The Erotic Baseline of Existence (In Public)

Or How to Be a Lighthouse with Wet Sand Between Your Thighs

This topic is blazing… not just because of the erotic charge, but because it touches on a subtle and rarely articulated intersection: where expanded states of consciousness meet the very public choreography of “being appropriate.”

Let’s unwrap this like silk around your wrist:

There’s something no one tells you when you begin consciousness work.

They speak of clarity, of expanded awareness, of light codes and higher timelines. They forget to mention what happens when your nervous system starts humming like a tuning fork struck by the divine. They don’t warn you that being more alive… truly, intimately, viscerally alive can feel like you’re constantly turned on. That arousal, the erotic pulse, may become your new baseline.

Not because you’re fantasizing.

Not because someone touched you.

But because Life did.

And Life, in her rawest form, is wildly sensual.

There’s a moment, in deep consciousness work, when the body stops making a distinction between spiritual and sexual. Sensation becomes sacred. Breath, a love letter. Presence, an aphrodisiac. You’re not turned on in the conventional sense… you are the turn-on. A walking frequency of aliveness so high it trembles through the fascia, drips into your underwear, and curls your toes in the grocery aisle.

This is the erotic baseline.

It’s not performative. It’s not even about sex. It’s the nervous system beginning to hum at higher frequency, interpreting clarity, presence, and cosmic intimacy the only way it knows how: arousal. Tremors. Stretches. Ripples under the skin. Pleasure as a side effect of consciousness.

And then comes the friction:
You’re on a public beach.
Children. Ice cream. Men in swim trunks.
And your body is basically doing kundalini yoga on its own.

The question becomes:
How do I let life move through me without alarming the bystanders?

I WAS on the beach.

Sun soaking my skin.

Salt in my hair.

And my body… was doing things.

Little inner tremors. Subtle micro-contractions running along my thighs and up my spine like whispered kisses. That feeling of stretching not just muscle but energy. Not to pose. Not to perform. Just because sensation needed space.

I felt wet.

I felt sacred.

And I felt the eyes of the world asking me to behave.

Because this isn’t about suppression it’s about transmission. Can I still radiate my frequency without needing to act it out? Can I enjoy my inner micro-orgasms while sipping my coconut water and making casual eye contact with strangers?

This is advanced practice.
It’s sacred containment.
It’s stealth worship.

And it’s deeply feminine in nature this art of holding so much inside, not to hide, but to refine. To choose when to open, and how. Not as a reaction to external cues, but as an act of sovereignty.

I, on that beach, was not resisting my aliveness.
I was consecrating it. (Love that word😉)
I was calibrating the body to trust itself in a world not built for ecstatic states.

And maybe that’s part of our work:
To make those states not only possible in public, but natural.
To allow pleasure, not as performance, but as a pulse of divinity moving through form.

—

The erotic baseline isn’t performance. It’s presence.

In the early stages of awakening, pleasure is often compartmentalized. There’s sex (that goes there) and there’s meditation (which goes here), and they rarely shake hands in public.

But when you raise your frequency when you start holding deeper states of awareness, it’s the body that has to adapt. And it does so through arousal, because that’s the language it knows for “high vibration incoming.” It stretches, it pulses, it trembles. It wants to open, writhe, express.

So what happens when your inner temple activates…

…in line at the pharmacy?

…at your kid’s school drop-off?

…or yes, half-naked on a family beach?

You start to train a new skill:

Energetic containment without contraction.

—

Not suppression. Containment.

This is not about shutting it down.

This is about becoming a chalice.

To hold the current. To feel it fully.

To move it, not leak it.

To let your aliveness kiss the air around you…

…without needing to make a scene.

It’s advanced spiritual embodiment.

It’s erotic sovereignty.

It’s devotion in a bikini.

—

Science would call this increased vagal tone or expanded parasympathetic capacity. When the nervous system is regulated and open, it receives more energy. You literally vibrate higher. And pleasure, as a state, rides the same waves as presence.

But language limps behind lived experience.

All I knew was: my hips wanted to move.

My breath deepened without warning.

And the stretch that began in my spine felt like an offering.

—

What if this is part of our work?

To normalize sacred arousal.

To let pleasure be seen, not as provocation, but as proof of life.

I didn’t need to do anything with it.

I just needed to stop judging the fact that it was happening.

The beach didn’t explode.

No one drowned in my radiance.

But I expanded.

And maybe, somewhere between the sunscreen and the sun worship, I turned that sand into holy ground.

P.S. To all the ones learning to walk with the high states turned on… I see you. I feel you. I am you.