Thursday, April 19, 2007

200th Post

Me in Santa Cruz on a very windy day. Photograher wishes to remain anonymous.At the pace at which I have been living my life the past two years (especially the past year),it seems difficult to believe that I've had the time to make 200 entries to this blog. But here I am, at entry #200. I took some time this evening to randomly view various links, and found myself surprised by the body of work I've amassed. So many photos, poems, essays, burbles, babbles, and personal bits. Is this what blogging is? Have I succeeded in my intention to give voice to the sensual immediacy of life? Could the time and energy I've spent creating this and contributing to this have been put to better use? I love questions. So many questions, unburdened of the need to find answers. The questions are what is important, not the answers. Answers change. And so do the questions. But it is the questions that drive us. Live! Something pushes at me. Live! The only certainty in life is death, so make each moment count. Feather tickler on my chin. Blues cycling through the speakers. Langorous warmth seeping into my skin, warm from a bath. Staring up into the canopy over my bed, watching the crystals catch the light. Joy and Sadness. Love and Pain. Life. This is life. This is life, and it is good.

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Sunday, April 15, 2007

Women as objects of love and desire

The Sandstone Pudendum in Kolob Canyon, Zion National Park, Utah, USA (c) KR SilkenvoicePhoto: The Sandstone Pudendum in Kolob Canyon, Zion National Park, Utah, USA (c) KR Silkenvoice
This is an essay about women as objects of love and desire. It is long and rambling, but it does have a point. Hopefully you will get it.

I tried to deny it for years, but I finally came to accept that my earthiness and sensuality can be powerfully attractive to people--regardless of gender. I am open, warm, relaxed, and most people feel comfortable around me--and feel comfortable talking to me about things they normally wouldn't dream of discussing with someone else. Due to the type of work I moonlight at (that is, writing & recording erotica) I come into contact with a lot of people who are already primed for conversation with sexual content. Especially men. Especially online.

Often, when I am conversing with a man, it becomes apparent that he is married or otherwise partnered and looking for a vicarious sexual outlet. Now, I'm not interested in wrecking homes or stealing husbands. Nor am I looking for another lover. I've never had an interest in marrying, and my chosen love-style, polyamory, is one that most people cannot handle well -- they're conditioned to the possessiveness and jealousy and insecurity which the socially-approved institution of serial monogamy engenders. So men talk to me. And depending on my intuition, on their responses to my questions, or the ideas I put out there, I'll often guide them towards erotic objectification of their partners -- instead of (or at the very least in addition to) me.

Now, I should state that I've observed that when men have been with their women for an extended period of time, their women become 'self' instead of 'other'. Which is a good thing, right? Well, mostly. The problem is that when a man internalizes a woman -- takes her identity into himself and begins to see her as an extension of himself -- she is no longer an object of mystery, novelty, denial, teasing. She is no longer a stand-alone individual -- instead, she is his, a part of himself, loved as he loves himself -- and thus she is no longer an object of erotic desire.

The happiest couples I know, the ones who are powerfully in-love after years and years together, seem to have one thing in common: a heathy sex life centered on her erotic objectification. For him, she is a fetish object, a talismanic creature radiating mystery and sensuality -- a Goddess. For her, he is the Summer King, her lover and acolyte, eternally in her thrall. They re-enact the ages old rites of worship between male and female, seeking to penetrate the barriers of their solitude in order to become as one, even if only for those few moments of orgasmic bliss.

Otto Kernberg wrote a book on love relationships which contained an analysis of a Hindu text known as the Ramayana, and in this book he stated: "...the beloved presents himself or herself simultaneously as a body which can be penetrated and a consciousness which is impenetrable. Love is the revelation of the other person's freedom. The contradictory nature of love is that desire aspires to be fulfilled by the destruction of the desired object, and love discovers that this object is indestructable and cannot be substituted."

At some point we all make this discovery, realizing, at least subconsciously, that the object of love and desire is both within our grasp and eternally beyond it. At this point, one of three decisions is made: one, to abandon the object and go in search of one that can be fully possessed/internalized, two, to hold on to the object, internalize what we can of them, and ignore/deny/attempt to destroy what we cannot possess, or three, celebrate the oft-times conflicting duality of love and desire, taking as much of the other as we can into our selves, and enjoy the mystery and delight of trying to grasp what can never be held -- no matter how hard we try. The way in which we cope with this love conundrum determines how well our relationships work, and how long they last.

End of spiritual and psychological analysis. Lets get back to sex.

So, as I established earlier, when men are with women for a long while, the women become 'self' instead of remaining 'other', and in order to re-eroticize their partners, men seem to need to objectify them -- to restore the mystery to the object of their sexual fulfillment. And for some reason I want to help make this happen.

How? Well, I'll sometimes guide conversation or role-play towards erotic objectification of their partners... sometimes the fantasies will be woman-woman, asking questions like, "Would you like to see her face between my thighs? Watch her press her lips to my bare pussy?" I sometimes invite them in..."Would you like to slip up behind her, and fuck her nice and slow while she eats me?" Once I have made the decision to re-eroticize someone's partner, I rarely, ever, suggest sexual intercourse between myself and him. I do not want him to focus on me as an erotic object, but on his wife. In general, my goal is for him to get 'off' thinking about HER, not ME. If he has D/s leanings, sometimes I'll suggest that I'll make his wife submit to me, and allow him to watch -- so long as he does not move or speak unless given permission -- regardless of what I do to her or what she says. This suggestion is powerfully erotic to many men. Sometimes I'll guide him through use of his wife in such a way that will 'please' me.. get him all worked up and then tell him to go to bed and wake his wife and take her... and report back to me on her responses. This has had spectacular results for some couples, results that have amazed the men... they wonder how I know that their wives will respond well to x or y or z, and I tell them its from what I learn from them about their wives...

I am sure a lot of women would freak out about this type of exchange... and here is where the humour of it all comes in. I am a woman who understands men. But I also understand women -- as much as it is possible to understand women. And women, well, we are raunchy. We tell our girlfriends things that make grown men blush. Our girlfriends tell us things that make us roar with laughter, make us horny as hell. We tease each other, flirt with each other. We talk about the best places to buy lingerie and sex toys, about the latest things we tried on our lovers. But heaven forbid if our lovers talk about it. Especially if the person they are talking to is another woman. Heads will roll. Tears will fall. Words like 'betrayal' and 'violation' will resonate in the air. And its ridiculous, the hypocrisy of it. Because for women, their lovers are also no longer 'other', they are 'self' and so talking about their lovers to whomever they choose is their right. But heaven forbid their lovers show an ounce of individuality and discuss such deeply private and personal things with someone else--especially another woman! Oh my.

It is illogical. I call it fuzzy feminine logic. And unfortunately, we're stuck with it. But we can work with it, keeping in mind that simply because women often defy logic does not mean they are irrational. I mean, part of what makes women an eternal mystery to men is this fuzzy, nuanced, emotional logic -- men don't 'get' it. In the everyday world, women are nuts and men are baffled. What men need from women is very simple, and what they want from women is very simple, but women are not simple. We are complex. We think that what we want most is to be understood, but really, we do not. We are complex and what we want from men is not that they understand everything about us, but that they understand that our natures dictate that we be true to the moment, and that this is both valid and rational. We like change, we need change, we are change. We are the source of creation and sustenance. We are mystery incarnate. We are objects of love, of desire, of denial, of fulfillment.

I suppose, when it comes down to it, my argument is that 'objectification of women' is a good thing. Perhaps the feminist movement's efforts to change the fundamental tendancy of men to eroticize women needs to take into consideration the archetypes which this touches upon, the deep-seated psychological reasons for objectification, and how it benefits both genders. Because as I see it, if romantic relationships between women and men are going to be fulfilling in the long term, women need to find ways to continue being erotic objects -- and men need to find ways to continue being enthralled by the objects of their love and desire.

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Saturday, April 14, 2007

Despair contagion


There seems to be a contagion of despair... so many people are depressed these days, hurting, self-destructive. So much going on, so much pain swirling around me...

You don't always have to be the one who is strong
, says B, from the midst of divorce and financial woes.
You can call any time day or night, says R, who is in despair herself, over her husband's alcoholic binging.
Tell me what is wrong, says MR, who is periodically depressed about being 30, financially well-off, and miles away from being the husband and father he wants to be.
The Dutchman offers me a kiss and a cuddle, but, well, he's in Holland.

I miss CD, still. I miss CW, though I'll see him next weekend, hopefully.

Last night, I cried. I rarely cry. In fact, I hate crying. But I was feeling overwhelmed, and I needed a release, and sexercise, and talking, and writing, they just didn't give me the relief I needed.

You will survive, said MR after I told him a bit of what was weighing me down. You always do.
I don't want to survive, I told him through my tears, I want to thrive. And what is more, I want those I love to thrive, too. Silly me.

Why is it that most people's solution to despair is seeking numbness? Television, drugs, alcohol, suicide? Why don't people see that stepping outside their heads and getting in touch with nature, with what is real, with the moment, is a far better solution, a far better vacation from despair, than those other options.

When I mentioned the contagion of despair, my dutchman said that it was the downside of today's society.

Since I don't watch TV, rarely read the newspaper, or listen to the radio, or see movies, or advertisements, I'm rather out of touch with society. And I think that is a good thing. There is something insidious going on. Why is it that people living in First World countries are in such despair? We are so far away from the real desperation of survival-mode--sitting in our warm, dry homes, watching our TVs, or listening to music cruising down the road in our comfy cars--and yet so many have a cloud of despair following them. I am half-convinced its a synthesis of the media and advertising. I mean, think about it... Those who expose themselves to the media are inundated with all sorts of negative messages in the form of image and sound. And their conscious minds may disregard those messages, but most of that stuff speaks to the subconscious -- especially advertising. So you watch the news, which is full of depressing stuff, and you see an advertisement for something guaranteed to lighten your spirits--for a price. Or you watch a disturbing movie with lots of violence and then can't sleep. Well, it just so happens that you can talk to your doctor about sleep-drug X, which studies show will help you get a full night's sleep, says so on the advertisement. And on and on. Images of violence, desolation, destruction. Sounds and words about the same, repeated, repeated. An endless loop, day after day, year after year, of the same negative crap fed into our brains. Its sick, its twisted. Its insidious. Its killing people. Or so I think, sitting here from my vantage point outside the media box, watching all those people addicted to Reality TV and buying, buying, compulsively consuming, acquiring... why? Trying to fend off that pervasiave feeling of dissatisfaction with something, anything, that might even temporarily alleviate it.

Or maybe I'm just being cynical. Maybe the despair is psychologically contagious and I'm getting it too. Who knows? All I know is I've shed enough tears for a while. Time to go do something that make me feel good and doesn't cost me a cent.

I'm going for a walk.

I am going to look at the primroses and tulips and flowering bushes, listen to the birdsong, and watch the water flow, and get my equilibrium back. The day is still young--there is still potential for it to be a good day.

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Thursday, April 12, 2007

Favorite Quote of the Week

A friend of mine is having a bad week.
Worse than mine, even.
I offered to give him a kiss to take his mind off things.
He said: "Mmm....Your kisses are better than some sex I've had--but what I'd really like is one of your massages."
Mind, voice, mouth, hands. Of these tools in my arsenal, I know which he prefers... this week, anyway ;)

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Self-hypnosis, dreams, and Easter

I dreamed about a magic garden atop a mountain. I knew the garden because a friend of mine had this huge house up in the Santa Cruz Mountains, and in my dream, I was there... Anyway, it was a magical garden, because at its center was a series of koi ponds flowing into each other.. and the koi ponds were pools of knowledge, and the ripples the koi made were ripples of enlightenment. It was a cool dream.

What is even cooler about it is that the dream was the result of the self-hypnosis session I did for myself. The 'deepener' in the session I made used steps down into a garden, with a pool in the center. I made this session for myself because I wanted to understand how hypnosis works and I wanted to use it on myself before I made sessions for other people. This one had pretty simple suggestions in it, mainly about getting out of my own way and embracing success. I did two forms of it, one for daytime use and one for night-time use. The one for night-time use carried a post-hypnotic suggestion to dream. It will be interesting to find out if there are more tangible effects than dreaming. I'll try this for a week and if I am comfortable with it, I think will work on an erotic version.

Its Easter. The sky is blue, the breeze is tickling my skin and the windchime. It smells of hyacinth and daphne and plum blossoms. It is a gorgeous day. Children are dressed in their finest right now, and getting grass stains on the knees of their finest, as they search for Easter eggs and other goodies. In a couple of hours they will by hyped-up on sugar courtesy of the Easter Bunny, and wiping their sticky sweet fingers on their finest, while their parents and grandparents make noises over the mess. But the kids are having fun! Hey, how often do they get to do their worst while wearing their best?

Hmmm... that sounds fun, actually.... I think I'm going to go do the same.... I wonder if I can climb a tree in that lavender silk dress?

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Saturday, April 07, 2007

The delight of surprise memories

Life is full: rich and colourful, dark and painful, replete with abundance, plagued with scarcity. For all these reasons, I've not posted to my blog in too long. I have several thoughts started, but a scarcity of time has prevented me from completing them. I will, though.

For now, though, I feel an urge to post this: Earlier this week, two memories surfaced for me. They were good memories. Memories of my mother, and my maternal grandfather. I was talking to 'Doc' (Bob) at HypnoFantasy about the possibility of doing hypnotic scripts. I told him I did not know much about hypnosis and wanted to understand it better before I attempted to hypnotize anyone else.

At some point in the conversation, I felt some internal pressure, some resistance to the idea of hypnosis for some reason, and I took a moment to examine it. And when I did, I suddenly remembered why I've always found it so easy to meditate, to fall into trance--I remembered that my mother used to hypnotize me and my sisters. WHAT?! I felt this little jab of panic as my old distrust of her surfaced. What did she say to me, when I was in trance, what suggestions did she make? I've no idea. I'll never know, because she is dead. I have decided to trust that the suggestions she made to me were intended to be beneficial. It is difficult for me, this trust, because she demonstrated so little in the way of maternal feeling, and I have so little childhood knowledge or memory of her.

But I found it inside me to trust that when he hypnotized me, she meant well, because I carry that memory of her brushing my hair when I was a child. I remembered the pleasure of the brush scraping lightly against my scalp and pulling gently at the roots of my hair, running down my back, and the waves of gooseflesh that ebbed and flowed with the rhythm of the brush... I remembered the sun on my face and on my skin, warming me as I sat naked before her, my knees pulled up under my chin. And I remembered her voice, her beautiful, mellifluous, soothing voice, saying my name. And I was grateful for that one memory, and I held it until it glowed, and I basked the light of my mother's love once again--and the pressure, the resistance to the idea of hypnosis, faded. My unconventional, counter-culture mother helped make me the woman I am today. And I like who I am :)

The other memory was of her father. He died the same year she took off and I have very few memories of him. But I was talking to someone about voice-over recording, and microphones, and I suddenly remembered Grandfather. He had a radio show! I could feel laughter burbling up inside me as I remembered. He, too, had a wonderful voice, which he learned put to good use as a missionary evangelist. He was one of Aimee Semple McPherson's students, having graduated from Life Bible College at Angelus Temple in the late 1920's, and she had a radio show. So did he. Even during the years he battled cancer, after he retired from the pulpit, he was on the air. I remember that he had taken over one of the closets in the guest room, the one that had the pull-down door to the attic. I remember him sitting in that little room stacked with books and papers, with the big microphone in front of him and the reel-to-reel tape machine running as he sermonized, his voice resonant and his blue eyes blazing. He put the 'charismatic' in 'Christian', Grandfather did.

So here I am, by some cosmic convolution, sitting at a desk, surrounded by books and papers, with a big microphone hanging in front of me, spinning tales on sexuality in my mother's voice for an audience that likes to be hypnotized. It makes me smile. There is something fitting in that.

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