos de astrología

[lihikainanea]

Can we discuss Tiger acknowledging Gustaf’s sensual essence. She’s not attracted to him in a legit way, but she recognizes how he’s just a walking sexual being and Bill finds this out and is just like please no. He’s a little jealous but also insecure cause that’s his big bro who he’s closest to and that’s his rock. Bill feels all the feelings.

Look man, Gustaf’s sensual essence is just....it’s impossible to ignore. I know little to nothing about this human, and yet I feel like I know his soul. Gustaf is good people. He’s calm people. He’s kind people. And while I’m still reeling from that sweet, sweet--god SO SWEET photo of him and his grandmother that he posted awhile ago (I think it was Mother’s Day in Europe?I can’t remember) but he’s just....Gustaf is one of those dudes that you never quite get over. Even if you’ve broken up, even if it’s years down the line, somehow--you always still think about a dude like Gustaf. And you wonder. You wonder if he’s well, if he’s found someone he's happy with. You wonder what he’s up to, if he ever ended up getting that motorcycle that he could never shut up about. You wonder if he still drinks his coffee black, if he still takes a bubble bath at least once a week and listens to Enya. You just...wonder.

But like look, you know what gets me here? Is maybe tiger acknowledges his sensuality, his mystique, in a far more subtle way--which in turn, just makes Bill so much more angry.

Hear me out.

So I like to think of tiger as a little ball of absolute fucking fire--she’s bitey, snappy, sassy, angry all the time and quite loud about it. She’s just hell on wheels, and Bill is her big calm dude who is always even-keeled and mild mannered. Ever notice how big dudes tend to be the most gentle? They tend to be the calmest? It’s because they know they can win the fight. All these other little dudes have to puff their chests out like peacocks, full of machismo and male ego, trying to prove a point. Big dudes are rarely like that. They don’t gotta prove nothin’.

In any case, maybe it’s the famed Skarsgard family camping trip and tiger has been even more high strung because of work stress. Tiger is basically being insufferable to Valter, and she’s sniping at Bill but he’s taking it in stride because he loves her anger. Gustaf though, Gustaf just watches it all calmly. Gustaf plots. He observes, but then he waits.

And maybe when tiger is having tea out by the dock, he comes over with a big blanket, undoes it, places it on her lap.

“Did you know,” he starts lowly, sitting down and resting his forearms on his knees, “That your shoulders are up by your ears?”

Tiger glares.

“All that tension must hurt,” he said, “Come on, take a deep breath.”

And tiger--like any warm blooded female--tiger has a bit of a soft spot for Gustaf. He’s not one you sass. So instead she huffs a bit because she just has to voice her displeasure somehow, but then she does it--takes a big, deep inhale through her nose, and breathes it out slowly through her mouth.

“Good,” he says, “Stand up for a second.”

And the difference is, Gustaf--much like Bill--doesn’t give tiger a chance to say no. He stands, takes her mug and places it on the table, then pulls her up gently, walking behind her.

“I tend to carry all of my tension right....here,” he pokes between her shoulder blades and she’s wound so tightly that she flinches, “And it seems you do too.”

Two big hands wrap around her shoulders, and she instinctively stands a little taller.

“Deep breath again,” he says. Tiger inhales, and on the exhale, Gustaf pulls her shoulders back. She nearly sags in relief, feeling the ball of tension in her back easing.

“Again,” he says, “And this time, try to pull away from me.”

So she takes a deep breath, and as he pulls her shoulders towards him, she resists and tries to pull them forward.

“Oh my god,” she moans at the deep stretch, “Oh fuck.”

He makes her do it three more times, and at the end he just runs his hands down her arms, throws the blanket over her shoulders.

“Tomorrow morning,” he says, “Sunrise. Out here.”

“Oh, no. No no. I don’t do mornings. I sleep through sunrises.”

But he smiles gently, runs a thumb across the deep bags under one eye.

“You’re not sleeping at all these days,” he says. And without another word, he retreats into the house.

And like, look. For a solid week, tiger joins him out on that dock, and he starts introducing her to yoga. Maybe a bit of meditation. Just very, very gentle stuff--no tough poses, nothing that hurts, just focused a lot more on breathing. And tiger is....slowly becoming much more peaceful, under his tutelage. And she starts to cherish those mornings, because Gustaf is sensual but tiger doesn’t feel it in a sensual way. She kind of just...she wants to cuddle Gustaf. Just wants to be in his presence, because he’s so incredibly calming and so nurturing. Gustaf is good people, he always was. So tiger spends nearly every morning with him and she comes back refreshed, calm, positive, invigorated. And Bill isn’t really any the wiser, because he sleeps like a log with the country air and tiger is usually back before he can even wake up.

But Bill notices one rainy afternoon, when they’re all in the living room playing Mario Kart. She’s on the couch and he’s on the floor in front of her, her legs over his shoulders as he strokes idly at them, his nose in a book. But he’s keeping an eye on the screen--and this is the fifth straight round that tiger has lost spectacularly. She’s either gone flying off the rainbow road or Valter has annihilated her with a tortoise shell of death--every round--and Bill flinches a little, in anticipation of the impending storm. He waits for it, ready to catch the controller that will for sure go flying by his head en route to his brother’s, maybe he even grips her ankle a little tighter to get a better hold in case she decides to fling HERSELF at Valter’s head. He clenches his jaw, wincing already and just hoping the trail of cusswords isn’t screamed too loudly or too closely to his ear.

But instead, he hears the controller be placed gently back on the couch, and he hears tiger take in three deep breaths--calming, rhythmic, steadying. And he peers up at her curiously just in time to see her eyes reopening, her shoulders lowering back to their normal position. And he’s just about to ask her if she’s feeling alright, until it happens.

It happens.

Gustaf reaches over, and gently taps the back of his knuckles on her bicep.

“Atta girl,” he says, “Doesn’t that feel better?”

Bill’s blood runs cold. 

And it’s not that he thinks Gustaf would ever do something, it’s not that he thinks TIGER would ever do something--it’s just that Gustaf’s aura is addictive, it’s undeniable, and Bill is a jealous bean when it comes to his Little Human. And this type of thing happens all the time with brothers, it’s normal. Bill isn’t threatened so much as he is just...a little irrational about it all. And he’s also pretty disturbed because he loves tiger’s fire, and he loves his role in it--tiger gets all up in ends about everything and it’s Bill’s job to smooth it out, calm her down, make her feel better. He likes being that person for her, he likes being her balm and her sense of reason with everything.

And in true Bill fashion, I’ll bet he lets it eat away at him for the entire day. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even squeak when Gustaf and tiger get into a really deep conversation about the powers of the psyche, the depths of the mind, ways of using emotions to control physical reactions in your body. Tantra. Bill doesn’t say a word.

But later on that night as they’re getting ready for bed, tiger pulls him down for a sweet kiss.

“I like this,” she runs her thumb over his scruff, “It’s sexy.”

“Why didn’t you yell at Valter?” he asks suddenly. Tiger looks at him, confused.

“What?”

“Valter needs to be yelled at,” Bill pulls his face from her hands and walks over to the door, opening it and jutting his chin.

“Go yell at him.”

Tiger is dumbfounded, and Bill eventually sighs heavily and slams the door shut a little too hard.

“Why are you so calm?” he demands.

“Why are you so...not calm?” she asks, “Bud, what’s going on?”

“Tiger, I like your fire. I like that you’re just....always angry. Because then I get to be the one who comes in and...helps. And I know you don’t need my help, but I like being that guy for you. I like that you get all angry and pissed off and that you snap at everything, because I like how it feels when I’m the only one who can talk you down,” he say, “Until, apparently, I’m not the only one who can talk you down.”

But tiger’s not an idiot. She knows there’s more.

“And what else?” she prompts. Bill shifts those big eyes of his, but tiger just crosses her arms.

“And you’re in love with Gustaf,” he mutters.

“There it is.”

She sighs, walks to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Bill, I’m not in love with Gustaf,” she says, “He has good energy. He was showing me tricks to try and relax a bit more.”

“But he’s....tiger, every single female on this planet is in love with Gustaf,” he pouts, “All this energy meditative calming tantra bullshit. He’s all sensual and mysterious and--”

“Bill,” she cuts him off, “So are you. Do you ever wonder maybe where you might get that from?”

His pout deepens, but he stays silent.

“Buddy, you have the closest bond with Gustaf because you two are so much alike,” she continues, “You have good in your soul. You have kindness in your soul, god just the way you take care of me is incredible. Your calm nature, your empathy. These things can't be taught, but they can be cherished and nurtured. And I think Gustaf did that for you.”

She plunks her head on his chest, puckers her lips for a kiss and he bends slightly, lays a soft peck on her mouth.

“I’m intrigued by Gustaf. Calm people intrigue me. But I’m not in love with Gustaf. I’m not even attracted to Gustaf.” she says, “It’s you, Billy Goat. You. You you you.”

He kisses her softly again, but then he pouts.

“There’s a ‘u’ in Gustaf.”

“Bill.”

#family drama #BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drama #gustaf #I still want Gustaf to like...fuck my soul

[ancienthinduism]

art.sensuality.hinduism . an equisite perfection of sculptures ~KHAJURAHO

~ kandariya mahadev temple

Khajuraho was an ancient city in the Madhya Pradesh region of northern India. From the 10th to 12th century CE it was the capital of the Chandella kings who ruled Bundelkhand. Khajuraho is popular for its group of artistic temples which were built by the Chandela rulers between the 10th and 12th Century. Chandela rulers were the great patrons of art and this is the reason that the Khajuraho group of temples is known for its sculptural wealth. Despite Khajuraho’s once great reputation as an important cultural centre there are no surviving non-religious buildings, but the presence of 35 Hindu and Jain temples make it one of the most significant historical sites in India today and worthy of its name given by the 11th century CE Muslim historian Abu Rihan Alberuni as ‘the City of the Gods’. Khajuraho is listed by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.There were some 85 temples constructed during the aforementioned period but only 25 temples remain in the complex today.

The Khajuraho temples are even mentioned in the records of Al Biruni and Ibn Battuta. All the temples are built out of fine sandstone except Chausath Yogini, Brahma and Lalguan-Mahadeva temples constructed out of granite.

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND ~

Most of the Khajuraho temples were built between 950 and 1050 CE during the Chandela Dynasty. According to histories, the temple site had 85 temples by 12th century and 25 only survived, of which the Kandariya Mahadeva Temple built by King Vidyadhara is the famous for its intricate sculptures and arts. Kings Yashovarman and Dhanga are famous for their construction of The Lakshmana Temple and Vishvanatha Temple respectively.

Many of the currently surviving temples contain inscriptions that most of them are built between 970 and 1030 CE. The first recorded mention of the Khajuraho temples is in the accounts of Abu Rihan al Biruni in AD 1022 and the Arab traveler Ibn Battuta in AD 1335.

Khajuraho is believed to be the religious capital of Chandelas. The group of temples was enclosed by a wall with 8 gates, with each gate flanked by 2 date/palm trees. Hence, it is called as Khajura-vahika meaning Date Bearing. Khajuraho is also mentioned as Jejakbhukti in historical records.After the fall of Chandela Dynasty, Muslims invaded the region and the temples were hidden under forests from 13th to 18th century until they were rediscovered by T.S. Burt, a British surveyor in 1830.

The Chandelas were followers of the Tantric cult which believes that gratification of earthly desires is a step towards attaining the ultimate liberation. Tantrism has been mostly misunderstood and the Philosophical part of Tantras like the Mahanirvana Tantra have been totally forgotten. This was one of the reasons why Tantrics perished. Nevertheless it remains a distinct path of Spiritual Practice though it has very few followers all over the world.

Categories of Sculptures

Based on their nature, the sculpture in Khajuraho is categorized into five. The first group of sculptures is the cult images. The second category of images that occur in the niches comprises of enclosing divinities, family, and the attendants. The third and the most dominant group of sculptures are that of the apsaras and the sura-sundries who are portrayed in dancing postures and graceful nymphs respectively.

The fourth group of sculptures is secular images depicting scenes like teacher and student, dancer and musicians, erotic couples, etc. The last category of sculptures is that of animals including the mythical beasts. We find the sculptural art at its zenith in the Kandariya Mahadeva Temple.

~a close architectural overview of Kandariya mahadev temple, khajuraho.

The Importance of the Erotic Sculptures

Amongst all the group of sculptures mentioned, the erotic sculptures are considered to be exemplary in highlighting the sensuous human emotion. To quote art historian Krishna Deva, ‘the sculptural art of Khajuraho surpasses the medieval school of Orissa in revealing the sensuous charms of the human body’. Some consider the erotic sculptures as an illustration from the ancient text of Kamasutra. The stress is laid on considering sex as a source of creation. The sensual element has always been described in the ancient literature and folk tradition.

Western, Eastern and Southern Group of Temples

~ Vishvanath temple

~Lakshmana temple

The western group of temples is the most visited ones by the tourists. It comprises the Lakshmana temple, the magnificent Kandariya-Mahadeva Temple, Chitragupta temple and Vishvanath temple. Kandariya Mahadeva is the largest monument in Khajuraho with its architecture depicting the splendid and considerably taller sculptures and also the Central style of architecture. The eastern group of temples includes the Brahma temple, Vamana temple, and other Jain temples.

Means of Transport ~

By Air: The nearest airport is Delhi International Airport. From Delhi , a connecting flight plies to the Khajuraho Airport which is 2 km from the Khajuraho City.

By Train: Khajuraho has its own railway station named after the famous temple. The railway station is around 5 km away from the popular tourist spots of Khajuraho. Rental cars are available from the station premise to Khajuraho temples.

By Road: Khajuraho is well connected by roadway to major cities like Jhansi, Orchha, Katni, Chattarpur etc. Many kinds of buses are available that one can select from to reach Khajuraho from different parts of North India.

‘The basic Universal Divine Energy (Shakti) is a symbol of the union of man and woman and it is the main spiritual emotion in Hindu art depicted in the man-woman sculptures seen in Amravati, Khajuraho, Konark, etc.Here Divine Energy (Shakti) manifests  in the man-woman union, the basis of Vedic art and culture. Sculptures in the Ajanta caves are also a depiction of the man and woman, but sexual congress is prohibited in the sculptures’.  Bharatiya SanskrutiKosh, pages 166-169

#hinduism #hindureligion #hinduismfacts

[chrismasseur1]

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