By Rob Moore

If I told you there is an important reason you want what you want, would you agree? Even if what you want seems to be almost totally about sex? What if I said any seemingly impenetrable force field of guilt is akin to a frightened bully? And that it poofs into nothingness as soon we merely decide to walk through it?

On March 8 or 9 (depending on your whereabouts), we experience a total solar eclipse in Pisces, which Eric examined from numerous angles earlier this week. Among the key themes at play is that of considering patterns and ideologies we’ve outgrown.

What comes to mind for me is a very dramatic but freeing season of eclipses many years back wherein new sexual vistas versus expired promises was strongly in focus. Dang. If only I could have seen it that clearly when I was in the thick of it — the heartache that would have been spared.

But what I wanted so deeply just seemed so unreasonable… unloving, even. And the more I doubted this inner pull, the faster the external nightmare added layers of crap. Until that fateful day when my very being said, “No. More. Crap.”

In my early adult years, I was rebound guy. All the time. Ever bouncing from one extreme sort of relationship to another. This time, I had bounded off a controlling jerk into the arms of a warm-hearted, sensitive soul. I mean, he wound up controlling me, too; it’s just he was really, really warm-hearted about it.

It was that warm heart and kind sensitivity that reigned supreme in the bedroom. Lots of cuddling. Lots of endearing hugs. Lots of smooches.

Lots of anything that wasn’t sex.

Oh, sure, sex happened, but not lots of it. And when it did, Bill either acted like a juvenile — something that was the exact opposite of arousing for me — or he solely used his hand to take care of business before rushing to see what was on TV. If not during.

Nevertheless, our relationship managed to put down some roots. We talked about everything: philosophy, religion, self-acceptance, what the neighbors were doing… everything. Well, everything except sex. And how it was basically non-existent for us.

The rest of our scenario is one you’ve no doubt witnessed many times. It may even be one you’re living yourself to some degree; a gorgeous place on the hill with breathtaking views, well respected in our careers, and an ever growing mutual friendship base. Invested enmeshment in lavish and expanding circumstances.

Before I even entered this relationship I was undergoing deep-seated changes. We’re talking core, foundational stuff. It was like one of those animated drawings that slowly and randomly draws lines here, there and yon. Only after sticking with it for a while can you begin to piece together what’s being rendered. From what I could tell, Bill did look for a great while to be part of that drawing.

Residing in a straight-laced suburb up north, I used to pick up these free weekly rags that came out of Hollywood. Kinda smutty, kinda not. But at least half the time some deep fetish fantasy scene was displayed on the cover. At first these scenes just seemed stupid to me. But the more glimpses I got into this world, the harder it became to deny that it was calling out to me.

Adding to this was a steady stream of tempting offers to engage sexually outside this relationship. Some cheating proposals, others pleas for me to leave my current situation. Young and not getting the sex I wanted, it was sickening to even think about turning down these offers. Oh well, I was sickened nonetheless. I had given my commitment to this relationship. Even then I was a man who kept my commitments. Difference back then was I often kept them only because it was ‘the right thing to do’.

But if the game of ‘right’ is to be true to ourselves and to others, then how could this be the right thing? Such questions my brain could not find a way to let in. Yet.

During these years I had added perhaps the greatest catalyst for my change: A Course in Miracles, which is the topic of Eric’s weekly Miracle Hour program. At a very deep level several key ideas were beginning to form in me:

1) Nothing means what I think it means.

2) Maybe there’s a different way of seeing what I deem ‘right’.

3) Maybe there’s a different way of seeing what I deem ‘wrong’.

4) Only what is loving is true.

But before any this could take root firmly, my partner became gravely and dramatically ill. He had to be driven to doctor appointments and rehabilitation sessions. Someone had to cook for him and tend to his needs and be strong in the face of his increasingly fearful outlook.

That someone was me. So I drove. And cooked. And tended. And held my office job. And knew to the depths of my soul that this was not a life I could live for long. Plus the pull toward that sexual freedom and exploration had only grown stronger. Thanks to that rag mag, I now knew all sorts of places in L.A. to find exactly what I sought.

Enter a pair of eclipses at this point in my saga. My experience of eclipse energy is like suddenly realizing, feeling and understanding what it’s like outside of a certain box. Sure, we have the technical choice to crawl back in but now that we see what we see, that becomes a ridiculous proposition. So our very being picks up and heads toward the only place that makes sense.

On what appeared to be a day like any other, I came home from work to make my ailing partner lunch. My insides pulsing with the desire to be in L.A., and it becoming gut-wrenchingly clear that obligation had taken the place of love here, I dropped the mayonnaise knife to the floor and then dropped to my knees right alongside it. I sobbed uncontrollably and trembled in powerlessness.

Bill was so rattled he pulled himself off the couch, came over, and asked what was wrong. Through what I’m sure was the ugliest of cries, I somehow managed to get out the words, “I’m so sorry but I have to go.”

Any guesses as to what his reply was?

“Well, sure, of course you do.”

The conversation wasn’t over quite that quickly and the rest of the afternoon involved lots more ugly cries. Plus, additional unspoken truths were yet to be revealed. Still, though, the big shift had occurred.

I’m not sure if the Moon was eclipsing the Sun that very day or not but basically — poof! — doorways opened. Changes began to take shape. That very week I was asked to accompany my boss to the main L.A. office for a day. I had an instant rapport with the staff. I expressed my interest in relocating. One conversation led to the next until I was offered a position.

The tale I bring you today is about moving past old ways of being to claim what is ours to have. Breakups are not necessarily part of that process. If you missed it, please take a look at my first article a couple of weeks back about demonstrating your desires to your partner. It’s all about getting what you need from the very one you’re with right now.

But I’d like to shed some light onto the gravity of my pull to explore the fetish world back then. Among the processes I was undergoing at the start of that relationship was accessing visual perception of answers during meditation. Inquiries about my greatest teaching and learning (a la this past week’s Miracle Hour) repeatedly indicated shadowy, even sinister-looking characters in leather, rubber and various fetish gear.

At first I thought this was merely wishful thinking. Glorified fantasizing. But as the images and characters persisted for months during my meditative states, I eventually stopped poo-pooing my perceptions — and therefore me. And therefore them. And therefore an already powerful connection.

Among the truths revealed between Bill and me later on — we’re talking years later — was that Bill began wanting to be released from our situation about halfway into it. This was like a terrible tragedy to me when I learned of it, for him and for me.

To think that we both sat there not doing what we wanted when the truth was, it was all anybody wanted. It was from here that I began putting my truth on the table for all concerned no matter what. I now saw any upheaval as irrelevant to gaining mutual freedom.

As it has turned out, the fetish folk I have encountered through the years have effectively demonstrated the idea that nothing means what I think it means. Truly, all that garb and gear is meaningless — just different shapes and colors adorning some unexpectedly wise and tenderhearted individuals. Well, unexpected before. These days, it’s all I really see.

So what’s calling out to you? Meditative visions not required. You already know. You already feel it. Maybe you’ve even tried to push it away a few times yourself. I would love it if you would take it from someone who wasted years discounting what persisted: If it persists, there is a reason. A good one. One you want to find out about. And enjoy finding out about. It doesn’t require a total solar eclipse to at last take such bold steps like these. But it just might help all the right doors swing open a bit easier.