Shadow & Desire — Vol. II

Repressed Sexual Energy

Énergie Sexuelle Refoulée

Tantra, kundalini, and Stoic discipline — three paths to the same fire. Part II of a trilogy.

A blacksmith never pours water straight onto the embers. Too fast, and the fire dies in a cloud of useless smoke — all that heat lost at once. Too slow, and the embers smolder indefinitely under the ash, never quite out, never quite useful either. Good practice means knowing the fire: directing it, neither drowning it nor letting it devour the whole workshop — exactly what repressed sexual energy is asking of you too.

It obeys the exact same logic. Neither drowned under shame, nor left without direction — just a heat waiting for someone to finally know what to do with it.

Phase I — New Moon what is hidden

What Kundalini already knew about your repressed sexual energy

In the tantric tradition of the subtle body, vital energy, kundalini, is pictured as a serpent coiled at the base of the spine, at the first chakra, muladhara. As long as it stays still, it's neither good nor bad. It simply waits. The problem is never the energy itself — it's what happens when it starts to move.

Most of us learned to treat that energy as an intruder. The moment it wakes — a desire, an unexpected intensity, a heat rising without warning — the reflex is to push it back down, silence it, act like nothing happened. We treat it as an enemy rather than a messenger.

But energy prevented from rising never really settles back down quietly. It coils, compresses, freezes in the body — tension in the lower back, a knotted stomach, restless sleep, an irritability you can't quite name. The body keeps count of what the mind refuses to look at.

Have you ever noticed how an entire evening can turn sour over a tension that, in truth, had nothing to do with what was actually being said at the table?

That's exactly the territory kundalini speaks of: an energy that, prevented from circulating upward — toward creativity, presence, clarity — stays numb down below, and eventually shows up somewhere else, disguised as something entirely different.

Muladhara, the root chakra, is traditionally located at the perineum — the literal base of the trunk, the place that holds you upright. It's not a coincidence that so many traditions locate our deepest sense of safety exactly where sexual energy also lives. When that foundation feels shaky, unsafe, or shamed, everything built on top of it (confidence, creativity, the ability to stand fully in a room) inherits the same instability.

Phase II — Waxing Crescent what begins to surface

Tantra never said what the West assumed it said

The word "tantra" conjures up, in the West, imagery fairly far removed from what it actually meant in the original texts. Long before being reduced to a synonym for sexual performance, tantra named a spiritual path that rejected a foundational premise of the ascetic traditions around it: the idea that reaching the sacred required first denying the body and its desires.

Tantric traditions did the opposite. They held that desire, far from being an obstacle to consciousness, could become a doorway into it — provided it's moved through in full presence, rather than consumed in flight or buried in shame. Neither blind indulgence, nor punishing austerity. A third way, more demanding than either: staying present to what's happening inside you, even (especially) when it's intense.

When the tantric texts reached Europe in the 19th century, colonial scholars stripped almost all of this nuance away, keeping only what titillated and discarding the philosophy that gave it meaning. What survived in the Western imagination was a caricature — sex dressed up in incense — while the actual discipline, the presence, the years of training that traditional tantra demanded, quietly disappeared from the story. We inherited the fantasy, not the practice.

That might be the most useful definition we can give to integrating repressed sexual energy: not "finally allowing myself everything I used to forbid," but learning to stay with the intensity without fleeing in either direction — judgment on one side, impulsivity on the other.

When was the last time you felt a desire rise and simply stayed with it — without analyzing it or acting on it right away, just letting it be there?

Few of us know how to do that. We were taught only two reflexes: repress, or give in. Tantra offers a third, almost forgotten one: accompany.

Phase III — First Quarter the tension of choice

Stoic discipline: to direct is not to punish

Stoics have a reputation for coldness they don't entirely deserve. Epictetus, a former slave turned philosopher, didn't preach the suppression of desire — he taught prosoche, attention paid to what's within our control and what isn't. Desire isn't the problem. The problem is letting it govern without ever having chosen to follow it.

Marcus Aurelius, emperor by day, kept a ruthlessly honest evening journal about his own inner movements — desire included. Not to punish himself. To know himself. Stoic discipline never aimed at numbing what you feel; it aimed at clarity about what you feel, the necessary condition for choosing consciously afterward.

Watch what happens next time it rains without warning. You don't choose the rain — but you choose whether to storm outside without an umbrella, cursing, or simply let it fall. The Stoics called this the dichotomy of control: what depends on us, and what doesn't. A rising desire is rain. It arrives, full stop — no credit for feeling it, no fault either.

What depends on you is everything that comes after: the story you tell yourself about it, whether you feed it with shame, whether you act on it without even thinking. What if the real question was never "is this desire acceptable" — but simply "what am I choosing to do with it, right now"?

It's the exact same logic as the kundalini waiting to be directed, and the tantra that asks you to stay present rather than flee. Three paths, three vocabularies, one single gesture: don't let the energy choose for you — without ever pretending it doesn't exist.

Evening ritual · The Stoic review (adapted)

Before sleep, take three minutes. Think back to a moment in the day when a desire or an intensity moved through you. Not to judge it. Just three questions: what exactly did I feel? What did I do with that energy — flee, give in, or accompany it? And next time, what would I choose, fully consciously?

Phase IV — Waxing Gibbous what takes form

Breath, cold, movement: what all three traditions ask of the body

What's striking, once you set these three traditions side by side, is that none of them stay in the head. Kundalini is worked through breath and movement — pranayama, postures that draw energy up along the spine. Tantra moves through fine, almost meditative sensory attention brought to the body as it feels. And the Stoics, despite their austere reputation, deliberately practiced discomfort (cold, light hunger, demanding physical exercise), not to punish themselves, but to train their capacity to stay lucid under intensity.

Three different techniques, one shared intuition: the mind alone can't integrate an energy as powerful as desire. The body has to learn, literally, how to hold the charge without contracting or collapsing.

Seneca recommended cold baths not as self-punishment but as training for the nervous system — a deliberate rehearsal of staying calm while something intense happens to the body. It's the same skill a kundalini practitioner builds through breath retention, and the same skill tantra asks for through sustained eye contact or touch without immediate release. Different doors, same room: the capacity to feel a lot, all at once, without needing it to stop.

Next time a repressed desire rises, try this: instead of thinking it, breathe into it. Three slow breaths, nothing else changed. Just notice what happens in your body while you stay there, without fleeing.

Phase V — Full Moon what becomes sovereignty

What tantra, kundalini, and the Stoics finally say, together

An Indian tradition that sanctifies desire. A map of the subtle body describing an energy waiting for direction. A Greek and Roman philosophy that teaches discipline as a tool for clarity, not punishment. Three worlds that never met — and yet, the same conclusion. It's never desire itself that damages. It's the absence of conscious direction, in either direction.

Part I of this trilogy spoke of Jung, of the Tao, of the stars — a map to understand what your sexual shadow hides. This one adds an essential layer: understanding isn't enough. You also have to practice. Breathe into it. Stay present. Choose, every evening, what you do with what moves through you.

A third and final layer still waits — one that steps back even further, past psychology and practice, into the history of how desire came to be feared in the first place. That's where this trilogy will close.

Your sovereignty, then, isn't only a matter of understanding your shadow. It's a matter of what you do with it, minute by minute, breath by breath.

What if real discipline wasn't about holding yourself back — but finally learning where to direct what, one way or another, only wants to circulate?

So, next time a heat rises in you without warning — what if, before judging it or fleeing it, you took one breath to simply meet it? Not to master everything today. Just to begin directing.