The Path of Babalon

Fucking, Sucking and Becoming

Most people talking about tantra have no idea what they’re invoking.

You’ve seen it — Instagram reels of couples eye-gazing, cooing into each other’s souls while doing breathwork and whispering “sacred union.” You’ve heard the promises of deeper orgasms, conscious kink, energetic alignment.

In modern Western circles, tantra has become synonymous with better sex and heightened intimacy — spiritualized, romanticized, commodified.

But this is a safe parody of the real thing.

Because real tantra is not soft.

It’s not about connecting with your partner.

It’s not about comfort or control.

Tantra is a path of annihilation.

It is a sacred technology of disintegration — a method for unmaking what you think you are, until only the Real remains. Not the spiritual self. Not the ideal self. The raw self. The screaming self. The self that bleeds and fucks and cries out into the void because it knows, somewhere deep in the gut, that God is not “up there.”

God is here.

In the mess.

In the meat.

In the blood.

And that’s where Babalon comes in.

She’s not a symbol. Not an aesthetic. Not a pretty goddess to put on your altar.

Babalon is the Red Whore of the Abyss.

She is the archetype that splits the false self in two. The spirit of holy carnality, who demands nothing less than your entire ego. She doesn’t want your purity. She doesn’t want your light.

She wants your filth. Your shame. Your unclaimed hunger. She wants you to spill it all at her feet.

Not to degrade you — but to free you.

Babalon is Not Love. She Is Lust.

And I don’t mean lust in the pornified sense. I mean lust as a total yes to life. A divine fuck yes to the world, in all its chaos, all its agony, all its intensity.

Aleister Crowley portrayed Babalon as “the one who rides upon the Beast” and “drinks deeply of the blood of the Saints.” But that language has been misunderstood. She does not destroy you because she hates you. She destroys you because you are a lie — and only through destruction can the truth be born.

She is the initiator of tantra — not through beauty, but through chaos. She doesn’t elevate you above your humanity. She drops you into it — fully, unapologetically, ecstatically.

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Imagine this:

You’re in bed. You’re trying to have “sacred sex.” You’ve set the mood, lit the candles, done the breathing. And then — suddenly — you feel an unexpected surge of rage. Of grief. Of animal hunger. Of humiliation. Something old, something raw, rising from deep in your belly.

Most people suppress it. They go back to the breath. They try to stay “conscious.”

But that is the moment of tantra.

When the shadow emerges.

When control slips.

When the body remembers.

That’s when the temple door opens.

If you can stay with it — if you can feel the shame without managing it, if you can let the animal speak, if you can scream or shake or sob or laugh without making it “mean something” — then something breaks.

And something is born.

Tantra isn’t about controlling your experience.

It’s about losing control — and trusting that what’s on the other side of that loss is not death, but rebirth.

It’s not about becoming divine.

It’s about remembering that you already are.

And the divine is not some disembodied light. The divine has bones. It has blood. It cries out. It farts and flinches and begs and howls. It is in the tremor of the gut, in the shame that floods your chest, in the moan that escapes unbidden.

That’s tantra.

And that’s Babalon.

But here’s the part almost no one tells you —

Once you’ve seen her, once you’ve felt that current rip through you… you can’t go back.

And if you want to survive it — if you want to let it break you without shattering — you need a method.

A physical, tangible way to walk straight into that chaos without getting lost.

The Whore waits beyond this line. Bring all of yourself, or don’t come at all.