The Erotic Current

Magic as momentum, desire as law.

An occult memoir of how Pandora’s Box emerged through me - not because of me - before I even knew what it was.

There are a thousand misconceptions about sex magic. I have far more to say on this than can be expressed in a single essay, so for now, let’s look at the most common idea: that sex magic is something you only do with your genitals (nope), and with an orgasm as the ignition point.

Again, nope.

(On some level, you’re always having one, anyway.)

The Universe is actually in a perpetual state of orgasm - a molten, morphic lattice of forces colliding, crossing, inter-penetrating, and generating new form. Creation is sex at the level of energy. Every moment you are alive, you’re already inside the act, it’s the current you were born into. It all becomes a spell.

The act of physical sexuality is of course an act of high magic, but there’s no point going into that until the first understanding is fully grokked: that sexuality pervades… everything. And to make love and co-create with the Universe requires that you first open up to the Life that wants to move through you - to the exact same degree as you’re willing to rise and meet it. That’s the intersection of the sexual meeting point right there – and it requires both sides of the polarity to be active within you before you can start to dance consciously with the Cosmos.

The first art of sex magic is in letting the erotic lead.

You move because Desire moves you. And you step because you’re propelled - with a sense of unbridled excitement that also carries a distinct flavour of paradoxical safety and stability. This excitement is not adrenaline-fuelled; it also coexists with this remarkable groundedness and self-assuredness as it propels itself headlong and quite unabashed into the Mystery. It goes a little to the tune of: I can’t not, and so therefore I will, and I don’t have a clue what might come next…

And this is the aphrodisiac.

Surprise me, then, I command the Cosmos. Show me what you got.

It never fails.

These past few years I’ve felt the Universe as my lover. I feel it in the visceral pulse rising from inside my own body, and I follow it into the dark every time. And I see it like this: a vast, black void that unfolds outwards only when I step. Each step opens up a new panel, a new chamber, a new corridor. And so, I walk in the wild, delighted and seduced before even the reveal - and then it comes, snapping open like a box filled with jewels. Ta-daaaa, says Spirit, half-wicked, half-amused.

And, what a reveal! It is always so much better, sharper, more artfully orchestrated than anything my mind could ever have conjured. Oh, you’re good, is a refrain I use consistently, you’re so good, I purr, so amused and also, so in awe of the intricate weavings that have clearly been in place all along, to create such a luxurious, never-seen-before piece of art. And I will wear it, yes, I will claim it… yesss…. which is nonetheless a highly redundant notion, because of course it was already mine… it was already mine… from the moment I took that next step in the dark.

You know the Universe is not linear, right? Just like sexuality, it expresses and reveals itself without the need for logistics. So you have to drop the mind and get into the body. Forget all that rubbish about visualising your end result. Magic is not goal-oriented. Because, here’s the thing: it’s not just you playing, is it? Magic is a co-creation. It is also erotically choreographed.

It’s a spell enacted through instinct, and consent.

And yes, consent is key. You have to claim it first. Consent must always precede creation. And you have to claim it, take it, before you know what’s next. Mmmmm. Sound familiar? It’s not for the faint-of-heart, this level of surrender. I often feel God as a Dom: Spirit giving the strokes, while we birth the synchronicities. The only real question is whether you’ll create from ecstatic trust, or from contraction and fear.

It’s like the Fool’s leap right off the cliff, from the crown of consciousness into the world of earthly delights.

And thus, the game begins. Are you ready?

These are the mechanics in the art of high magic.

And you will play it so well once you’ve felt your yes so deeply, because now you’re moving, you just can’t not, because from that place of yes, your instinct has surged, and so then, that’s your next move: your yes embodied. And you stake your claim, you take what’s being offered, and thus receive all its impacts via the feedback loop, that penetrates your field, and swallows you inside of it; seduces you into your next yes… and the next one. And the next. And of course you keep on saying it, because it feels so good.

You don’t stop to question it – and if you do, the spell will break. Whenever you override Desire, the momentum always dies.

The magic always dies when you don’t let the erotic lead.

You must follow her all the time, then. This is what Desire wants, and so this is the way the cookie must crumble… leaving pieces you can follow along the trail.

‘Be careful’, someone told me once.‘We should not play with the Universe.’

Oh, dear, I thought to myself. He’s talking to entirely the wrong person.

I’ve always known life as a cosmic game.

And not at all the gentle kind. Instead, it stalks you, seduces you, corners you, and then hands you the next key only when you’re reckless enough to reach out and grab it. Again, I see it as a lover with wicked sense of humour - luring, provocative, revealing only when I lean in far enough to let it devour me.

You know that phrase that goes, ‘You don’t have a right to the cards you believe you should have been dealt with. You have an obligation to play the hell out of the ones you’re holding’?

Well, every time I’ve thought I knew the rules, the Universe dealt a card I didn’t even know was in the deck.

It’s a deliciously rigged adventure, and I’ve stopped pretending otherwise. So, have your wicked way with me, I say. Do what thou wilt is the whole of the Law.

Control freak as I always was, I’ve learned over the years that it’s better I just consent to simply enjoying the ride.

Because, in hindsight, whatever I tried to force through my own (strong) egoic will… always collapsed in the end in its own field of distortion. Everything real arrived through openings I didn’t create, including Volupté - a three-storey burlesque supper club bursting out of a ruined London pub in 2005. It soon had me laced and bound tightly into a breathless microcosm of tit-tape, tantrums and fragile egos (and squeezed the life out of my sanity, too, and yet it soon became quite the forerunner of its time).

I had never planned for it, yet somehow it was inevitable.

Pandora’s Box emerged the same way.

A three-storey townhouse next door to a laundromat, the entire thing was a surprise – from the location to its name and even to the acquisition of furniture that would end up inside to fit the themes that were only revealed after I said yes, and I took the place on.

I had really no clue as to what I would do with this modest 3-storey townhouse. My desire had been simply to find a place to offer my sessions at (a fusion of cosmic channelling and erotic embodiment into the physical realm, with me as priestess, me as a tool). A simple room that wasn’t my own small house, was all I’d conceded, but the availability of such a place did not at all seem on the cards, as suddenly the post-Covid world had started to wake up, and now most of the houses were taken, certainly all the ones in more remote locations – which was, I had imagined, quite a necessary component. Particularly for a sorceress like me. We don’t like to work in the blazing sunshine.

What lies beneath. All that is hidden… These are the phrases that immediately come to mind. And always, of course, it starts with some kind of initiation. It may well be so that all of you is welcome here, but first - and I’ll be frank - you’re going to have to find me. And I, of course, must be in consent. You can be a supplicant, but I will always choose – or rather, the current always chooses… and it chooses you when you choose it. I’m talking interpenetrating fields again.

And not everybody will choose, because there also has to be an alignment… And in that I trust.

It stands to reason, then, that I really wasn’t visioning a place that rolled out a proverbial tacky red carpet.

Intention is key. Respect is another. Because, yes, it’s all a game, and also, it has consequences. You could certainly say I’m the Queen of that.

So, then, as you will imagine, I did not bite the first time I drove past the 3-storey townhouse. Not in the middle of town, I cajoled Spirit, in response to the surge that had suddenly erupted from deep inside my body. Too there. Too visible. Too… semi-detached. What about the neighbours? On the third (routine) pass-by, however, my bike promptly broke down outside, so in mock-exasperated tone, I conferred; alright, alright! – I will message the landlord! As I drove off minutes later (with no harm done to my bike, incidentally), I heard the voice come through, casually. You could always soundproof it.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I entered the space a few days later, only to have the landlord pull back the curtain on the mezzanine floor to show me some makeshift egg boxes that were functioning as soundproof! ‘You can make noise… little bit’, he proclaimed to me (and for absolutely no real reason that I could see). And then I saw the anchor points on the ceiling, and the dragon picture on the door of one of the toilets. It was like the place had been waiting.

The price was good, and I took it.

Now, what on earth would I fill it with? I had only wanted one room, and here (excluding bathrooms) there were five. How funny that I would see fit to actually make this six in the end, because the moment I said yes, the building began to speak.

Room by room, the spirits revealed themselves.

Downstairs: the reception room, and a podcast studio (to be home for my Astro Sessions, A Private Affair, where I’d imagined I would invite the most enticing and intriguing members of my community here

…to come and divulge to us the inner complex workings of their unique energetic blueprint… as we took a deep dive into their psyche via their astrological birth chart.

This podcast studio in itself had been the product of saying yes to a friend of mine who had suggested back in 2020 that we set up a podcast together. We’d bought the computers and the cameras, and had set them up in the second bedroom of my house. After this point, though, the momentum had strangely died. Now I had a smaller house (hence the need to find a separate session space), I knew that the equipment must come along with me…)

Upstairs, on the mezzanine: the place for readings, for channelling.

And upstairs again – the temple room, the place for erotic work. And then, the final room… a dungeon. For the darker flavours. I had been sporadically very active in these realms since the beginning of 2019, although intensity had always been embedded in my bones. I would of course re-soundproof the space, in amidst making all the other adjustments needed…

The visions were starting to become quite magical. They coincided with the appearance of Martin - porous and psychic, overwhelmed by energies not his own, and unconsciously plugged into my field. I am always entranced by how those who enter the field act as channels, even though consciously they do not know the part they play. Often times, he and I would meet, the energy always being so high… and then soon enough, out of nowhere, he would begin to unconsciously discharge old emotions that he was trying to make sense of. Several times I waltzed into our meetings only to metaphorically stagger back out and have to submerge myself into the ocean to clean off the energetic residue.

A builder by trade, Martin was helping me construct the skeleton. He also found me a logo designer. But the space still had no name. Paula - a fellow channel - fixed that within an hour of me sitting down at home to brainstorm, when she sent me a voice message at random to comment on our sessions together.

It’s like we opened Pandora’s Box, she said.

And I knew that was it - something that was confirmed not two days later, when Martin, fresh back from a Christmas shopping trip on the neighbouring island, regaled me with stories of a beautiful necklace he had bought from this ‘beautiful shop that was calling me forward,’ he told me.

I saw the shop in my mind’s eye before he even said the name.

Pandora.

Just months later, he gifted me images of the Pandora Cluster - the James Webb shots that had only just been published online - of 50,000 galaxies bending light like a cosmic mirror.

As above, so below.

The teachings of Pandora clearly wanted to come down into the world, and things were being created beautifully. One of the ceiling lamps I ordered for the reception room smashed on arrival, and excitedly, Martin found me an alternative, a stag-horn chandelier. He even built me a temple bed spanning wall-to-wall - the perfect fit for queen and king mattresses side-by-side. Too perfect to be coincidence, of course.

Only the dungeon misfired. Martin built the cross too small, the cage too large.

‘Well, Martin, you know I don’t own a party hostel anymore,’ I told him - referring to the place I’d run for 4 years, which had been in itself the product of following the erotic current (and had sat at the #1 spot on TripAdvisor for almost the entire time). ‘It’s meant to be a cage, not a bed for the night’.

Not long after that, the connection between Martin and I began to unravel; the roles that we had been playing out for each other clearly heading for completion. He had told me he would melt these pieces of dungeon furniture down, and remake them for me, but then almost immediately he disappeared. Business troubles. Family troubles. Whatever the trouble, I was now picking up the pieces, and wondering what I was going to do. Attempts to find an alternative builder were unsuccessful, even though I valiantly tried – including visits to local steelworkers with the same pictures of the St Andrew’s Cross and the cage I had initially shown to Martin (complete with naked man locked inside and a corseted woman sitting directly on top and proffering a baseball bat). To give them credit, none of the steelworkers ever bat an eyelid, but they were all too busy. The cost of shipping such items here also rendered the idea negligible.

I realized I had hit a dead end. I had no other options left, and I was also starting to get bored – a deeply prevalent tendency in my psyche which has always coexisted ironically alongside my iron will (and fortunately so, too, as, historically, it’s only ever been my low boredom threshold that’s ever got me to stop pushing. You’re not supposed to push, you know. You follow the erotic current. Yet I was confused. It didn’t make sense. I knew in my bones that that damn room wanted to be a dungeon, but now there seemed to be a bug in the operating system.

I gestured to the Cosmos.

You do it, I said, waving it away in a gesture of impatience.

Good, came the immediate reply.

And then. A few months later, at almost the crack of dawn on New Year’s Day, I opened up my Facebook and saw that the island’s only Dominatrix (whom I had only heard about a few weeks prior and whom I’d also thought that I should definitely meet) posted a message to say she was moving back to America, and therefore selling all her stuff.

All her stuff. So good, I exclaimed to the darling Cosmos, and always so worth the wait, too, I added with a wink (pointing to how much my inner structure had already changed - not a single vibration of well, about time...) Imagine our surprise when, upon meeting, Madame B and I discovered that she had actually been the previous owner of the exact space that I had by now transmogrified into Pandora’s Box? Hence the soundproofing, and the dragon picture, and those hardpoints on the ceiling… All hers.

The order of play had therefore been: Madame B had moved out to rent a bigger space. I moved in. Now, one year later, all her stuff was moving back in with me. It was the cosmic equivalent of musical chairs. The cosmic chessboard clicking into place. Her dungeon returning to its original lair.

Because to play at the next level of the game, we often have to re-shuffle the cards.

This space is so protected, I felt, then, as I stood in that reception room, under that gorgeous stag lamp that Martin had brought into my field the previous year.

It was only then that I remembered that mythologically, Diana is protected by the stag. And when I recounted this to my witch sister Ella, as I gave her the tour around the space, she immediately saw it up on the third floor, too, in the temple room. A painting created by an Ayahuasquero that I’d met in Peru back in 2018. Look at that, Ella pointed out. There he is again. The stag.

The stag, clearly here with me. Huntress and Protector.

Meanwhile, the final emanation of the podcast studio only aligned once Tom randomly entered one day (after a mutual friend put us in contact) - with lights, cables, mastery, direction - transforming a chaotic tangle into a veritable TV studio that he really, really wanted to run. Only now, that whole concept was truly making sense - and simply because I’d said yes to creating a space for it… long before I knew what form it wanted to take.

As with everything else, of course, I didn’t need to know. Because, what I was only ever envisioning was an energetic state, as opposed to a particular - and rigid - outcome. And when the energetic state finally activates, the form reorganises itself around it.

Put simply: I only had to feel the current and stake the claim. The rest would be done through energetic law.

Consent. Alignment. The erotic intelligence of creation moving through an undefended body.

Do you consent with your body, not your mind?

This kind of thing plays out in the most minute of circumstances. Even this essay obeyed the same mechanics. I had initially planned to write something more general, weaving together lots of different elements, yet I was totally blocked until I just let my writing current flow into the unknown, which is exactly where I discovered the insistence of Pandora’s origin story. And now of course I think about it, it does make sense… my website is nearly ready, after all. Confirmation that the teachings therein are ready to make their entrance.

And now to touch - albeit very briefly - on the core of such teachings…

At the beginning of this year, just over two full years after I had taken on the space, I suddenly understood the biggest revelation in terms of everything that had been so exquisitely weaving without me. I had suddenly felt called to begin to study the Qabala. And before not long at all, it dawned on me: Malkuth was the ground floor of Pandora’s - the earthly realm (with the reception room, podcast studio, forest wallpaper). The mezzanine was Yesod. And the top floor housed the dungeon and the temple… aka the twin pillars of Severity and Mercy. Fear and Desire. I remember it hit me just as I saw that even the position of these two rooms coincided: Severity on the left, and Mercy on the right.

I had unwittingly designed the entire space as a physical representation of the Tree of Life.

And furthermore - as I would go on to viscerally discover, the collapsing of duality is the next essential key in the Art of Magic.

Until the next time, however, I’ll just leave you with this:

Pandora always knew what she was. I was simply the one who could no longer resist.