Gypsy Chakra couldn’t believe her divine luck. While she’d sensed in her very sensitive waters that she was ready for the next stage of her training, she’d never in the name of Mother Earth intuited that she’d qualify for a place at this weekend’s intensive Womb Yoga Workshop. She was so thankful, she’d run out of pages in her Gratitude Diary; her heart was so full she’d gone up an entire cup size.

Gypsy was ready. Her crystals were packed in biodegradable sand-cloth made from salvaged tyre treads. Her mantras were inscribed on the insides of dumpster-dived eggshells using ink made from week-old coffee granules. Her chakras were aligned and her planets were the colour of moonstones. She was mindful to the point of distraction. 

When she entered the practice space on the morning of the workshop, the smell of patchouli and old sweat was like a healing bouquet of inner being-ness. Gypsy fumbled in her recycled goat-liver backpack for her new Gratitude Diary, which she’d fashioned from the regretful tears of Nepalese artisans who hand-crafted expensive nappy bags for an exclusive Sydney label. (Gypsy really wanted one; they were so amazing.) She simply had to document everything she experienced this weekend! She also had to stay mindful and always live in the very present moment. Gypsy had become quite good at multitasking.

At the front of the room, a willowy yet muscular man with flowing locks and iridescent Sanskrit tattoos was drinking a green smoothie as he performed graceful cartwheels through a flaming hula-hoop held aloft by orphans. Gypsy gasped: it was him! Truth‒Love Prana‒Asana, Divine Mindfulness Master, Spiritual Entrepreneur, and Transcendent Transcendence Teacher!

‘Please find your heart spaces, truth-finders,’ he intoned, his voice a soporific torrent of low-carb, kale-flavoured persuasion. ‘Today’s first exercise is about finding your truth. Join hands with your womb and form a peace circle with your spirit animal. Your pelvic floor is a beautiful flower. Find a partner. Tell them you love them. Touch their inner face.’

Her crystals were packed in biodegradable sand-cloth made from salvaged tyre treads. Her mantras were inscribed on the insides of dumpster-dived eggshells using ink made from week-old coffee granules. Her chakras were aligned and her planets were the colour of moonstones. She was mindful to the point of distraction. 

As her classmates split into pairs around her, Gypsy found herself alone … but not for long. ‘Let me stroke your chakras,’ intoned a familiar voice, and Gypsy spun around to find herself staring into the deep whirlpools of Truth‒Love’s eyes. ‘Your eyes!’ she whispered. ‘It’s like … they’re spinning!’

‘Yes,’ said Truth as he took her head in his manly hands and swiftly recharged her aura. ‘It happens when I meditate. Which is all the time.’

But Gypsy was no fool. ‘Truth,’ she said, ‘My inner child is telling me that something isn’t right. There’s something … something blocking the path of your light!’

Truth’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m a man, Gypsy,’ he said manfully, ‘but I’m not afraid to cry. My feelings are my touchstone. I’m as sensitive as a clitoris.’

‘Oh, Truth!’ cried Gypsy. ‘Tell me your truth!’

Truth looked momentarily confused. ‘My—oh, right. Well …’ he dropped his voice to a manly whisper. ‘I’ve been … disenfranchised.’

‘Disenfranchised?’ Gypsy searched for answers in the cycle of her menstrual moons, but could find none. She tried hard to stay mindful and feel gratitude at the same time. It was really hard. 

‘I failed,’ Truth whispered, great pools of pure kale tears sliding down the craggy rockface of his manly cheeks. ‘I wasn’t mindful enough, Gypsy. I lost my truth. I kept thinking about other things during mindfulness-meditation-gratitude, like … like my mortgage, or the suit I saw in the window of Hugo Boss the other week.’ He choked back a sob—manfully. ‘After this weekend, I’m through. Finished. I’ve been disenfranchised from teaching yoga because I haven’t … I haven’t shown enough dedication to my spiritual truth practice.’

‘No, truth!’ Gypsy shouted. Thankfully, everyone else in the class was too busy being mindful to notice the commotion. ‘I see your real truth, Truth. Your truth is love. Your love is light. Your light is truth.’ She stopped, unsure where she was going. ‘Wait—you have a womb, just like me! A man womb. You’re too good for this. They don’t know how special you really are.’

‘Gypsy, will—will you run away with me? Back to the city? We’ll find corporate jobs and shop at Bed Bath n Beyond and invest in a Nespresso machine!’

‘Oh, Truth! I’d go to the ends of my inner earth for you!’ Gypsy grasped his soulful yet rugged man-face in her hands, confused by the conflicting messages between her womb, her inner child, her spirit animal, and Truth, but sure about just one thing: she wanted to be with him.

‘NAMASTE!’ 

About the Author

Sunshine ‘Forever Summer’ Moonheart Divine is a practising mindful authoress and emotionally qualified energy-alignment ‘teacher’, although she prefers the term ‘knowledge guidance activator’. She embraces the sexuality of nature and writes erotic stories as consciously repetitive acts of self-loving empowerment. During this solar phase, she is dedicating her work to the twin cycles of her inner moons.

She can be contacted via her spiritual life coach, Carody Culver.

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