The heavy afternoon heat had finally softened into a gentle breeze. I woke up alone in my tent, sweaty, naked, and aching with the quiet sting of abandonment. The man I’d been with was gone.

I heard the voice over the loudspeakers: the festival’s main evening ritual had already begun.

I wanted to curl into myself and disappear. But I chose strength. I showered, dressed in the white clothes I’d laid out earlier, and walked toward the main stage.

By the time I arrived, the ritual was over. A sacred singing circle had begun.

Exactly what my heart needed. I sat on the ground, closed my eyes, and joined the singing.

Song after song, I sank deeper. The full moon above glowed in perfect alignment with my rising emotions. I felt the moon pouring into me – soothing, illuminating.

When the circle ended, people drifted away. The energy scattered. And with it, so did I.

I wandered toward the chai shop, hoping for a hug or familiar face. That’s when I saw him, the man from earlier, sitting with friends.

I walked past him, pretending not to notice. But he noticed me. He got up, approached, and gently said, “I didn’t want to wake you. I’ll be outside the workshop space at 21:20, like you asked.”

And just like that, he walked away.

I was left standing alone, feeling more abandoned than before. I watched the stage, but my mind was spinning. The music couldn’t touch me. Tears welled up but I held them back.

I didn’t want to go to the workshop with him. I wanted to ditch. Make him feel what I felt. But a little voice inside whispered: He probably doesn’t care.

Then I saw Shiva.

Tall, beautiful, the man I had kissed earlier that day by the pool. Our eyes met. He approached.

I took a breath.

He came close and smiled. I melted. I smiled back.

“That kiss we shared earlier… it wasn’t enough,” he said. “I want to kiss you again.”

I nodded. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

He took my hand, and we walked through the back gate, into the desert under the full moon.

We kissed. Touched. Spoke. Gazed.

Magic.

At one point, doubt crept in. I confessed: “Maybe I’m not enough for you. Maybe I’m just another girl.”

He looked me in the eye and said, “I’m here because I want to be. This is real for me.”

I believed him.

He asked if I’d like to join him for a workshop. I didn’t know what it was or who was leading it, but I trusted him. We walked back hand in hand.

He grabbed two cups of ice water while I used the restroom. We entered the dome space as a couple. We laid out a cloth, sat together. One bubble among many.

The facilitator read a soft, loving text. His voice, calming and warm, washed over us.

I closed my eyes. Tears came. Shiva placed his hand on my leg. Safe. Held. I let go.

We began the first practice: seven chakras, five types of touch, full presence.

He started with energy, not contact. Just intention. He asked permission before approaching my lower chakra. I said yes.

Love.

Then we switched. I started from his crown, feeling energy flowing into him like a golden stream. I moved down, chakra by chakra. I asked. He received. We aligned.

When asked to share a word, all I could say was: Wow.

Next: present touch. Grounded. Steady. He touched me like a prayer. Asked before the final chakra. I said yes again.

My turn. I touched him with reverence. Looked into his eyes. Asked. Received.

Wow again.

Then: loving touch. Curious touch. Sensual touch.

Our cloth became a sacred island. A world of two.

Later, we danced. The space dimmed. I took off my shirt and skirt. He undressed too. Not to seduce, but because the energy was hot, pulsing. We danced in our underwear — free, wild, glowing.

We returned to our island. Lights on. The next technique was explained.

The facilitator spoke of sacred union. Of the Lingam and Yoni. Of healing through touch. Of reclaiming what had been hurt or numb.

He described the zones inside the Yoni, places of pain, places of pleasure and how presence can heal.

I realized he was describing Barry Long’s Making Love. I got chills. It was real.

We practiced clothed. Moved through positions. Shiva held me with care. I felt safe.

At the end, we all shared in a closing circle. Then dispersed. Shiva and I walked together to his tent.

Inside, he lit a small light. Offered me nuts. We hadn’t eaten all day. I took a few. It was enough.

We undressed. Lay together. Breathing. Kissing. Loving.

We communicated openly. Gently. Slowly.

Throughout the entire experience I stayed present. So did he.

No fear. No shutdown. Just being.

Only two days later did I realize:

I had experienced the very thing I had longed for, searched for, studied for years.

The power of sexual healing.
The sacred art of Making Love.