Exiled

I started studying Tantra by accident over 30 years ago. I thought I had booked a yoga class and ended up in a meditation class.

It began as something sweet and innocent. My first steps were gentle, guided by Buddhism and its soft, disciplined, and silent teachings. It felt like home. Everything I learned made sense, gave me peace, and helped me survive my first deep depression, many years of living with massive panic attacks, and the death of my father.

Later came Neo-Tantra — bold, sensual, unapologetically erotic. It was the perfect companion for my Sex and the City chapter, my years of sexual exploration, and my search for real love. And if I’m completely honest, it was also a time when I was carrying a slightly manipulative shadow — trying to make men stay. In my defense, it wasn’t conscious. And they did enjoy it too. It was interesting and fun.

For me, it made perfect sense to study philosophy and sexuality. My grandfather was into religious and philosophical studies, and my mom — even though she was a traditional Catholic housewife — is the living embodiment of a geisha. For me, being sexy and sexual was the “right” way to build a successful marriage. Back then, it didn’t feel like anything special. But now, I can see how lucky I was.

Eventually, that path led me to something wilder. Esoteric Hinduism showed up with its mantras, deities, and rituals. I had no idea what any of that meant, but it was exciting, wild, and liberating. It helped me shake off the stress I was carrying from my corporate life, release the anger and frustration seeded in responsibilities and expectations. I was one of the first generations of women in leadership positions in male-dominated industries. If there was something I desperately needed — it was to scream weekly, to shake, to go wild.

It might not be a coincidence — now that I look back — that my last corporate position was as an expat in India.

The rituals, the darkness — they didn’t scare me. First, because I’m Mexican and we have a similar edge. And second, because — on my father’s side — my ancestors were witches.

I was also deeply pulled toward classical Tantra — the original texts, the raw philosophy that can break your mind open with just one sentence. And I have to admit — that’s my favorite. Let me sit with anything that questions the system, and I will thrive.

This has helped me reinvent my life over and over again. And each iteration, it feels like I’m getting closer to something my soul has been longing for. It has required a lot of deconstructions, a lot of questioning, a lot of movement. More than anything, to free my mind from cultural conditioning.

Over time, I learned to dance between all of these worlds with a certain ease. But for a while, Neo-Tantra seduced me. I remember thinking: How is it possible that no one told us sex could be this beautiful? It felt like I had finally found the answer. If sex could be sacred, maybe love could be too.

For years, I dreamed of becoming a Tantric Sex, Love, and Relationship Coach, specializing in men and couples. But it felt like a huge leap from the life I had built. Still, love and relationships had always been my deepest desire… and also my biggest challenge. So, I followed the pull. I left the corporate world — encouraged by all my friends who were wildly excited for me to start teaching the things I had shared with them in private. It just felt right.

My certification was absolutely epic. I got to study with over 400 women from every single continent for more than a year — a wild, beautiful journey. We did at least four pleasure practices per week, studied relational theories, dove deep into shadow work, somatic practices, breathwork, trauma, coaching, and internal family systems. And on top of all that, we learned how to weave classical tantric philosophy into sex and relationships.

It was like Hogwarts — but instead of magic wands, we used glass dildos.

I wish I had kept track of the number of orgasms, the laughter, and the tears I went through in those months. It was life-changing. It was real. And it cracked me open in ways I never saw coming.

It was time to launch my brand. And with that came a wave of imposter syndrome and full-body panic about talking publicly about sex — especially changing my title from International PMO to Pleasure Specialist. I was terrified. But I was also lucky. People were surprised, yes — but they loved what I was sharing.

At first, it was all glittery and exciting. I had my sexy selfies, my red lipstick on, talking to women about pleasure on my wannabe-influencer Instagram, perfectly curated from dreamy destinations around the world (yes, I did the whole digital nomad thing too). I launched my own online Pleasure School — it was fun, it was sexy, it was profitable.

Meanwhile, a steady stream of high-achieving men started sliding into my LinkedIn DMs. I had an incredible network from my corporate years, and it grew fast. They trusted me with their most intimate truths, hired me as their coach, and invited me into the places they didn’t show anyone.

I was living the dream. It was thrilling, fulfilling, and honestly… a lot of fun. For the first time, I wasn’t trapped in a two-hour meeting wondering why nothing actually mattered. I could feel the impact of my work. I could see people changing. I could see couples having sex again. I could see them enjoying it. I could see the guilt and shame dissolving. And that? That was incredibly satisfying.

Looking back… I don’t know how I was so naive. After all those years of studying Tantra, I should’ve known better. Because Tantra — real Tantra — is not just glamorous or fun.

Especially if what you’re after is Truth. Once you step into this path, once you say yes to becoming a tantrika — you’d better be ready. It’s not a curated journey. It’s a wild, unfiltered ride. And it will shake you to your core.

You’ll understand soon. When I tell you where Tantra really comes from, it might surprise you.

Maybe you’re picturing ancient India 5,000 years ago — people having mind-blowing sex under full moons, trying every position in the Kama Sutra during wild, orgiastic rituals. Or maybe you imagine exquisitely trained tantric courtesans giving sacred massages in secret temple chambers, with sitar music floating in the background.

I used to picture that too. And sure, maybe some of that happened (except the tantric massage part — that’s a modern invention).

But the truth? It’s way more complex. And way more powerful.

Back then, most people followed the Vedic traditions. Life was ruled by priests and gurus, and everything worked — as long as you obeyed the rules. Dogma. Hierarchy. Castes. Submission. These were the pillars that kept the system intact and people under control.

But there were others. The ones who refused to be tamed. The ones who started asking dangerous, inconvenient, very reasonable questions:

If everything is divine… If God lives in all things… Then why is sex bad? 

Why is the body a problem? 

Why are we told to suppress our sensuality, our desires, our mind, our ego — when all of these were created by the same divine force?

What happens to all of us who live “normal” lives? 

What if we don’t want to be celibate? 

What if we don’t want to fast? 

What if we don’t want to take vows of poverty? 

What if we are women? Or from lower castes? 

Are we doomed to miss enlightenment just because of who we are? 

Why should we be blamed, shamed, or cast out — when we, too, were made by the gods and goddesses?

They didn’t just buy into the story. They questioned it. They dismantled it.

And they had a point.

Could we actually use all of our human experience — our bodies, our sex, our desires, our power, our intuition, our ego — as a path to enlightenment? Could we stop suppressing pieces of ourselves and still be worthy of the divine? Could we just… be human and be whole?

Some of these people started creating an alternative path — bringing Tantra into everyday life. A Tantra for the householder. For those who loved food, sexuality, money, power — for those who lived fully in the world.

But there was another group. The rebels. They didn’t want to just be normal people or priests. They wanted to experience the full spectrum - the light and the shadow, the most physical and primitive and the most spiritual and sublime, the more banal and the most magical. They chose to live deeply.

They became extremely uncomfortable to live with because they did not fit in the status quo.

The priests didn’t like their questions because they did not have any answers.

But what they hated the most was that they could not be manipulated or controlled.

So, they did what any system does when it feels threatened:

They pushed them out.

Literally.

These rebellious seekers were banished from the villages. They were called kapalikas or aghoris— outsiders or

outcasts.

Some lived on the fringes of society, wore black robes, plucked their hair daily, carried skulls, and ate whatever scraps were left in them. Lived in cremation grounds. Used cobra venom as psychedelic. Performed rituals and magical practices. Mastered sexual energy. 

Not exactly the kind of people who’d go viral on Instagram. Not shiny. Not curated. Not easy to digest. Raw. Untamed.Feared. And absolutely, undeniably powerful.

The misfits.

The wild ones.

The ones who didn’t buy into the system.

The ones who asked too many questions. 

The ones that were labeled.

Like me. And maybe… like you.

Was it easy? No. 

Was it sexy? Not really.

But it was real. 

I had been initiated into the tantric path — not once, but multiple times in different lineages, countries, and with incredible gurus and teachers. It had always been an honor, and sometimes it had been extremely uncomfortable or just weird.

As I walked this path as a teacher and student I went deeper into the exploration of my humanness with radical acceptance and unconditional love. Even for the most incorrect, traumatized, and hideous aspects of myself — those that I was ashamed of and scared to name — my world began to change.

My shiny Instagram and super-professional LinkedIn practice started to shift — slowly at first, then radically.

My LinkedIn was permanently suspended for sharing “inappropriate” content — blogs about male sexuality. And I was in the middle of the darkest night of the soul. My sadness, my struggle — they weren’t things I could really share with my audience on Instagram.

I was kicked out of the village. And I started hanging out in the modern cremation grounds.

Gone were the powerful CEOs wanting to last longer in bed to impress their lovers. Instead, I began working with men labeled as porn addicts, narcissists, sex addicts. Men who had been sexually abused. The ones no one wants to date.

And the couples? Not the ones wanting to try tantric massage as the latest trend but the ones who had cheated. The ones who hadn’t had sex in decades. The ones who had hurt each other deeply. The ones who had shown each other their worst.

They came bleeding, hurting, aching. 

Traditional therapy had either given up on them or made them feel worse.

This was real life. Not a curated Instagram reel with beautiful people in kirtans, singing mantras, or chasing a cosmic orgasm. They were simply trying to make sense of their experience. Trying to understand what they were doing wrong. Trying to figure out why they didn’t fit.

And soon I realized something: None of them were broken. None of them needed to be fixed.

They were simply part of a system that rejects anything that doesn’t match the current narrative of what’s acceptable or desirable. They hadn’t been cast out to live in caves, dressed in black and carrying skulls — but we have been kicked out,

Labeled as misfits. Outcasts. The Kapalikas of modern times.

Abandoned for being dramatic or vulnerable.

Labeled as avoidants, anxious attachers, codependents, or weirdos. 

Shamed for having commitment issues.

For having anger issues.

For grieving too long. 

For wanting too much sex. 

For wanting no sex at all. 

For loving too much. 

For loving too many. 

For not understanding how to love — or how to stay. 

For not knowing if we should leave or if we should hold on. 

For forgiving too much.

For understanding too much.

For being intense. 

For shutting down our emotions when they were overwhelming. 

For feeling them too loudly. 

For being neurodivergent.

For being gay.

For being straight.

For believing in traditional medicine. 

For not wanting to spend one-third of our lives behind a desk. 

For refusing a marriage contract.

For breaking one. 

For not agreeing with consumerism. 

For not agreeing with monogamy or monotheism.

For not agreeing with polyamory or polytheism. 

For not wanting to be labeled by a psychologist or belong to a church. 

For daring to believe there was never anything wrong with us to begin with.

That there is no such thing as a sin. 

For not wanting to belong to a system that knows exactly nothing about love or about pleasure- a system that cannot hold our fears, our grief, our longings, or our rage.

For suffering. For enjoying. For being alive. For being human.

We are the modern Kapalikas.

We are not problems to be solved — we are humans to be witnessed.

We don’t agree with cultural scripts, societal expectations, or performative spirituality.

We are dropping the glitter.

We choose what is raw, what is complicated, what is gloriously imperfect, what is real.

We know now — we don’t have to be perfect to be loved.

We don’t have to belong to be worthy.

This is Tantra. The real one. The one that doesn’t sell, the one that doesn’t seduce. It might not be as sexy as you imagined.

But believe me — it will set you free.