Pain Doesn’t Mean Bad
by Edwina Finch

I found an advert for Orgasmic Meditation on a spiritual singles website in 2012, and I knew I wanted to try the practice. I just thought I needed a romantic partner. When I mentioned this concern to an OM practitioner I met, she said, “Oh no, a lot of single people do this.” So, I dove right in.

I felt numb during my first OM. There was this floaty energy in my head, and I didn’t feel much in my clitoris. But on the train home I noticed I had more energy, so I knew things were happening in my body. This pattern continued throughout the early phase of my practice: I would feel numb during the OM and feel the benefits later. I kept on practicing.

About five months in, I went to a party. There was this guy there. I didn’t fancy him, and honestly, I was feeling quite grumpy, but for some reason I knew I had to talk to him. He asked if I wanted to OM, and I said yes. I got into the nest, gave him one adjustment, and suddenly I was transported to another realm. There was no thought, just pure feeling for minutes on end. I was like, ‘Oh, so this is what they mean!’ It felt different than anything I’d ever experienced in my life.

Soon after that, I got engaged. My fiancé also OMed, and very occasionally, in our OMs, it would feel as though an ocean was rolling over me and flooding electricity into every cell of my body. But most of the time our OMs felt flat or uncomfortable. The truth is, there were some things I wasn’t saying in that relationship. That experience taught me how my body can reflect what I’m feeling in the rest of my life. 

These flat OMs between us lasted over two years, and my fiancé found it quite tiring. My OMing was more sporadic then, as he wasn’t excited to OM with me. I wondered if there was something underneath that I wasn’t willing to feel. We weren’t able to resolve things, and the relationship ended. 

A little while after we broke up, I had an OM with someone. He moved his finger onto this spot on my clitoris that felt so uncomfortable that I nearly yelped. But he didn’t move his finger, and I didn’t adjust him off the spot. I knew there was something for me to feel there. He stayed calm, and kept lightly stroking, and suddenly something opened inside of me and all of this orgasm started rolling out in waves. That experience taught me that pain doesn’t necessarily mean something bad is happening. Though it can be quite hard to stay with the sensation sometimes, it doesn’t mean anything is broken.

I’ve learned that, if a stroker touches an uncomfortable spot on my clitoris, I can always give him an adjustment. If he’s pleased to receive the adjustment, and he’s very polite, my body will usually relax, and the discomfort will dissolve. But if he gets annoyed that I’ve asked him to change the stroke, then I’ll tighten even more. 

The beautiful thing about OM is that there are clear rules. The container never changes, and all you have to do is feel. There’s no goal, and that takes away all the pressures to perform. 

I’ve applied the principle of goallessness to the rest of my life: learning to ask for what I want, learning how to make an adjustment without criticizing, learning communication skills. And my relationships have changed, subtly, over time. 

My body feels very different than it did before. It feels opened up in a way I didn’t know was possible. That’s the main benefit. My whole body feels alive now. Mainly, OM had made it clear to me that we are all connected through our emotions and energy. I surrender to what’s happening around me. I keep coming back to my body and my desire rather than being in my head. And I’ve found that, when I do that, I feel more connected to everyone around me. More available for intimacy. More alive.