• It’s been humbling to have realised just how much I live life out of my head. I know I’m not special in this regard, it’s pretty much the norm. But still, it feels confronting as fuck.

    As the years of body practice have finally started to pay off, and I’ve learned how to feel the inside my whole body, I’ve discovered the parts of my archetypal energy I’ve been suppressing all these years.

    The opposite of living in your head is living in your fuck. I mean this technically. If you map the energetic centres of your body from top to bottom, the head centre (6th chakra) is opposite your sacral centre (2nd charka). They are a binary pair in certain respects.

    When we descend our attention down into the 2nd centre, we feel the energy of fuck.

    I was brought up to believe it was just a bad word – a swear word that describes a naughty thing. The English have all kinds of social rules about stuff we all do but agree not to talk about. Fucking is very high up the list.

    Different types of fuck

    The energy of fuck is simply the energy of creation, the natural act of birthing and making something new. It’s built into the organic structure of every living thing we know about.

    Fucking requires two to make a third. In animals this means a male and a female. One is the fucker, and the other the fuckee. They both create the fucking, but from opposite ends of the spectrum.

    Fuck energy therefore is your (literal) birth right. But it isn’t just about physical fucking though. Sex is the physical expression of deeper energy codes.  The root energy itself is applicable (and necessary) in many walks of life.

    It’s the part of me that pushes through my resistance to send the message I’ve been putting off for days. “Fuck it, I’ll do it now.”

    “You can’t say that to them!” The protectors inside protest. “That’s a huge risk!”

    “Yeah…fuck it.”

    It’s good for cutting off the possibilities you really don’t want too.

    “Fuck that. No way.”

    Or to put it another way, fuck energy is unambiguous. It knows what it wants and doesn’t. It’s “fuck yes!” or “fuck no!”. There is no “fuck maybe!”

    It’s also the part of me that helps me combat the over-empathising my mind likes to do amidst conflict. I’m so used to seeing thins from the other’s point of view, and getting myself all twisted up.

    “Well, I can understand why she feels that way. I didn’t help when I did that thing. She just got really frustrated.” Which is all well and good, except it often disassociates me from my own experience and emotions, clogging up and confusing me.

    “Oh, fuck her.” I say to myself as I retreat from the kitchen and take some space to rediscover my centre again.

    Fuck energy doesn’t seem to hold grudges. It’s in the moment. “Fuck her”, in the moment. And then when I’ve felt through myself fully, I can own the anger and the hurt and open my heart to her experience more genuinely.

    As a man, I’m much less comfortable being in the receiving end of the fuck spectrum. When things are really challenging, and shit is falling apart, I can feel like I’m getting fucked by life. At the worst moments I feel like the innocent victim in some horrible abuse story. In my rare moments I feel like the lover of the Gods, who is opening themselves to the penetration of a deeper truth.

    Fuck energy is also at the root of boundary creation. Like, shit is going down, and someone won’t get out of your face.

    “Fuck off.”

    Although fighting fire with fire can tend to flare the other’s “fuck you” energy in return, which then makes a big explosive mess.

    The incontestable truth is the one that simply comes from your own core – “fuck no”.

    The pure energy does not make the other at fault. It’s not about them, it’s simply you claiming what’s true for you. This is felt directly in the body. The feeling of “fuck no” and “fuck yes” are loud if you’re present enough to recognize them.

    The energy rises from your pelvis and lower belly. Just send your consciousness down there for a few moments, let the whole thing relax and drop. It’s right there.

    This is not generally something we tend to do in normal life! I was trained from a young age (like most of us) to exclude this energy in my body. “Now be a good boy Ewan, sit at your desk and do your work.”

    “Fuck that.” My body wanted to say.

    “OK Mrs Shaw.” I said instead.

    We’re trained by our culture to suppress it most of the time. And with good reason. Fuck energy used without consciousness awareness, through a wonky nervous system can be very destructive.

    Fuck energy can be scary. It’s powerful. We’re not taught how to play with it safely. And the fear cuts both ways.

    To feel violated by someone else’s fuck energy can wound us deeply.

    To have our own fuck energy rejected by someone else wounds us too.

    Many of us carry trauma from situations with a lot of unconscious fuck, whether our own, or those of our ancestors. Society has been successfully fucking up our nervous systems in this regard for centuries now.

    But used with consciousness it is the energy of creative change itself.

    The energy at the root of creation

    Fuck energy is creation energy. And that means it actually works both as creation and destruction. That’s why kill energy comes from the same place. And why fucking is also what creates the biggest miracle we know – the birth of a new being.

    A woman’s body runs a creation/destruction cycle on a monthly basis. It creates the nurturing conditions for a new baby to enter, and when it’s not used, tears it all down again and bleeds it out.

    There is an inbuilt polarity to our experience of this energy. Biologically it’s modelled for one to fuck, and one to be fucked. On the level of energy, we’re made of both, and can channel the power of both.

    Therefore, you can also think of your own fuck energy existing on a spectrum between two poles.

    Masculine fuck energy is required if you want to make a splash in this world of ours. This is true regardless of your gender. You have to penetrate the market, open up the space of possibility, and spread your work in the world.

    And yet, as we can see, so many are also burning out on that yang determination to keep smashing through walls, competing for the prize, attaining alpha status. Our society – for so long modelled on the power of the masculine mode – is coming apart at the seams.

    Feminine fuck energy is required if you want to receive the bounty and beauty of this world of ours. This is also true regardless of gender. You have to open yourself to what’s present, surrender to what’s entering you, meet life and work with love and acceptance.

    I believe the deeper invitation is tantric—to integrate the polarity of fuck in our stories, our bodies and our energy. To realise that you can penetrate the world, and fuck it, from love. This is everyone’s right through their own free-will, regardless of biology. And to realise that you’re also being fucked by the world. This is everyone’s right too—to open and to receive what is already being given.

    In other words, the integration move is to learn to fuck and be fucked.

    This begins with allowing yourself to feel your own fuck. The word carries the energy quite brilliantly. If you want to explore your own fuck, just say the word to yourself, out loud, then keep saying it and notice what that name calls forth in your own body and feelings.

    If you want to increase the intensity, try running your hands over your hips, glutes, belly, groin, genitals, pelvic floor – where fuck is rooted. Feel your body respond to your own hands. Notice your experience.

    This energy is vital for a life of creative expression and joy. It’s all your own sovereign energy – the thrust forward into life to search for your desire, the leaning back into life, receiving the beauty you yearn for.

    So find your fuck. And to learn to play both sides. To be both fucker and fuckee. And enjoy the fuck out of the experience.

    Ewan Townhead

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  • She came too close.

    She presumed too much.

    She took what she needed.

    I’ve spent my life trying to keep her happy, making sure I’m giving her what she needs. There’s something in my base-code, an algorithm that says her emotional well-being is my responsibility.

    So when she’s unhappy, my code tells me it’s my fault. And I must comply with her demands.

    She’s not a specific woman, she’s woman, and when she calls, I must answer.

    It’s taken me years, but slowly, through much work, with much help I’ve learned to see underneath my programming. And underneath it exists a line. A demarcation between she and I.

    I don’t know precisely where the line comes from. But if I pay attention, the feeling of its violation is unmistakable, like an enemy coming into home territory uninvited.

    And I’ve learned that the line is mine. One to be spoken.

    “No. I don’t want to give you what you want. Back you go.”

    The violation of boundaries is a universal human experience. It’s the inevitable consequence of the fact that we are separate, and yet yearn for union.

    We violate these lines in different ways.

    He is an expert at overt violation, rough and physical, he just grabs what he wants, brutally shoving dissent out of the way. She is an expert at covert violation – subtle and emotional – she schemes and manipulates, sliding past dissent unseen.

    It took me years to notice that she violates too. I thought it was just him. That’s what I’d been told, but it wasn’t true.

    “You always do this.” She says in that voice that cuts right through into my shame. “I hate that you don’t think of me first. I’m wondering if you actually love me at all! If you did, you’d give me what I want.”

    The average man is not a good player in this emotional game. He thinks in simple terms. He’s clumsy in the emotional world and crumbles in the face of her power.

    “Sorry.”

    He drops his head, beaten by her shaming, he tells her he’ll do better next time, and be a good boy.

    Or he desperately fights back, closes his heart, refuses to swallow the shame, pushes it back at her with force and aggression, defending himself behind his shields and armour.

    Both tactics end up in the same place. The place where we’re alone, and hurt and ashamed. Both of us. All of us.

    The alternative is to draw the line.

    It’s there, waiting for you to take its implicit truth, and create its explicit form. The line is real. Its existence is the very definition of self-love.

    “No.”

    But don’t forget to keep your heart open. Maybe she doesn’t know where your line is. Maybe you’ve never told her before. Maybe you’ve never told yourself before, and the line is just newly acknowledged.

    Tell her with love.

    “No sweetie.”

    The line is drawn.

    And then, magically, I can see her as if for the first time. The woman in my head dissolves – the one who always does this to me – and the woman in front of me appears, real and human.

    There she is, the woman on the other side of the boundary.

    She’s beautiful. I can see that now. Now that I don’t have to desperately defend against her attack.

    I see her now as her. I see her unique being, her good intentions, her imperfect actions. She’s like me, but different.

    And now I’ve shown her where she can’t cross, I have all the space in the world from which to love her.

     

    Ewan Townhead

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