DESIRE

workshop in English

Over the years, desire has evolved beyond duality—yes, it’s a play of words. In the esoteric world, there is a notion that everything is one beyond the duality of polarity. And everything is just vibrations, mass and energy, they say, you know. But in my case, it’s very pragmatic, in the sense that no exercises will be done with just two people. Instead, we always work in trios and quadruples, solo by ourselves or together with the entire group. We will actively avoid the simple polarities of dominant/submissive, leader/follower, etc., because they are simply already explored. But there is a deeper reason: growing up in today’s society, most things get polarised, into black or white, left-wing or right-wing, masculine or feminine. Similarly, many concepts work by comparison; something is hot because something else is cold, and someone wins because another loses.

The esoteric eros is different because it embraces the ever-changing complexity of things and attempts to play with them in a win-win situation. Expect cognitive dissonance instead of straightforward truths because that is how the eros works—it’s a messy maze of desire filled with opportunities to explore. How do we know what to pursue intimately with others, and what should remain a private feverish daydream? It all comes down to being safe, brave, and vulnerable enough to share it. It’s not about you and the love of your life, happily married forever after, as promised in the fairytale of duality. Instead, it’s about being adopted into an ensemble of elegance and absurdity, where your forbidden desires appear petite and playful—BUT without turning into a circus or joking away the seriousness of the situation—this is the balancing act I offer you. And I do it because your desire deserves it.

Desires, the most nightly deviant ones, are often precisely the same things we rebel against during the day. Yes and no is closer to each other than feeling nothing. This is why we need contained rituals and conscious and consensual play parties. I believe that desire is like a seed buried deep in the subconscious; while it grows, it shapes our creativity and eros. If desire remains repressed, it will manifest itself in the most unexpected places. That’s why most people feel safer in a sadomasochistic dungeon than in a nightclub or even at the office.

Playing with desire borrows a lot of modalities from theatre, like mask possession, character creation, and ritualized scenes. And it teaches how one person’s desires can co-exist and even enhance the desires of another or a group of others in a sort of wordless negotiation. Play parties are often the arena of these fantasies, birthing endless, dream-like explorations into experiences that would be unimaginable in everyday life. The following morning, everything is slow; it’s like the world is readjusting itself back to normal again while the tribe is celebrating and integrating their wounds and victories, knowing that the results will revibrate far into the outside world.

Exploring desire is a layered process. When one layer peels away, another one appears. And there is an opportunity to deconstruct almost anything, like sexual orientation, gender, fetishes and kinks. It’s an empowering process of rediscovering oneself. However, desires are rarely a solo activity; if they were, they are likely to have been explored already. So exploring desire is a group process through interactions and witnessing. Seeing each other’s desires validates them, giving them life, and that makes us all both braver and safer because the shadows are out in the open.

Reading list:

Celebrating The Unknown

Transforming Fantasies Into Rituals

The Importance Of Rituals

Serving And Voyeurism

Playing With Persona

Being Fetish

Dedication

The Little Book Of Rituals

Packing list:

– a wearable symbol of being the top/master/queen of motherfucking everything—like a grandmother’s diamond tiara, Tom-of-Finland leather pants, or your Masonic purple silk robe

– a wearable symbol of being the bottom/servant/slave—maybe your dog’s collar, most trashy lingerie, or a royal butler’s suit

– something that transforms your face—like a carnival papier mache mask, home-knitted pink balaclava, or shiny black latex hood

– a handheld mirror (or other reflective surface)—for perceiving yourself as another

– a washing kit—containing a water container, washing cloth, soap and towel

– an item of consequence—like a headmistress’s whip, a headmaster’s cane, or a heavy wooden spoon

– a delicate item worthy of a (human) altar—something to balance that may not be broken

– something you love to be fed—plus a golden tray, a vintage dish or a dirty dog bowl for serving it

– an item of fetisch—forbidden and taboo but simultaneously exciting and liberating—an item of divine power

– three sets of basic black clothing—to be anonymous

Andy Buru's present work aims to create magical rooms where people can rest, heal and grow in their relationships to surrender, power and desire. He moves between art and therapy. In the arts, Andy ventures for the maximum risk he can afford in the present to challenge the status quo. Therapy is the opposite by being the safest possible road leading to things known to restore balance and goodness. Both require a special kind of bravery. During Andy's twenty years of exploring sadomasochism, he has been a leather master, an owned slave, a hedonist, a purist magician, and a princess slut.

The consent text about Jenga

Participating in these group processes is intimate and vulnerable. It is always a balancing act between freedom and responsibility—or selfishness and self-sacrifice—or safety and bravery. Finding oneself in either extreme can result in paralyzing fear or traumatizing chaos. Dancing on this slackline of mystery is the fundamental skill we practice together.

In a way, we are playing a game of Jenga[1], where blocks balance in an intricate pattern—some are explicit rules, others are cultural norms, yet some are contradictory commandments. Shapes and forms differ between cultures and communities. Eastern Europe is very different from Scandinavia, which is again different from Japan, Brazil, New York City, and Berlin, which also differ widely from each other. There is no exact blueprint but a continuously woven social web of interactions. Yet, if enough blocks are compromised, the play will collapse, and people may be hurt.

For many of us, these human dances of life are evident and almost second nature. However, sometimes things, people, and even worlds fall out of balance and must gently (or violently)—but always lovingly— be guided back. Below are seven almost universal freedoms and responsibilities to help you navigate these intimate and vulnerable spaces.

1. Settle the score before you leave

To play, one must be vulnerable. To be vulnerable, one must trust. To trust, one must know that someone will help ‘settle the score’ when hardship happens—that you are not alone. Preferably all the persons involved in whatever happened. Listening, assuming accountability, and saying I’m sorry often go a long way. Sometimes more is needed, but at least by being there, you enable this process. Leaving without settling the score means unfinished business and long-term damage to the social web we are trying to weave.

2. Don’t kiss and tell 

Also, to be vulnerable, one must trust that what I share with you—in words and actions—remains safe with you. You can always talk about your own experiences, what happened to you, and what you felt. But leave everyone else involved anonymous by not mentioning their names and being thoughtful with what details you reveal about them. To gain the trust of others, demonstrate that you don’t kiss and tell when retelling your grandiose adventures of the past, just as you won’t kiss and tell in the future when you speak about the plays of today.

3. Don’t cockblock vulnerability 

Similarly, to be vulnerable, one must trust that vulnerability is met with respect. When uncomfortable with others’ vulnerability, one often tries to make the vulnerable moments disappear by arguing for solutions, diverting attention to silly jokes, playing the devil’s advocate or playing the overprotective saviour. If someone can express their vulnerability in a storm of intense emotions, watch them in awe—you likely have something to learn from them. You enable others’ vulnerability by being vulnerable yourself; you cockblock vulnerability by playing the tough guy who doesn’t give a shit about anything.

4. Welcome all your emotions

When I demonstrate a particular exercise, there will be an emotional, non-verbal dialogue with my assistant. Don’t try to copy our experience. Instead, have your own journey. For me, a group process is perfect when someone is laughing, another is crying, a third is moaning, a fourth is confused, and so on. Know that all parts of you are welcome.

5. No fucking charity

You’ll pair up in exercises, join trios and quadruplets, and do group rituals. Even if you promised someone beforehand, and it doesn’t feel right in the moment, listen to the latter. Don’t do things out of charity. I take pride in trying to provide structures where it’s easy to opt out without creating an awkward situation for anyone.

6. Play inside the play, not outside

During our group processes, we have moments inside and outside of play. And we have rituals, signs, and language to move in and out. Some examples are entering a circle to indicate our willingness to play, placing our arms across the chest for a break, kneeling as a sign of submission, and establishing eye contact before body contact. The exact semantics may change, but you must learn to distinguish and respect when play is happening and not. Inside, you may play with power, be seduced by it, revel in it, or rebel against it. Outside play, avoid being a macho or mothering dominant, as well as a helpless submissive or a assholish trickster.

7. Knowing, not knowing

I’m not your Guru Buru, nor your mommy or daddy. If anything I say doesn’t make sense to you, don’t do it. Similarly, the group processes are appreciated because they focus on the philosophical, emotional, or spiritual aspects of the eros, not detailed teaching of techniques. Suppose a specific skill is foreign to you (like face slapping, choking, tying a rope around the neck, pushing trigger points in the diaphragm, guiding the spine through twisting the neck, etc.); it is your responsibility to acknowledge this. Recognising the unknown can be tricky, but it’s an essential meta-skill to manage risk-taking in your play. However, the exact technique is often not the main point, so you can ask me for an alternative or simply do your own thing. Sometimes, I’ll also have time to guide you step-by-step. You can also ask before attending if you are worried that your previous experience isn’t enough.

If this text seems complicated to you, you likely have a lot to learn from sharing intimate and vulnerable experiences in a group. Please notify the organizers if this is the case so I can keep an extra eye on you. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to ask beforehand or during the group process itself. If you have a lot of previous experience or a more senior position in the group, I will have higher expectations of you to act as a role model. If you are new and insecure, you’ll likely have more leeway to learn our culture. If you are deemed unable or unwilling to comply, you will likely be asked to adjust your behaviour or leave the group process entirely. 

[1] Jenga is a kids’ game where players take turns removing one block at a time from a tower constructed of 54 blocks. Each block removed is then placed on top of the tower, creating a progressively more unstable structure. The game ends when the tower falls over.