Savoring Athens, Listening for the Mountains

A sacred pause between city light and ancient trail: on presence, pleasure, and following the call of myth

Athens is humming in high spring light, and I find myself slowing down to savor it all. 

The city is waking up from the sleepy reverent Easter weekend. And my time here is shifting. 

The cracked marble steps warmed by the sun, the wild fig trees spilling their scent into alleyways, Lilly’s steady breath beside me as we wind through Kolonaki at dawn. 

I’m not leaving just yet. But I can feel the mountains calling, softly, like a myth remembered in a dream. 

And so I walk a little slower. 

Sip my coffee with both hands. 

Let my eyes linger longer on the Acropolis as I pass. 

This city has held me, healed me, tested me, and now, it invites me to love it even more deeply, precisely because our time together is shifting. 

There’s something tantric about this kind of presence. Not grasping, not rushing. Just letting the moment unfurl, breath by breath, petal by petal. 

I’m drinking in Athens with my whole body lately. The glint of humidity and sea salt in the air. The quiet elegance of older women in silk skirts walking home from the market. The rhythm of Pilates, the clang of kettlebells, the welcome of a returning client. They’ve come for a remembering. A reconnection. A soft exhale back into themselves. 

Lately, everything feels   heightened. Not dramatic, just lit from within. 

The way the light lands on the marbled ruins, the way my dog looks at me when the sun catches her eyes, the way my body knows how many weeks of walks we have left here. 

Presence, it seems, is not passive. It’s a wild, erotic devotion to what is. To what pulses beneath the surface. To what rises when we stop running and start feeling. 

My time here has been healing and soothing to my nervous system. Parts of my body and my spirit remember this place, remember the sanctuaries in the hills of the Acropolis, climbing the hills and rocks in the city there are corners I seem to know. Not from anything in this waking life 

I walk the same route through Kolonaki every morning. Past the bakery where I don’t eat anything but still inhale the cinnamon yeast and sugar scent deeply. 

Past the hidden church whose doors are always open. Past the man at the kiosk who nods, silently, like we’re part of each other’s rituals. 

Some days I stop and sit. I let the marble warm my thighs. I let myself feel the thrum of the city’s sensual pulse. Athens doesn’t need to seduce me. She already has. 

Sometimes, I pause to look at the women of Athens. The ones who walk slowly, who take time with their appearance, who seem to carry centuries of story in the curve of their spine. 

I wonder who their grandmothers were. I wonder what Aphrodite or Demeter might look like, walking in modern clothes, buying flowers or cucumbers from the street vendors. 

This city is drenched in goddess energy, even when she's loud, impatient, chaotic. Even with the taxis screeching brakes though each stoplight. Even then. Maybe especially then. 

And still, I feel the pulse of what’s next. 

Soon, I’ll be answering the call of stone and silence. Not just any mountain, but one laced with ancient myth. The mountain where Chiron, the Wounded Healer, once lived and taught. 

His cave still rests just beyond the village—a real place, not just a symbol. 

It is said he trained heroes there, guided them not only with skill but with deep wisdom drawn from his own pain. 

The mountain doesn’t feel like a place I chose. It feels like a place that remembers me. 

And I go not for quiet alone, but for healing. For initiation. For the kind of remembering that happens when the earth meets your bare feet and says, "You’re ready now." It’s as if my time in Athens has prepared me. 

My days will stretch wide. Full of hikes to sacred sites, mornings writing beneath trees, and nights thick with stars and stillness. 

The breath of Artemis. The hum of the land beneath my feet. 

The solitude that deepens me. This isn’t an escape. It’s an honoring. A shift from city magic to mythic remembering. 

There are places in Greece where the veil is thin, where the stones still whisper, where the feminine speaks through caves and wind and the curve of pine-covered hills. This is one of them. 

I think of Hecate here—goddess of the crossroads, keeper of keys, the one who walks you into the underworld with firelight and fierce love. I’ve felt her presence in dreams, in those threshold moments between waking and sleep. 

She doesn’t speak in words. She moves through sensation, intuition, symbols. I have been dreaming of keys, of alligators and of caves. The mountains feel like her domain. Wild. Initiatory. Unapologetically sacred. 

I go to listen. To write. To remember. To rest. 

I named this company Mountain Tantra from my time in the Rocky Mountains. Long hikes at sunrise, the haunting of elk during the mating season. Long summer nights and short winter days. And now, we are ready for the mountains of Greece. 

I think often of the women who came before me. The priestesses. The wanderers. The wise women who left the safety of the city to follow the call of the wild feminine. I feel them walking with me sometimes. Not in ghostly form, but as a vibration. As a knowing. As a drumbeat that rises from the earth and meets the rhythm of my steps. I go where they went. Not to be them, but to become more of myself. 

And yet, I’m still here. Still grounded. Still offering what I offer best. 

A space to return to your body, to your breath, to your pleasure, to your power. 

If you’ve been feeling the pull to work with me, this is a potent moment. There’s something rare and electric in the in-between. 

My hands feel even more attuned lately. My sessions deeper, slower, truer. 

The path I’m walking now isn’t linear. It’s spiral-shaped—full of returns and reckonings. 

Of deep knowing and raw tenderness. I’m not only meeting Hecate at the crossroads. I’m also meeting Chiron—the Wounded Healer, the teacher who taught others to heal while carrying his own ache. 

There’s a wound I’ve carried that doesn’t cry out for fixing, but for reverence. It lives in my body, in the spaces between sessions, in the ache of longing and the fire of presence. 

And I’m beginning to understand that part of my power comes not in spite of that wound—but because of it. 

Chiron reminds me that teaching, touch, and transformation can come from wholeness and from pain. The mountain doesn’t ask me to be perfect. It asks me to be real. To bring my ache and my ecstasy. 

To let the land meet all of me. Maybe that’s what makes this work sacred. 

Not that we’re always healed. But that we show up willing to walk with our wounds, as medicine women, as priestesses, as lovers of truth. 

I believe in the sacredness of this work. I believe in the transmission that happens when we meet in presence, when one human says to another: you are safe to feel again. You are worthy of slowness. Of sensation. Of pleasure that does not need to be earned. Whether you are new to this path or seasoned in your bodywork journey, there is something for you here. 

Whether you’re visiting Athens, living here, or passing through, this is a beautiful time to book. I have openings before I leave for my next chapter in Mid May 

For tantra massage, private mentorship, or simply to reconnect with your own sacred rhythm, you can reach me at megan@mountain-tantra.com. 

Sometimes, when I sit in stillness after a session, I feel the pulse of this city through my palms. I feel her stories. Her longing. Her fierce softness. I wonder if cities remember us the way we remember them. I wonder if Athens, in her own way, is also savoring me. 

So for now, I savor. I walk this city like a lover tracing the outline of a body they know they’ll miss. I let the light soak into my skin. I breathe it all in. The chaos, the beauty, the strange tenderness of a place that never stops moving.

 And I listen. Not for the ending. But for the invitation within the in-between. 

To pause. To feel. 

To remember that every chapter, every city, every step on the path is sacred. 

And to say yes to it all.

The Orgasm Gap: Reclaiming Pleasure as a Spiritual Practice

The Orgasm Gap: Reclaiming Pleasure as a Spiritual Practice
Mar 25

You know that moment, when you’re having sex and everything looks fine on the outside... but inside, you’re already gone?

Your smile is polite. Your breath is shallow. Your body is tense.
You might even make a little noise because that’s what you’ve been taught to do.
But your body? She’s quiet.
Not because she can’t speak, but because she’s learned not to.

It feels nice. Your partner is doing all the right things. But you’re detached.

This is how the orgasm gap lives in us.
Not just in statistics, but in habits. In silence. In the slow forgetting of our own wild.

We live in a world where women's pleasure is still treated like dessert.
Nice to have, but not essential. We’re taught to perform sex, not feel it. To be beautiful, desirable, responsive… but not wildly, unapologetically orgasmic.

And while wellness culture approaches the subject with a masculine fixing mindset, selling us solutions like products, apps, and aphrodisiacs, few are asking the deeper question:

What if orgasm isn’t something to achieve,
but something to remember?

The Orgasm Gap Is Real, But Not Inevitable

You may have heard the term before: the orgasm gap refers to the consistent disparity in orgasm frequency between men and women, especially in heterosexual encounters.

In one large-scale study:

• 95% of heterosexual men reported “usually or always” climaxing during sex

• But for heterosexual women, 50% are inorgasmic—meaning they do not experience orgasm at all

• Of the remaining 50%, only half are reliably orgasmic. The rest may or may not climax, depending on the situation

• Lesbian women? 89%. A striking clue that presence, communication, and understanding the female body matter far more than we’ve been taught

“We’ve normalized women not orgasming in partnered sex,” says Dr. Laurie Mintz, sex therapist and author of Becoming Cliterate.
“We don’t question it. But we should, because women’s pleasure is not inherently elusive. It’s simply been neglected.”

Disconnection, Not Dysfunction

Let’s be clear: this isn’t about broken bodies.
This is about a system that never taught women—or men—how women’s pleasure works.

Only in recent decades has the clitoris been properly studied in medical literature. Even now, most sex education fails to teach young people that the clitoris has over 8,000 nerve endings, is the center of female sexual pleasure, and exists solely for that purpose.

In one recent survey:

• Over 70% of women admitted to faking orgasms

• Nearly half said they felt “rushed” or pressured to climax quickly

• And only 1 in 4 felt fully attuned to their own erotic needs

These aren’t statistics about performance.
They’re stories about disconnection.

Orgasm as a Spiritual Portal

In Tantra, orgasm is not a finish line. It’s a gateway.
It’s a softening into the body. A sacred undoing of the places we’ve learned to brace, silence, or disappear ourselves.

True orgasm—deep, rippling, holy—requires safety, trust, and time.
It isn’t coaxed with pressure and friction. It blooms in presence.

“Most women’s bodies need 20 to 40 minutes to fully awaken to arousal,” says somatic sexologist and trauma educator Kimberly Ann Johnson.
“But most sex ends before a woman has even settled into her own breath.”

This is why your orgasm may feel elusive when your body is rushing, when your mind is scanning, when your nervous system is on alert.
It’s not because you’re broken.
It’s because your body is wise.

Orgasm isn’t a goal. It’s a response.
To love. To attunement. To the sacredness of being fully met.

And yet… if orgasm is a response, what are we responding to?

Is it friction, pressure, urgency?
Or is it depth, slowness, safety, surrender?

To answer that, we need to go deeper than the statistics.
We need to explore the landscapes of the body that most of us were never taught to map.
Because beyond the orgasm gap, beyond the scripts we’ve inherited, there are hidden temples of pleasure—mystical, measurable, and wildly under-explored.

The G-Spot and Cervical Orgasm: Myth, Mystery, and Measurable Magic

What Science Says About the G-Spot

The G-spot, named (controversially) after German gynecologist Ernst Gräfenberg, has been both celebrated and dismissed in medical literature. Some researchers argue it's a distinct structure. Others say it’s not a “spot” at all, but rather an internal extension of the clitoral complex.

Key findings:

• A 2012 study using ultrasound imaging confirmed a thicker urethrovaginal space in women who report vaginal orgasms, supporting the G-spot’s anatomical reality for some

• The G-spot isn’t a separate organ—it’s thought to be a network of erectile tissue, including parts of the clitoris, urethra, and vaginal wall

• Not every woman experiences G-spot pleasure the same way—and lack of sensation is not dysfunction. It’s simply variation

“The so-called G-spot is real, but it's not a magic button. It’s part of a broader arousal system,” says Dr. Helen O'Connell, the first surgeon to map the full internal structure of the clitoris in 2005.

This is huge: the internal clitoris is shaped like a wishbone, with legs (crura) and bulbs that wrap around the vaginal canal—so G-spot stimulation may actually be accessing the deep clitoral network.

In Tantric Practice:

The G-spot is considered a gateway of emotional release. Stimulating it can unlock weeping, shaking, laughter—energetic clearing stored in the pelvic bowl. Some even refer to it as the "sacred spring" because of its connection to female ejaculation and raw vulnerability.

Cervical Orgasm: The Holy Grail or Deep Nervous System Trust?

Now this is where the mystical meets the anatomical.

The cervix is the lower part of the uterus, and it’s rich with nerve endings—especially the pelvic, hypogastric, and vagus nerves. It’s one of the few places in the body that bypasses the spinal cord and connects directly to the brainstem via the vagus nerve—the same nerve involved in trauma healing, bonding, and deep parasympathetic (rest-and-digest) states.

What research says:

• The vagus nerve connection is unique to the cervix and uterus, allowing for a kind of non-linear, full-body orgasm that can happen even in women with spinal cord injuries

• Some studies suggest cervical stimulation can trigger oxytocin release, facilitating bonding, love, and even altered states of consciousness

• Cervical orgasms are less common—not because they’re rare, but because the cervix is often guarded, especially if there’s a history of trauma, tension, or emotional armoring

“The cervix is like a spiritual gatekeeper. It asks us to slow down, open, and surrender—not to chase pleasure, but to allow it,” writes somatic sexologist and author Michaela Boehm.

Tantric View:

In Tantra, the cervix is the yoni’s third gate—the innermost temple.

• Clitoral orgasm = fire

• G-spot orgasm = water

• Cervical orgasm = space or ether

Cervical orgasms are often associated with visions, emotional release, and spontaneous kriyas (body tremors or energy movements). They're less about contraction and more about expansion—what many describe as “being made love to by the universe.”

Most women were never taught that these portals even existed—let alone how to access them.
And perhaps even more radically, we were never taught that our erotic power is a source of spiritual, emotional, and personal sovereignty.

That’s why reclaiming orgasm isn’t about performance.
It’s about coming home.

The Feminist Power of Coming Home

When a woman begins to experience her orgasm as a form of self-return, everything shifts.

She stops performing and starts feeling.
She replaces anxiety with curiosity.
She unhooks her worth from someone else’s pleasure and roots it in her own breath, sound, and internal rhythm.

“Female pleasure is political,” says activist and author adrienne maree brown.
“It’s one of the most subversive acts to prioritize your joy in a culture that profits off your self-denial.”

And the ripple effect is measurable.
Women who report regular, connected orgasms also report:

• Greater confidence in public speaking and leadership

• Lower rates of anxiety and depression

• Improved sleep, immune function, and hormonal balance

• Higher levels of self-trust and intuitive clarity

This is not luxury.
This is embodied power.

How to Begin the Return

If you’ve been faking, freezing, or just feeling numb—start with compassion.
Your body is not behind. Your pleasure is not a problem to solve.

Start here:

• Create a safe, unhurried space for daily pleasure—no goal, no performance

• Breathe deeply, making sound on your exhale to signal safety to your body

• Rock your hips

• Let your hands explore without expectation

• Ask: “What wants to be felt right now?”

Notice where you grip. Where you go silent. Where you stop breathing. These are not failures—they are maps.

And if you’re ready to explore orgasm not just as release, but as spiritual technology, welcome to the path of sacred sensuality.

Because your orgasm is not just about sex.
It’s about sovereignty.
And coming home to your full, radiant, unapologetic self.

Want support in unlocking your full erotic expression?
I offer private sessions, body-based healing, and immersive retreats designed for women who are ready to reclaim their pleasure as power.
https://calendar.app.google/MFwYBtMPE1wJtpkN9