The Tantra Lecher
In 2004 I was invited to speak at the event of a famous teacher on a Caribbean Island. “I have my own little paradise” he said to the thickly humid, mosquito-infested, hurricane-swept outback.
How many gurus are sexual predators? More
than you care to know. I’d expect your to radar pick up on it because they carry this icky, sticky aura that makes you want to take a shower after being nearby.
This teacher of “heart based spirituality” had it all. A piece of island, a mansion to host large groups, feature articles in flashy new-age magazines, TV documentaries and he was even a talented musician. His music was ethereal,beautiful. How could someone that makes music like this be a bad person?
Years later, he got arrested on multiple charges of rape and sexual assault. But the music he made under another name, still sells in the millions and is played in Spa’s and Healing Clinics around the world. The serial rapist is a gifted musician.
The taxi dropped me off at a gate. He personally walked
to the gate to open it, wearing a white linen suit. Since
knowing him, I’m skeptical of people wearing white suits.
Under the white suit, he wore nothing. His chest hair and buttocks were clearly visible, whether you wanted to see it or not. I got a tour of the compound. Lush gardens with small man-made waterfalls and carefully cut bushes and flowers. Elevated paths of wood that went all through the compound and to the beach. Little huts of shade, huts with swings, huts with drinks. There was an open air speaking area where I’d speak the next day.
He showed me a lavish bedroom and explained that his best female students get to spend the night with him there.
“Sleeping with me is the highest privilege on this retreat”.
He scrutinized my face for any reaction. He wanted to see if I had any hint of judgement to what he just said. But the statement amused me. I thought he was joking. I chuckled. He didn’t chuckle back. This was a “Tantra” seminar. It was about sexual energy as spiritual energy and he was taking it very seriously. I sensed if I dare judge him just a little, I’d be harshly judged (nutjobs are always extremely sensitive to what others think about them).
I arrived wearing a pair of washed out black Levis. He reprimanded me that this is “bad energy” and said
I’d need to wear something else, so I changed into shorts. My seminar was going to be the next day so I could spend this one watching the master in action.
We went for coffee. “I invited you because you’re like me. You seek freedom. You seek adventure” he said. “I’ve invited other teachers here, they couldn’t handle it. But I know you understand freedom”. I nodded but wasn’t sure what he was getting at. It’s true I like adventure, never denying an invitation to a far-away, exotic location. I didn’t yet know that his definition of “adventure” involved preying on unsuspecting women like a wild animal.
His students had “the look”. That glazed eyes, open mouth, transfixed, unquestioning, gullible look you only get from cultists. The entire audience was butt-naked, except for me. He assured me “it’s your choice if you want to undress, your choice to participate” but didn’t seem to appreciate that I chose not to. He was still dressed in his linen suit for good reason. It’s difficult to talk in front of people with any authority if your penis is dangling in the air.
The large group of nudes were remarkably unattractive. A lot of Flat-butted women and beer-bellied men. He didn’t attract any feminine or masculine types as students. Maybe it’s no coincidence that the people you don’t want to see naked are the most eager to expose themselves. His speech contained a lot of platitudes about opening chakras and flowing the love. Even so, the “exercise” soon turned into a full on group orgy. People were groaning, humping and bumping. How is this different from a swingers club? I wondered.
Even more bizarre, the master himself was walking around with a handheld video camera filming it all. How is this different from porn production? What will he do with the film? I’m glad I never participated.
If you fantasize about such a scenario, it might seem erotic, but seeing these mildly unattractive, middle-aged people fornicate in real-life was unappealing. I soon retreated to my room to work on my laptop.
In the late afternoon the master knocked on my door. He seemed upset with me. “What’s wrong with you? Didn’t you like it?”
“It’s interesting. I just have some work to do”
“Fred, you’re sexually repressed. You won’t relax. You won’t participate”
“You said it’s my choice”
“And who chooses against love?”
“Well, I’m sorry. I’m not into it”.
“I don’t think you know what love is” he responded.
He was clearly not OK with me not participating. If I could turn back the clock I’d ask him why he himself didn’t participate if it was so awesome. I’d tell him that the last thing I need in my Bio is participation in a porn production. But in the heat of the moment, I wasn’t witty.
“I’ll send you two ladies to help you relax” he said before leaving. He didn’t give me the opportunity to respond.
The two ladies arrived after half an hour. I sent them away. I didn’t see the master for the rest of the day.
In the morning I was walking at the beach and saw the master crowding a student on one of the sun-chairs. He was fondling her. She was trying to get him off her. I felt awkward to witness the spiritually enlightened celebrity this way. He grabbed her chin, she beat his arms away. He grabbed her buttocks, she swiped at him like at a bug. He was not yet known as a serial rapist, so I thought this was one of his girlfriends who just wasn’t in the mood.
I recall a conversation with him on the second day. He was talking about having sex with women at his event because their husbands don’t give them what they need. I told him I wouldn’t sleep with a woman if I knew she was married. Out of respect. He roared with laughter.
“You’re young. You’re not yet a real man. A real man takes what he wants”.
At the time, I was impressed with the statement (being 30 years old). His wisdom made my attitude look weak. But in retrospect, after his arrest for rape, the phrase rings differently, less impressive.
On the fifth day of a two week retreat and my second day there, I gave my mini-seminar. I was to speak
from 10 to 12 and again from 6 to 8 pm. The students
made the impression of being physically and emotionally drained. Maybe it was the humid outdoors,despite gigantic leaves giving shade. Or maybe this kind of “tantra” wasn’t that energizing. I wasn’t reaching these people the way I prefer to. They seemed hungover from all the wine drinking. The evening was a little better, because they had been served wine.
No exaggeration: Every time I saw the master in his free time, he was accosting some woman with a lecherous look. I’d never seen anything like this in a seminar setting. His eyes were bulging, his lips moist, his gaze at the woman’s breasts, his hands all over her. He made no pretense of manners or decorum. The whole “spiritual seminar” thing was merely a ruse for him to go on a rampage of sex. And if his advances didn’t work, he’d force them, apparently. He reminded me of any drunken lecher in a bar, except this one was wearing white linen and talking spiritual ascension. But the only thing that kept ascending were his genitals.
It gave me relief to know my plane leaves the following morning. I didn’t see him that morning or ever again. His hospitality had expired when he realized I wouldn’t participate.
A few years later I looked him up online to see what he’d been up to. It brought up news articles that showed him being taken away in handcuffs. First there was one charge of rape with DNA evidence. Later, many other women came forward to file charges.
I recalled his gentle, innocent music. I recalled the creepy impression he made on me in the two days. His problem is a common one. Was he controlling the energy or was it controlling him? Because he was into controlling others he soon become controlled by a force he couldn’t stop.
