top of page





No tags yet.


The yoni is not wet when you lick it with your tongue.

The yoni is not wet when you spit on your fingers.

The yoni is not wet when covered in oil.

The yoni is not wet when immersed in water.

The yoni is wet only when it spins its own web,

with which it captures life itself.

This web is made of primordial longing.

This web is made of soul love.

Soul love is blind.

It knows not of right, nor wrong.

It is without reason.

It has no judgment.

Soul love exists between thieves and brahmacharis,

bankers and hawkers,

virgins and debauchers.

It is the love of Radha and Krishna;

it is without title, status or worldly form,

it sees not age, nor class, nor any illusory boundaries.

Soul love is precious, wherever it is found.

It is pure and untainted

and produces amrita,

the sweet, divine nectar of the yoni.

The web of amrita is sticky and warm.

It flows like lava.

It captures all it catches.

This nectar is the fire of the womb.

For a woman it is the sweet, breathless, breath of life;

it is proof of life within the clay.

For a man it is the vessel of life;

it is the taste of purity, power and freedom.

It is so soft,

it is so sweet.

It is always as pure as a mountain spring.

The amrita of the yoni

cannot be bought or sold or negotiated.

It will not flow for a lie.

It vanishes in the face of fear.

It vanishes in the face of expectation,

grief, embarrassment, guilt:

the entire harem of the ego

and its boudoir in the watery realm

of the human heart.

When the amrita flows, devis everywhere dance,

and clap and stomp their lotus feet.

Devas are born from Her laugh,

lokas are born from the sparkle in Her eye.

Where the amrita flows there is something to be found

and something to be born.

When the amrita flows we remember that life began with life,

that life was born from longing,

that longing is the source of every finger, every fin and every wing.

If life begins with a seed,

then a seed is sown only in the juice

of the Devi's unjudging love.

Blind, dark, warm,

as soft as ghee, as sticky as sap,

the yoni of a woman

is the first and greatest mystery

of all that is.





bottom of page