A Return to the Root

She is soft, but not silent. Sensual, but not for sale.

There is a place inside every woman that pulses with knowing. Not knowledge, but knowing — ancestral, erotic, wordless. We were never meant to flatten our sensuality into performance, or outsource our pleasure to the preferences of others. Yet this is the script we’ve inherited: eroticism as spectacle, climax as currency, desire as something we perform to be palatable.

But the erotic was never meant to be performative. It was meant to be prayer.

From Spectacle to Sacred

Somewhere along the line, pleasure was split in two. One half became the pornographic: fast, friction-filled, disconnected. The other, invisible: tender, cyclic, untamed, deeply felt but rarely spoken. Women learned to arch their backs on cue. To moan when expected. To chase desirability instead of desire.

The result? A generation of women who look sexy but feel empty. Who are told they’re empowered while still being measured by how well they please. Who know how to get attention, but not how to listen to the aching poetry of their own longing.

This is not liberation. This is repackaged compliance.

The Erotic as a Sacred Force

Feminist poet Audre Lorde wrote, “The erotic is a measure between the beginnings of our sense of self and the chaos of our strongest feelings.” She was not speaking of titillation. She was naming a force that is both spiritual and subversive.

The erotic is what pulses through a woman when she breathes into her belly and remembers she is not here to be consumed. It is what rises when she dances without choreography, touches herself without goal, bleeds without shame, orgasms without apology.

In ancient temple traditions, this was known. Priestesses in Egypt, Greece, India and Mesopotamia offered sacred sexuality as a pathway to Source. Their sensuality was not transactional. It was transcendent. Rituals of anointing, breath, sound and movement were used to shift states of consciousness and connect to divine intelligence.

To reclaim eroticism today is not a regression into old dogma. It is a radical act of remembrance.

Desire vs Desirability

Modern intimacy confuses being desirable with being in desire.

Desirability is curated. Projected. Performed. It exists in the mirror of others. Desire is internal. Sensory. Instinctual. It speaks in pulse, wetness, craving, contraction.

To centre desirability is to contort ourselves. To centre desire is to come home.

When we stop chasing external validation and begin listening to what our bodies long for, everything changes. Touch becomes devotional. Breath becomes expansive. Even solitude becomes seductive. This is the power of self-sourced sensuality: no one can take it from you.

The Practice of Devotional Eroticism

Eroticism doesn’t start in the bedroom. It starts in the body. In the moment you place a palm over your heart and ask, “What do I need to feel more alive?”

Alchemē oils can be used here not as tools for arousal, but as anchors for awareness. Drop into presence. Anoint your belly, your breasts, your thighs, your neck. Breathe. Move. Soften.

This is not a performance. This is presence.

Devotional eroticism is not about climax. It is about connection. It is about using pleasure as a portal to wholeness, not a performance for someone else’s approval.

When you reclaim your sensuality as sacred, you become uncontrollable. You no longer wait to be chosen. You choose yourself. Again and again.

Erotic Power is Planetary

A woman who is erotically alive cannot be owned. She cannot be silenced. She cannot be sold a version of herself that is smaller, safer, or more digestible.

She becomes a frequency. A field. A force.

Her pleasure is political. Her orgasm is rebellion. Her softness is not submission—it is strategy. Because in a world that profits off women’s disconnection, the most radical thing a woman can do is return to herself.

An Invitation

To the woman reading this—

Put down the scripts. Step out of the spectacle.

You do not need to be watched to be worthy. You do not need to be desired to be divine.

Place your hand on your womb. Close your eyes. Feel the pulse of life within you. That is the erotic. That is your compass. That is your protest.

Breathe into it.

And begin.

Because the erotic is not a performance. It is your power. It is your prayer. It is the purest protest there is.