Trying to figure out what tantra really is

*Private photo, captured by Emilie Larsen Ørneseidet*

In the end of July, I spent a week alone at a tantra camp. I went there curious to get to know the Scandinavian tantric field, and to explore their approach to this word: Tantra.

There are many understandings of what tantra is these days. Whereas I perceive tantra as a spiritual path embracing the depths of my human existence, some associate tantra mostly with relating and sex – even with more extreme sexual expressions as kink, polyamory and orgies. Because of this I’d been sceptic to attending the festival. But as I sat at home with a week of nothing in front of me… I decided to put my skepticism aside, and give the festival a chance.

Day 1 – Expansion and protection

It's Tuesday. The festival is in Sweden, a four-hour drive from my Norwegian home-town. Tired from the drive, I arrive at Angsbacka, one of Scandinavia’s spiritual hubs, and begin unpacking my car.

As I put up my tent at the festival camp, I'm already feeling a little worried. I'm not sure if it’s me being tired - or if something looks a bit odd here. Because everywhere around me, people are hugging and smiling – and it feels like too much smiling; too many hugs. In addition to this, there seems to be a parade of spiritual egos passing by – and a lot of people with nearly invasive needs to be… seen.

I feel uneasy.

The opening ceremony doesn’t soothe me. We gather in a large tent with 700 people, and the facilitators introduce a bunch of community rituals that feels strange and automated. There are “love showers” instead of applause - the sound of them reminds me of an angry rattle snake. “Let’s do 3 oooms to gather ourselves” a musician suggests, and the crowd ooom´s fast and out of tune. “One collective breath: IIIN and OOOUT” a facilitator says, and it feels like hyperventilation. And I ponder: What on earth have I signed up for?

But then, as we move on from the quasi-spiritual opening rituals into some beautiful singing, I relax a bit. The festival leader shares some interesting reflections on the root of the word tantra, explaining that the Sanskrit word Tantra means expansion (tan) and protection (tra). She notes that while tantra are tools to expand consciousness, tantric practices also address our needs to feel protected and safe, as well as challenges us to move beyond our borders to step into the unknown.

And I don’t know that right now, but this festival will certainly prompt me to ponder my borders - and what I need to feel safe.

Day 2 - Overwhelm

There´s a very loud snorer in the tent next to me, and as I wake, I consider moving my tent to not have to listen to him all night. But alas, replacing my tent seem too much to tackle right now. Walking to the common toilet facilities, I cannot find a single place to sit in peace and have a poo, and that gets me constipated. I have to find a peaceful toilet, I think! And also, my phone is out of battery and I don’t know where to charge it.

I feel stressed.

At the morning ceremony, the festival leader addresses the too-much hugging, and it eases me a bit. But still, gathering in the tent along with all 700 festival participants, feels overwhelming. It's too many people, and I cannot find an anchor point. A social anxiety I rarely tap into these days kick in, and I feel sick. I withdraw from the tent and watch the rest of the morning gathering from distance.

Safely outside the tent, I contemplate the crowd. There seems to be a lot of couples here; they seem eager to explore deeper intimacy with one another. I observe groups of friends, probably coming for a holiday of both fun and new inputs. There are some spiritual seekers here too, but as far as I can see; they are in minority.

I place myself in that minority.

And then, I see a lot of single men, and I'm not so sure what they’re searching for here. Did they come for simple sex and entertainment? Or are they looking for something deeper? The scenario that they are here just to get laid, stresses me. I feel like prey, afraid of becoming somebody’s dinner.

I realize I need to stress down, so I skip the after-lunch-workshops and que for 45 minutes to get a coffee and cake. I snuggle up in a quiet corner of the festival cafe, and as I find a charger and sip my coffee, I feel safe. And as I do, I finally feel my urge to poo. YES! Cause everyone is at the workshops, I find a toilet to sit in peace, and it’s a success.

I eat my dinner and then go to attend a mantra concert with a beautiful female singer called Shudya. I absolutely love it, and walk to bed blissful.

Day 3 - What is tantra?

*Photo by* *Conscious Design* on *Unsplash*

There is no consensus in the tantra environment about what tantra is and isn’t. And as I've managed the basics for myself, I now start looking around me. I observe the program, the facilitators and the other participants, trying to figure out what tantra is for them … and what it is for ME.

I join a discussion on relationships. They talk about different relationship structures and of exploring polyamory. And while the topic sort of intrigues me, I cannot really see the link to tantra, as I perceive tantra to be.

Then I join a women’s circle, and we connect and dance and touch each other, and that… somehow feel closer to my understanding of tantra. Nurturing my feminine essence, embracing my lusciousness, my pleasure, my trust, my enjoyment of being in my body – and in this life – does indeed feel tantric.

The mantra concert I attended yesterday felt close to a tantric essence. The same goes for a tea ceremony I joined the first evening. Both showed me a path to bliss and ecstasy; and that’s tantra to me.

But the more I look around me, the collective vibe of the festival doesn’t feel tantric at all. It feels... exhibitionistic. Bold dancing, cuddling couples and naked breasts are quickly popping up all across the area, and it feels a bit odd. It’s as because we’re at a «tantra festival», people take of their tops - cause that’s what they think should happen here.

In many ways, this place reminds me much more of a sex and relationship-amusement park… than a spiritual retreat.

Day 4 – Where is the place for my delicate heart?

I wake up early in the morning to join a tea ceremony in a little tent just outside the festival area. I love the vibe in there, and stay on after the ceremony to chat with the two young men facilitating the ceremony. Me and these men share a common passion for tea, and that makes me feel safe. But it’s not just that. My new tea friends seem to be working with remembering their HEARTS. And that remembrance… feels tantric to me.

I leave the tea tent feeling soft inside. I want to escape the festival and move into the tea tent instead.

I’m in a bit of a squeeze, coming here alone. Since I don’t know anyone, I’m dependent on getting to know some of the other participants on a deeper level, in order to not feel lost. But in my anxiety of these potentially sex-hungry single men, and in my uneasiness with the collective vibe and the big crowds of people, my impulse is to withdraw. And as I do that, I feel very… alone.

In this field of heavy rhythms, naked bodies, and sometimes-explicit sexual explorations, I wonder: where is the place for our feeling, sensitive, vulnerable – and often shy – hearts? Where is the subtleness, the delicacy that supports us in opening our hearts, and flowing confidently with our creative and sexual energy?

Right now, because I don’t trust the group around me, I don’t feel safe to flow with my sexual energy. Rather than relaxing my sensuality – which is part of why I love tantric work – I now contract myself, feeling insecure.

It’d been helpful - I ponder - if the festival would’ve found a way to address these hungry male ghosts in the field. For example, they could’ve introduced some exercises on how to collectively acknowledge and enjoy each other in our sexuality - without trying to grasp it for ourselves. If we could’ve managed to just SUPPORT one another in flowing with our sexuality as we pass each other by, the single woman in me would've felt much safer. And I think this would've given us a much healthier fundament to be together… as a collective.

The afternoon disappears, and I sit in the café doing nothing. In the evening, I join an ecstatic dance. The room is so filled to the brim that moving nearly seems unnatural, at least in the beginning. I let go a bit and enjoy the dance, but then feel lost again. I return to my tent feeling sad.

Day 5 – A tantra without spirituality?

I wake up feeling frustrated. I join nothing before breakfast, and I don’t want to do anything after breakfast either. I feel weird inside: funky, tired, overwhelmed, unsafe.

To me, tantra is about learning to be content in my own company, first and foremost. It’s about letting go of my need to be entertained or filled up by someone or something outside of me in order to feel alright. But in this crowd of connection-hungry people throwing themselves into relationship-exercises and sexuality workshops, the tantric self-practice - the art of staying connected to OURSELVES - seems to get missed out.

Part of me had hoped I’d feel spiritually nurtured by coming here. That's not the fact. Actually, the spiritual layer of the festival feels more like a superficial wrapping, an excuse almost, to explore sex. The exhibitionistic vibe, combined with heavy bass rhythms over the whole camp 7 o´clock in the morning, collective mantra singing on double speed and polyamory discussions, hasn’t got a single thing to do with spirituality for me.

And if we bypass the spiritual layer to just explore connecting with one another, is that really… tantra?

I consider going home, but decide to stay. To cheer myself up, I head for a walk in the woods around the festival area. I find a bench and shed some frustrated tears, and then run to the tea tent to get another heart-fill. My friends there are in the process of packing up, but they recommend a concert in the afternoon, and I go there. Sitting next to one of them, listening to beautiful music in a quiet, not-too-crowded-space, I feel my heart - and I feel safe.

Day 6 – Feeling safe to make love

Waking up, I look forward to go home. As I sit on the steps outside the café, a body train of topless people with glittery body-paint calling themselves `the awakening crew` dance their way past me. I’m not cheered up. Rather, I think about my tantric amusement park-theory again. And I look around me and I ponder: where is the support for love, and for subtleness, in this crowd?

Right now, the crowd looks like a bunch of insensitive sexhibitionists to me. I scan the area for someone I know to remind me that things are not as one-dimensional as I feel right now. And suddenly, one of my tea friends appear. My heart jumps as he gives me a hug - he reminds me about my love.

We eat lunch together, and I feel calmer. I've given up, I tell him. I don’t feel safe here. And I really don’t like this cheesy spirituality that covers up a hunger for sex.

If they’d just called the festival something else than tantra, everything would be alright, my friend suggests. Maybe they could call it a kink festival, a pleasure party, a relational discovery festival? Drop the spiritual cover-up… and just explore sex? And I agree.

As we part and I go to pack up my tent, I realize that tantra to me, is all about love. And of courage: The courage to remember our hearts and share our love with the people we meet on our way. The courage to make love to everyone and everything, without demanding anything back.

It's been a tough week, but also a precious one. Cause right now, I remember my heart.

My Week Alone at a Tantra Festival