Twelfth Night & The Tantric Theatre of Awakening

A Love Letter to The Madness of the Mask

I’ve always loved theatre. Getting in that school bus from Farnham up to London to go and see theatre in The Garrick on Leicester Square, I can remember it all now.

The way that watching Twelfth Night as a young lad shattered something in me. It broke me open with its madness, its mischief, its masks… and whispered: “Life is not what it seems.”

That was just the beginning.

Years later, in 2012, I walked into another kind of theatre. No red curtains this time. No Shakespeare. Just a room full of wide-eyed seekers, bathed in sage smoke and trying to open their third eyes without losing their first two.

It was the beginning of what I now call: The Tantric Theatre of Awakening.

Let me tell you something. If you think Shakespeare was dramatic, you’ve never been in a room full of spiritual facilitators trying to out-cry each other in a trauma-release circle.

There’s something wildly beautiful and utterly ridiculous about it. And I mean that with love.

I’ve witnessed more Oscar-worthy performances at “conscious community” gatherings than in the West End. I’ve seen Malvolio’s yellow stockings reincarnated as neon yoga pants. I’ve seen Viola’s hidden identity echoed in the way so many of us hide behind our “awakened” personas, terrified that someone might see who we really are beneath the carefully curated light language and cacao-fuelled charisma.

But here’s the thing:

Beneath all the masks—the spiritual egos, the shadow integration monologues, the sacred-sensual-soulmate archetype projections—there is something true. Something ancient. Something holy.

Just like in Twelfth Night, where the comedy descends into chaos before revealing the rawest truths of love and identity… the spiritual path will always strip you bare eventually.

And not in the sexy tantric puja way.

Your heart will be dragged centre stage.

Your illusions will drop off.

And if you’re lucky—if you stay long enough, breathe deep enough, and stop trying to win the award for “most healed person in the room”—you’ll meet the real you.

The one that doesn’t perform.

The one that doesn’t need a script.

The one that remembers who you were before the world told you who to be.

This, to me, is the essence of a Heart Initiation.

Not just another act in the play, but a reckoning. A curtain-call with your soul. A standing ovation for the parts of yourself you’ve tried to hide, silence, or over-spiritualise.

So let this be a love letter…

To Shakespeare.

To the sacred fools.

To the heartbroken healers.

To the ones who cry in workshops and dance like nobody’s projecting.

To the chaos that leads to clarity.

To the beautiful, brutal, tantric theatre of becoming real.

Because at the end of the day—

We’re all just souls walking towards truth.

And the house lights never really go out.

With love from the wings,

SJ