On Wellness and Exorcism: An Essay on What Makes a Session Valuable
It’s always a balancing act: the whole issue of sitting in a circle in workshop settings. It’s unbearably pedagogical when everyone takes turns, like chickens on a perch, laying an egg and having to say something (footnote: and, interestingly, how often people end up talking about their own tiredness or alertness). On the other hand, it’s also wonderfully democratic when everyone is given space to speak and listen, without shyness or overconfidence determining who gets to speak. And then there’s the admittedly always powerful symbolism of the circle, which in séances even causes tables to move as if by magic… And much like in these spiritualist circles, it seems that in workshop discussion groups, too, the greatest potential can be unlocked through precise questions.
During our lastbondage massage workshop in Karlsruhea few weeksago, a question like this arose out of necessity—and was incredibly exciting for me personally. The spirits evoked in the discussion continue to haunt me, at least.
A brief bit of background: The course explores how the mindful and artful use of ropes can enrich massage rituals and offers a repertoire of techniques, tips, inspiration, and suggestions for creating sophisticated and sensual interactions orsessions. The workshop lasted three days; on the second and third evenings, we concluded with one-and-a-half-hour sessions in which participants could try out what they had learned so far and what they had brought with them in free play with a receiving partner. The appeal and challenge of these scenes lie in their improvisation. Unlike the guided exercises, here you’re no longer led by the hand; instead, you open yourself up to the spontaneous, unpredictable here and now—to yourself and to the other person. You might go in with certain ideas and plans, but you have to surrender to the spontaneous impulses of shared improvisation. That’s when magic can happen—or you can lose your way. What, then, should you hold on to? The formulaic practices, patterns, and instructions? Simply throw in as many sensations as possible so the recipient doesn’t get bored—or to mask your own insecurity? Fall back on what’s worked well so far? Especially when interacting with someone you’ve known for a long time, behavioral routines that provide a sense of security come to mind. But what is a session really about? Why do we actually do this? After all, it shouldn’t just be about getting through the 90 minutes—as long as it’s accident-free and full of climaxes, so to speak. And somehow, you do it to experience more—or something different—than you would while just relaxing with some Netflix & chill.
On the third day, after a brief warm-up exercise, we began the day with this very question: What makes a good session for you as the recipient? What is important to you in that regard? What are you looking for when you want (or even book) a session? Thanks to the input discussed afterward, the scenarios in the second round felt much more well-rounded and substantial.
In addition to emphasizing honesty (what you truly want—and don’t want—with this unique person in this unique moment), agreeing on signals to stop or change the scene, and trusting that your partner will clearly let you know if something isn’t right anymore, I found it particularly thought-provoking to be reminded that sessions aren’t about wellness. Comfortable relaxation can be one aspect. However, the curious and courageous exploration of one’s own boundaries—or the confrontation with whatever is currently on one’s mind, whatever one wants to try out, or whatever needs an outlet—invites the realization that you don’t always have to feel “classicallyhappy”during the session. Because, to put it grandly, you want to experience something existential about being human. For example, moments of shame (which in everyday life usually carry only negative connotations) can manifest as processes in which an individual, in a state of nudity and surrender, confronts themselves in an intimate act of self-awareness, thereby becoming a stranger to themselves and yet reclaiming themselves on a deeper level. When sessions evoke ecstatic states, this intoxication generates certain forms of clairvoyance that offer the subject access to realms that are otherwise closed off—and the emerging emotions that are warmly welcomed (such as shame or anger, for which there are otherwise hardly any adequate outlets without getting oneself into trouble) can serve as a gateway to these realms. This is not always easy or risk-free, but it can be enriching and, above all, exceptionally pleasurable.
The reflections, organized around the initial question, also made it clear that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Yes, it feels nice when someone strokes the back of my knee, kneads my tense shoulder, and wraps a rope around my wrist. But that’s not really what it’s all about—just a little stroking here and a little tying up there. The terms “composition” and “dramaturgy” came up—so it’s about structured sequences. In a sense, during a session we’re telling a story that has a beginning, an end, and a arc of suspense in between. How one event leads to the next isn’t arbitrary, but follows a specific logic—even if that logic operates below the level of reason and in nonlinear, labyrinthine realms.
Writing workshops teach how to develop plot arcs as guiding threads and connecting elements that hold the story together, in order to sustain readers’ attention, anticipation, and interest over several pages. Like a fire that must be stoked slowly, the drama is gradually intensified, striving to preserve the unpredictability of the story’s progression—which, in retrospect, remains plausible and logical. Suspensearises from a keen sense of how to delay resolutions and incorporate surprises that arise from the narrative’s own logic—rather than being arbitrarily strewn throughout. This kindof storytellingtranslates wonderfully to bodywork sessions. However, to maintain the fine line between “not arbitrary” and yet “unintentional”—so that the recipient isn’t stubbornly and purposefully forced to accept something that has nothing to do with them or their needs—a key concept is “presence,” which most participants expressed as something they desired from their partner during their sessions. In any case, as the recipient, I can tell whether I’m just being given a pat on the butt—not because it arises naturally from the situation, but because my partner thinks it has something to do with kinkiness or simply wants to fulfill a very specific image instead of staying present with us.
Presence makes me feel that someone is there with me and is genuinely interested in me and my desires, wants to draw something out of me, and is exploring and investigating. When it was my turn in the circle to share what makes a session successful for me, the somewhat drastic term “exorcism” came to mind—a term that may not carry the same promising connotations for everyone as it does for me, but which captures certain aspects I’ve experienced in great sessions: a ritualistic element that leads me into a state of heightened sensitivity, with the goal of (archeologically?) unearthing something from within me—something that lies dormant and may not dare (or be allowed) to emerge in everyday life. That the giver must also take a risk to make this happen. That in the process, I might be startled by what’s inside me, or at least surprised by it, or simply allowed to shamelessly enjoy the powers within my body. Something invisible wants to be made visible. It wants to reveal itself. And the session provides a safe space where I’m allowed to do just that and am supported throughout the process—a space where it’s not“too much,” where it isn’t soothed away, exploited, therapeutically interpreted, or “healed” away.
Being seen and realizing that the other person—completely without judgment and with genuine kindness (even if it’s a little embarrassing!)—takes pleasure in seeing and recognizing this otherwise hidden part of me makes the situation downright hot. Because it creates a radical sense of closeness and intimacy. And because it generates endless spirals of resonance: it turns me on that you find it hot to see me; the heightened arousal this triggers in me, in turn, turns you on even more, which in turn triggers something in me that triggers something intense in you,…
However, this seems possible only if, during the session, you’re willing to stick with one thing for a while—something that proves to be the key to interesting reactions and further, deeper exploration—which, in turn, suggests that, as the facilitating partner, you shouldn’t cling compulsively to your own plan and ideas that are still waiting to be realized. “A lot” isn’t always “more,” and there’s nothing to be gained by firing off all your ammunition at once (although deliberately employing overkill might be worth a try). Even if there are lulls and you were just about to show off your newsuspension skills, you might just be distracting from something exciting that was unfolding inthe floorworkas you touched the leg bound inthe futomomo. So why not linger there a little longer? Instead of applying all sorts of binds, you might achieve more—and with greater virtuosity—by simply wrapping another layer of rope around that very same, already-tied leg. And another, and another…
This brings us to the next factor—one that should not be underestimated—for a stimulating session: duration. You can probably only access those truly intense moments and states offlowif you take your time and let time work in your favor. This might be comparable to a sequence in a film that consists of a single, long take, in which a special visual experience only unfolds within that duration: the image takes on a certain depth, so to speak; the viewer can immerse themselves in the image and revel in their own sensory experience, because it’s no longer about following the narrative and figuring out who the murderer is… In sessions, as the facilitator, I experience these moments when, after some time—much like peeling an onion—several layers of civilization have gradually been stripped away, until I suddenly glimpse, somewhere in my counterpart’s expression, a highly sensitive and receptive “core” (though this is not meant to be essentializing at all, because the “core” refers more to a state of openness) in which there is so much of what always has to do with mortality and birth—and which I can only describe very clumsily. Being allowed to observe such a vulnerable yet powerful expression is comparable to a feeling that once moved my spirit during a trip to Israel after a long hike through the Negev Desert, when I suddenly arrived at a large crater and then, overwhelmed, humbled, and awestruck, with a feeling of light, pleasurable shudder or “delightful horrors,” simplylooked into the crater and had to endure the fact that this crater was now there, in all its ineffable presence that transcends thought.
When interacting with another person during a session, a sense of profound responsibility and highly sensitive intimacy is added—a feeling that stems from the trust that all participants must have brought to the situation for it to have reached the point where such a moment of the sublime arises.
Ever since we started sharing the circle, I’ve been approaching sessions differently. Because everything becomes more intense when I remind myself that, beyond the pure joy of creativity and inventiveness that the sessions require—and their moments of fun with alternative forms of communication—it is above all those subtle insights and sublime spaces of wonder that constitute the decisive appeal of playing with others in the first place. Above all, however, the practices learned in the workshops are not an end in themselves or a means of self-optimization, but rather tools for the pursuit of insight and for encountering the other in an empathetic sense.
