Tuesday, June 27, 2006


The average temperature this time of year is 75F. Right now it is 100F. Gone are the crisp mornings. Gone are the balmy evenings levened by cool ocean breezes. I love the sun on my skin. Its like love and kisses and joy. Like slipping between fresh sheets, or the orgasmic perfectly ripe nectarine I savoured this afternoon, or the scent of jasmine.

I love the sun. I really do, but too much of it does me in. Pink nose, freckles, sunburn despite sunscreen and wide-brimmed sunhats. And then there is the heat. I'm wilting. I moved here because of the moderate climate. Because I love rain and mist and cool temperatures as much as I love the sun.
(c) Kayar Silkenvoice
So the heat is making me cranky, and it isn't helping that this unusual heat has affected the cognitive capacities of everyone around me. My co-workers, even my boss, are incapable of thinking in this heat, so they are relying on me to do it for them. So I put in 11 hours today and I go home to my nice hot 80F home (who has air conditioning in their houses in Oregon?!), take a cool shower, read a bit, answer emails, unwind. Have a spat with M in SF. Ok, get that resolved, think about heading for bed, and J in Sweden asks for help on a coding problem. I warned him I was hot and tired.

Simple, I told him, do 'x'.
He says he cannot see the directory to do 'x' in.
I told him his permissions should be sufficient, just try doing 'x' with the full pathname. Really.
He asked, Why would that work if I can't see that I have access? (!@!$@#$ DUH)
What the fuck 'why'! I yelled at him. You've been a programmer for 20+ years. Either do the fuck what I said, or solve your own problem.
So he did. And it worked. (Of course *growl*)
He laughed sheepishly, which flooded me with an irritable urge to throttle him.
I told him I wanted to kill him.
He said, No, you don't.
I said, Yes I do. I really want to kill you. (Where is my fucking basket-hilt falchion??)
And he laughed. Again.
No, you don't, he said, you want to hug me, instead.
And I said, Its kill you, or fuck you until you beg for mercy. You choose which. And be careful what you wish for.
He said, I'd never beg for mercy.
And I answered, Like I said. One way or another, you are dead ;)

Afterwards, I told M (in SF) that programmers sometimes make me crazy because they are such literalists.
His response?
"I think that's a token statement."

Ok, so I'm coder enough that got a laugh out of me, but I still growled.


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Friday, June 23, 2006

Process vs Result Orientation & Pleasure

Lizard-Tree (c) Kayar Silkenvoice
"Invest in the “process” rather than the product. Process living neutralizes the depleting and impoverishing effects of chronically living in anticipation. Even when impossible goals occasionally are reached, satisfactions derived from them are invariably disappointing unless the process has given ample satisfaction along the way."--Theodore Rubin

Being process-oriented rather than product/results-oriented means that I get my enjoyment from being in the moment, from the 'doing'. I've become more and more process-oriented as I grow older, and I noticed a live-in-the-moment paradigm shift after so many loved-ones died suddenly and in such rapid succession. So many people living for tomorrow, living for the day they could quit their job or start their own business or stay home with their children or go on vacation or retire and finally do what they wanted... so many people waiting for a result or product before they could finally be happy and enjoy living... so sad when they put off living today in hopes they would live tomorrow... and then tomorrow never came. It was a powerful 'lesson'. It still shapes me.

I've become more focussed on doing what I am doing now very well, and taking enjoyment in it--which is why doing things like working for the SoCal office made me so nuts. I was unable to perform to my standards and I was rarely able to find enjoyment in what I was doing. Thus, I remind myself a bit of my friend T.I., a first-generation American of Japanese descent. She is never content for the end result of anything she does to be artful or perfect...the entire process has to be. I loved to watch her cook, paint, knit, even brush her hair. Everything she did was graceful and contemplative and the focus was on incremental improvement through repetition. But, T.I. does not like being rushed. She is capable of spontaneity so long as she is within her comfort zone. And she can be difficult to know and understand because her motivations are complex and internal while her ability to be satisfied appears so deceptively simple.

Running parallel to this train of thought is an expanding realization that Freud's Pleasure Principle, while valid when applied toward infants, becomes misleading when applied to adults---because his theories were based on the male pleasure model, and when it comes to pleasure, men get the short end of the stick. I've queried most of my friends, and I've decided that, as a general rule, men are results-oriented pleasure-seekers and women are process-oriented pleasure seekers. Men get aroused and orgasm, all very quickly. They want the big-bang, the ultimate superfeeling, and they want it now. Theirs is results-oriented pleasure. Whatever it takes to "get 'er done." Women get aroused, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, and orgasm usually takes time, but orgasm itself is not the ultimate goal. The pleasure is in the arousal itself, in the slow build of orgasmic tension and its slow decline. During sex a woman may not orgasm or she may, or she may do so many times, but the emphasis for her is actually on intimacy and the arousal process--on feeling good for as long as possible--not on achieving climax. Thus my assertion that women's pleasure is process-oriented.

This difference in the pleasure-seeking methods is the reason why there are so many problems between men and women, I think. I've had some frustrating conversations with men-friends about sex... One of them, particularly, discounts the feminine emphasis on physical pleasure. He is unconvinced that he could ever be "possessed by pleasure" as I am. He thinks that my extreme sensitivity to pleasure is related to my tendancy to dissociate emotion and sex. And he's probably right... But a lot of women talk openly with each other about sex, and I'm convinced that I'm on to something here. Men, both circumsized and uncut, do not seem to be able to relate to the levels of sensitivity to pleasure which a woman can achieve. Masters and Johnson reported more than 50 years ago that a woman's capacity for pleasure puts all men to shame. Its true. But documenting it doesn't seemed to have done much more than emphasize achieving orgasm for women--an emphasis that often makes men and women feel inadequate when it doesn't happen.

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Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Weekend with a friend

San Francisco, between the Cathedral of Peter and Paul Parish, and Coit Tower (c) Kayar SilkenvoiceI spent the weekend in San Francisco with a friend of mine, M, who is one of my three closest friends. We have a deeply intimate relationship, one which he describes as nebulous. He's been there for me in so many ways the past two years, my biggest supporter, the one I leaned on the most the first year after S and I broke up. During my period of celibacy he was a sexual sink for me, as well, which definately crossed a lot of male-female friendship lines. But at the time I did not have a female friend I felt intimate enough with to talk about the more erotic thoughts and feelings that were flowing through me as I practiced my libidinous brand of celibacy.

And so our intimacy developed and deepened until he was friend and confidant and lover-substitute. I have a talent for complicated relationships, I admit it. Particularly with men, as I prefer the compay of men as friends as well as lovers. But some of my hetero frienships are fraught with tensions, tensions I will not go into as I already posted my thoughts on the subject here. Suffice it to say, however, that the levels of intimacy that M and I achieved created problems when I started dating, because we come from opposite places with regards to loving relationships. I have no problems being mentally, emotionally, and physically intimate with my friends, be they male or female--to me it is a natural extension of my affection for them. Its not about romance or desire or passion... its about the deeply pleasurable sharing of self.

Dating, sexual activity--these created strain, not necessarily because he wanted me all to himself, but because he is territorial, and male, and normal (vanilla), and because suddenly my sexuality (now that others were involved) became a topic he was no longer comfortable discussing. Which hurt. I tried to respect the new boundaries, but kept running into his, because I don't have them. I am not a labyrinth of internal boundaries like most people. Anyway, we both made choices, we said and did things, we tried being there for each other, through our various crises, and slowly, over a six month period, we found ourselves saddened by the gulf growing between us. Physical distance was starting to translate into emotional distance, despite our best efforts at communication.

I love him. I love him like I love few people in my life. His happiness and well-being are important to my own. And the well-being of our relationship, whatever form it takes, is important to my own. And so I invited myself down to San Francisco for the weekend, determined to show us both that we can enjoy each other's company sans sexual tension. I masturbated like a fiend Friday night--drained my libido so completely that it really didn't start bouncing back until Monday night. I was so well-sated that it was safe to massage him awake Saturday morning, sitting at the foot of his water bed with the sunlight pouring over me and his wonderful sleepy scent filling the air. And Sunday I woke him up with a cuddle, spooning myself against him, letting love fill me and hoping it would seep into him, reassuring him of his importance and place in my life.

We visited the Exploratorium, walked through gardens and parks, ate sushi and dim sum, watched Princess Mononoke and a couple of Ghost in the Shell episodes. Lake near the Exploratorium, San Francisco (c) Kayar Silkenvoice We savored the perfect weather, walking the hilly streets in the North Beach area, wading through the people who jammed the blockaded streets for the festival, and stretched out in the grass at the park to listen to music. We had some good conversation and comfortable silences, and as he drove me to the airport I knew we would both be ok. That the entity that is 'us' would be ok.

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Thursday, June 15, 2006

Baths, online dating, and reconsiling polyamory

Dahlia (c) KR Silkenvoice
Click here for audio/podcast.
Bath night was delayed by one day, but it was worth it. The soap I ordered arrived, the delicious Roger&Gallet Gingember, which smells of ginger and sandalwood. While water filled the tub, I located one of my hinoki masu and opened the bottle of Taisetsu sake that had been chilling in the refrigerator. I lowered myself into the tub, leaned back, and closed my eyes. Ahhhh. The cold sake was a wonderful contrast to the hot water, and it did not take long for the combination to go to my head. No, indeed.

As I soaked, I thought about the past week or so, what I had experienced, what I had accomplished, and my interactions with my loved ones.

I had a date Monday night, a first-time date with someone I had chatted-up online. It was the first time I had done something like this, and I was a bit nervous because I've heard from women-friends that their first-dates with people they had met online rarely went well. But I wasn't terribly nervous, because M. and I clicked well, and I knew he wasn't one of those hard-up types looking for sex--he was too relaxed and comfortable with himself. So I called him and asked him if he wanted to come with me to Fry's, because I knew we both had things we wanted to pick up there. A very geek place to go on a first date, I suppose, but it worked.

When we met, the first thing I noticed about him was his smell. It was a good, healthy-male pheromone smell, with no discernable cologne. It was not an instant turn-on, but his scent was a bit distracting to me. The second thing was his hair. I could not resist the hair, I had to pull on one of the ringlets hanging down his back. The third thing was his energy, which meshed well with mine. We talked comfortably for the half hour drive there and back, and seeing as we had not run out of things to say, went for sushi. After sushi, his place for tea and conversation, and (surprise!) some lovely kisses. I really like him, and I look forward to seeng him again when he returns from his business trip.

Of course, C. knew I was going out with M., and of course I told him how well we hit it off. And of course, he was a bit irked. I told him that I'm not looking for a relationship and M. isn't looking for a relationship and seeing as how he (C.) travels so much and has such a full life with his sister's family when he is home, its not like me seeing M. occasionally (if I do) is going to interfere with my ability to see him.

This lead to a discussion last night about about how sad I find it that most people feel that adding another person to the 'loved' circle means less love for everyone in it. I asked him if the birth of his nephew Luke meant he loved his nephew Mark less. He said no.

I asked him if the birth of his sister when he was a child meant his parents loved him less. He said no, but there was an expression on his face that I recognized, because it expressed my own feelings when I was a child and they brought my infant sisters home. My family may not have loved me less, but from that day forward they sure paid a LOT more attention to my sisters than they did to me. They tried to explain to me that it had to do with being a baby, that I got the same sort of attention when I was a baby, that babies are helpless and need constant care... but the child in me only understood that she was feeling abandoned, and envious of the attention someone else was getting, attention that she wanted.

Love shared, my inner-child learned, means less for me. I think most adults, consciously or not, operate from that emotional place when it comes to relationships. And most never move from it, it seems. I've thought about how it is I managed to move past it. I talked to my therapist about it when I was going through so much angst over societal non-acceptance of my poly nature, and the conclusion I have reached is that it has to do with a capacity I have carried forward from childhood: the capacity to love.

Children love. It is what they do best. They do it with full trust and without reservation. When I hugged my niece last month for the first time in two years, I could feel the love in her. I thought it would burst from her skin if I squeezed her too hard. It pulsed in her, splattered me with messy kisses, flattered me with adoring eyes, warmed me with trusting limbs draped on me in sleep. She fell in love with me and I with her and neither of us loved anyone else less for it.

A child's capacity for love is limitless. And so is an adult's. Most just don't realize it. They still have a child's belief that time and attention equals proof of love, and love is limited by time and attention, and that competition for that limited commodity means less for them.

I soaked in the tub until the water was cool, thinking, wondering how to get across to people that love shared does not diminish. For me, Love defies the law of diminishing returns. The more I love, the more I can love. I haves o many amazing, wonderful people in my life. They enrich me, intoxicate me, challenge me. They are the hyacinths which feed my soul. If asked to choose amongst them, I would be unable to.

When I think about my last relationship, when I think about how it felt, not just being monogamous, but having my nature curbed and under attack, and living under the shroud of S's perpetual suspicion, I feel something akin to despair. I am sensual, tactile. I hug, I kiss, I touch, I smile at the people I care for. But for the most part, I had to reserve it all for S, who didn't like demonstrations of affection outside the bedroom. All those other avenues of love blockaded did not mean more love or security for S. The relationship slowly deteriorated as I withdrew more and more into myself, trying to avoid missteps that might be mis-interpreted by S. as sexual interest in someone else (Why don't you just go fuck him? was not an uncommon question).

For me, not being able to just love people the way I want (need?) to is a form of torture. I imagine what Yo-yo Ma would feel like in world in which he could only play one instrument, a single, much loved cello, despite the longing in his heart to touch other cellos and bring their voices to life. Or a chef whose only ingredient was chateaubriand. Or an artist who had the finest brushes and canvases...but only one colour of paint.
I love.
It is who I am.
It is what I do.
And C. (and a few others of my loved-ones), well, his adult mind understands my polyamorous nature. Its is inner-child that has trouble with it. Some people just can't get past their fear that sharing anything, especially someone's love, means less for them. I sure hope he can get past it though, because I'm done trying to curb the way I love in order to assuage a lover's fears. It makes me miserable. It diminishes me.

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Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Thar Be Dragons Here!

Forest Dragon (c) Kayar Silkenvoice
Click here for audio/podcast.

I've been giving some thought to my relationships and the people in my life, organizing my thoughts on why monogamy and monofidelity feel unnatural to me, and why polyamory and similar 'alternative' love-styles make sense to me, particularly in the context of the human dilemma of loneliness and isolation.

I've thought about how easy it is for us to spend our lives looking for that elusive something, always holding out for what we don't quite know, and how many of us do it, day in and day out, without recognizing that we are looking for ourselves.

Yes. The search for the perfect other is always a search for what we sense we lack. And the reason that we never find them is because the search goes on as long as we feel inadequate to ourselves, to our own needs.

Another 'yes'. There it is. Too many people hope to get from others what can only be provided by themselves. What a terrible thing this hope is. Such a great source of unhappiness.

For in our conviction that there is one special someone out there who will meet all our needs, all the time, we are transformed into needy, demanding children rather than healthy adults with resources enough for ourselves and for others who might need us.

What a terrible thing is the hope that keeps us living our lives as though we are but half of a whole, either constantly waiting for the other half, or making do with what is out there.

And what a moment of clarity it is to realize that we are each one person complete and total in ourselves, with multiple sources of supply and many people to love, and that we have only to be love, rather than to seek love, so that love grows from us and and flows from us as something to be shared, rather than consumed, or hoarded like a dragon's treasure.

I think that Life, love, relationships--these are a wires in which the current runs back and forth and around, from each to each, returning via different paths and with varying amplitudes, so that each exchange, each cycle, enhances and supplies energy to all parties involved.

And this thought leads to another realization, that when we limit ourselves to one or two others outside ourselves, to one mate, to one friend, to one mentor, we form closed circuits that isolate us from others. And the fewer intimate others in our lives, the more isolate we become.

Instead of forming relationships that close us off, instead of closing ourselves off in our disappointment, we humans need to form relationships that open us to ourselves, relationships that help us reach outside ourselves and become more than we are.

And we need more than one person in our lives. We need intimate friends, because they are the windows through which we see the world and peer into in order to see ourselves. They are the social mirror through which we determine the worth and purpose of our lives, and if we don't have friends, we see and understand much less about ourselves and the world than we otherwise would.

It is incomplete, this thought-process, but there it is. Not bad for a weekend's contemplation. And at the close of the weekend I have pondered what I am grateful for, and of course, I am most thankful for my friends and lovers. They enrich my life. They provide me with so many sources of love, with so many reasons to continue living and learning and growing.

I can only hope that I do the same for them.

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Saturday, June 10, 2006

Florists deliver on Saturdays!

Bouquet of tulips 5 (c) Kayar Silkenvoice
To the doe-eyed warrior from the gray place,
on the sixth moon.
--from a Lucky Dog.
Bouquet of tulips 5 (c) Kayar Silkenvoice

I had another erotic dream.

I had another erotic dream.

I dreamed that a big cat padded up to the bed and nudged its wedge-shaped head against my hand... and I ran my fingers over it silky coat and stratched its ears, and it purred and purred.

And then the cat lept onto the bed, and as it did, it transformed into a man.

And the man purred, and rubbed himself against me, and nibbled on my fingers. He worked his way under the covers, his tongue lapping at my skin, his fingers kneading my flesh, sensitizing me.

Teeth scraped my nipples, sharp teeth, and then there was a hard suck, and I awakened, tingling and moist.

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Friday, June 09, 2006

Don't put me on a pedestal

Woman at Big Rocks (c) KR Silkenvoice

I am as fucked up as you are.
I'm just more comfortable with it.


Thursday, June 08, 2006


this is an audio post - click to play

Lagavulin tonight.
Soft and smoky,
like me.
Aromatic and smooth,
like me.
I am of scotch extraction, too.
Sip me,
swirl me upon your tongue,
learn the true power
of intoxication.

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Monday, June 05, 2006

Dogwoods and Demons

this is an audio post - click to play
For the first time in weeks, we were both available and feeling social. I drove up to Vancouver and he cooked dinner for me: salmon, herbed red potatoes, and fresh green beans. Then we went for a walk, under the japanese dogwoods, which are flowering so brilliantly right now. It was warmish and misty. The moisture in the air collected on my hair and eyelashes--its just as well that I don't wear makeup. I liked the feel of his fingers on the back of my neck, so cool after the warmth of the night air. Their coolness made my nipples hard and gave me gooseflesh. He smelled wonderful: his natural scent mixed deliciously with soap and his creaky leather jacket.

We walked to a cafe and had lattes and shared a strawberry rhubarb galette and talked quite a lot. He makes me laugh and I make him laugh, but we did talk seriously about a few things.

He said I say the most disconcerting things at times, particularly because I seem so serene and collected most of the time. Very Mona Lisa with my dark eyes and mysterious smiles. Silly man.

He said he thinks I'm an amazing woman, and that my complicated past and present aren't off-putting for him, despite my efforts to use it to keep him at a distance.

He said I'm simply more aware of and more forthcoming about my demons than most people, and admires the fact that I have the courage to actually do something about them. He said that I'm not alone, and one day I'll realize that the demons I'm wrestling that seem so personal are the same demons that dog all of humanity.

He said that one day he knows I'll realize that my demons are a valid and valuable part of me and come to accept them instead of struggling with them, and when that happens I will feel enriched and, if not whole, at least a lot less torn.

It made me uncomfotable, him so focussed on me, refusing to let me turn the conversation to a more comfortable topic, but I recognized the wisdom in what he said. I hope that day of enlightenment comes soon.

In the meantime, I will continue to be thankful for the good people in my life, who speak their truths honestly and compassionately.

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Sunday, June 04, 2006

On bathing and shaving

Sunday night is bath night.

And what a yummy bath I had.... Tonight's soap was a french-milled mandarin and olive-oil, and the oil in the bathwater was lemon-grass, as was the incense. A few candles, a glass of very cold pinot blanc, and a playlist consisting mostly of moroccan music completed this very languid, sensual, and ritual experience.

Sundays and Wednesdays are bath nights, and on bath nights I soak and shave. I may or may not shave my legs, but I always shave my mound bare. And tonight, as I was shaving, I remembered a conversation I had with one of my sisters last week. We both shave. In fact, all three of us do. I knew one of them did, but I did not know that both of them did, not until she asked me for a massage last weekend, and when I said yes, she whipped off her nightie and lay down on the bed, all splendidly golden-skinned and blatantly bare.

And us being sisters and utterly lacking in body-modesty (having grown up as we did in a communal environment in which nudity was the norm) I smiled and commented to her that I did not know that she shaved, too.

As soon as I started growing hair, I began shaving it off. I did not like it. It was unaesthetic to me, both visually, and tactilely. I preferred being bare, and smooth. I realize now, as an adult, that part of it had to do with not wanting to grow up, to enter womanhood, because I knew, even at the tender age of 14, that the two tests for a female being 'old enough' was being 'big enough', and having pubic hair.

When I took my first adult male lover, I was still under-age, and he was more than a decade older. He asked me to let my hair grow in, because seeing me bare made him feel pedophilic. And so I tried. But the hair I grew was so sparse as to make the adjective 'mossy' seem effusive. Disgusted with my sorry excuse of a muff, I shaved it off again. I thought perhaps my shaving had ruined the possibility of me growing a bush, until I talked to my sister.

She, too, grows hair very sparsely.

She, too, likes being smooth and bare, and likes the cleanliness factor as well. We are much less worried about muss and mess during Aunt Flow's monthly visit when we are shaved.

And then there is the sheer sensuality of it. It can be quite arousing, lathering up, running the razor over skin, following it with the sensitive tips of fingers questing, questing, seeking out any roughness that marrs that symphony of smoothness. It is an act of self-love, done to please the self, and no one else, though certainly our partners love the bareness, too.... I makes oral sex so much more pleasant for them--and us :)

Some people react very viscerally to shaving. There are those who think it is pedophilic. There are those who find it erotic, being able to see so clearly that aspect of a woman that has always been shrouded in mystery.

And then there are those who consider shaving their mounds akin to shaving their heads: that removal of their pubic hair is disempowering, as evinced by a conversation I had a few weeks ago... One day after a particularly contemplative bathtime, I logged into the BDSM Social Room on Literotica Chat. Someone asked me how I was, and I said I had been thinking about shaving, and immediately a female asked me "Why, are you owned?" This surprised me. It had not occurred to me that shaving had a part to play in the psychology of Dominance and submission. But after thinking about it, it makes sense. A woman, shaved bare, is utterly exposed, and completely visually accessible--she cannot hide from her Master. Without her shroud of hair, she is stripped of another layer she could hide behind, a layer of resistance to his claim upon her. And so I can see where a Domme would ask me if I was a slave.

But I'm not in the lifestyle. I'm not into Daddy Doms, or playing pre-pubescent games. I have very adult genitalia--there is no doubt that I am a grown woman. I like being shaved because it pleases me to be smooth and bare and clean. And I like my partners to be shaved, or very closely trimmed, too. And after all this thinking about the subject, I've come to the realization that it doesn't matter why I like it. I just do.

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Saturday, June 03, 2006

The Waterfont Blues Festival is coming!

Portland's Waterfront Blues Festival
Twenty-seven days to go until the Waterfront Blues Festival! Yes! 5 days of blues, zydeco, swing, gospel, brass bands, orchestras, and some big names like Buckwheat Zydeco, Dr John, Little Feat, and Paul de Lay. I'm looking forward to taking that Blues Cruise with Buckwheat Zydeco and that NW Women in R&B performance, as well as that Australian blues man Harper. He's quite good with a digeridoo and harmonica, and he has a great voice! And I want to hear Rich delGrosso on the blues mandoline. I'm so excited I'm wriggling in my chair. Whee!

I've some friends with boats who will be parking out on the Willamette to catch the tunes. I might actually spend a day out on the water this time, instead of on dry land.


Thursday, June 01, 2006

Sandstone Pudendum

The Sandstone Pudendum in Kolob Canyon,Zion National Park, Utah, USA (c) KR Silkenvoice
this is an audio post - click to play

I call this the Sandstone Pudendum. This is a photograph of a natural formation in the sandstone of Kolob Canyon, which is a remote northern section of Zion National Park in Utah. I was struck immediately by its obvious resemblance to the female pudendum, or vulva.

If I'd had the time, I would have hiked up into that huge cleft. There is something awe-inspiring about it, for me. I cannot help but think that it is a holy place, seeing as it so directly resembles the 'sacred feminine', the entrance into the chalice, that holy grail of womanhood (ok, so I've read the Da Vinci Code).

Seriously though, I get goosebumps whenever I see this photo, because seeing it sends me back into sensory recall, remembering the crisp May air, how its chill breeze made my nipples so hard. I can just catch the scent of pine, the way the sun broke through the clouds and set the sandstone aglow, and then, the stunning and unexpected sight of a shaved pussy rendered by the forces of wind and rain.

It was definately one of the highlights of my trip.

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