tantric hug

juicy with longing
impaled by need enfleshed
relaxed into the cradle of crossed legs
forbidding him to move
twining arms around each other
energy flowing from cunt to cock
curling upwards to his lungs
sexual exhalation
breathing him into me
erotic frisson gliding into pelvis
where cunt clenches cock
cyclic orgasmic tension builds
to powerful climax and delicious decline

Enlightenment and erotic submission

Control is an illusion--surrender it to me.

Some say "all life is suffering" but for what purpose?

If your life seems without purpose, let me give you purpose--suffer for me.

Suffer for me and I will lead you toward enlightenment.

The Tantric model for the enlightened mind is orgasm.

The moment of enlightenment is like the moment of climax--that moment of blissful non-thinking being, of pure consciousness.

At the end of the path of suffering is enlightenment.

If enlightenment is like unto orgasm, let me enlighten you.

Surrender control to me.

Suffer for me.

And perhaps, if you are very good, I will let you cum for me.

The Game of Life

One of the difficulties I had during one of my courses with summer was that I was asked to consider viewing Life as a Game, and to consider that most people are playing the Game of Survival--of survival of Self/Identity. And if one was able to take that in, then it is fair to say that 90%+ of adults on this planet have played this game and won it, but don't realize it, because they are so caught up in the Game. And then to consider that most adults spend most of their lives on the sidelines of Life, passively watching others playing the Game of Survival, because they have won it and they don't know that there is any other Game.

So I started this inquiry into what sort of a game Life would look like if one could see past that Game of Survival. And in doing so, I recognized my ambivalence toward games. I asked myself why, and I determined that I was ambivalent about games because most people playing really wanted to win, and I could care less. But why? I tell myself I know I could win if I want to, but if someone else wants to win, why not let them? I tell myself its because I don't care about winning or losing... for me it is about the pleasure of playing. And what pleasure is there in winning a game of Survival? I won that Game. I am a Survivor with a capital S. I know I can endure anything. And then I recognize the core of that phrase I coined "To endure the unendurable, find pleasure in it." I endure. And I find pleasure in it. My own way of winning.

And yet, surely, there must be more to life than that-- more than mere survival. There has to be more. Life is serious, right? Its not a game. And yet, here I was being asked to consider that Life is a Game, and not only that, that I had the power to chose the Game I wanted to play. I was told to play life as a game, and play it full out, play to win. Determine what the desired result is (ie wealth), determine measure (money in the bank) and then keep track of the statistics to determine the winner (how many deposits, how much amassed, etc within a pre-determined time-frame). Approached this way, incrementally, set-backs are part of the Game, rather than a failure to Win...

Dreaming of my friend CD

I slept with my clothes on, on the top of my bed, for the first time in over a year. I did this because conversation after a reiki session with a friend ended up going so late I told him I didn't want him driving home in his exhausted state. So we stretched out on my tempurpedic bed, and within a few minutes I drifted off to sleep.

I slept fairly well, but not as soundly as normal, and awakened after seven hours of sleep to a beautiful blue sky. When I awakened, I was smiling, because I dreamed, and in my dream, CD called me.

I miss him. Does he miss me, I wonder? I accept the choice he made, just as I have come to accept my sister's choice. Both have cut me out of their lives: She, out of displeasure at my trying to save her life, he, out of fear of losing his life. The life he'd built with his wife and partner. I loved him as a friend, as a mentor, as an extraordinary man. The love and acceptance I gave him opened things in him, and his wife noticed. He took up his music again, finished his novel, stopped biting his nails. He found a sensual outlet in a sexless marriage, and in his acceptance of his masculine desires, in reclaiming his sexual power, he became the lean, handsome, charming man of 20 years previous.

She asked if he was having an affair, and he answered, honestly, that he was not. But emotionally, he was unfaithful. He was unfaithful because he felt there was something wrong in loving two women at the same time. I encouraged him to tell his wife about our friendship, and he'd said that he would, but he did not. The tension within him was unbearable. I knew that if he did not act consciously, that his subconscious would bring things to a head. He was afraid. I tried to coach him about his inaction, but his fear overwhelmed him.

And one day he did something stupid, something unrelated to me, that brought it all to a head. And in the aftermath of the explosion, he bowed to his wife's demands. He allowed himself to be castrated again. He emailed to tell me that his relationship with me was hurting his wife and that he would not be able to remain in contact with me. And so there has been silence.

Elie Weisel wrote in his book, Gates of the Forest, that when a friend denies you, it is worse than death. He was so right.

I dreamed of CD, that we talked, and I awakened with a feeling of happiness and aliveness. The happiness faded a bit, but my vitality, as ever, remains. Just as the silence remains. I love him still. I always will. And I accept that. I accept that just as I accept his choice to deny me. One day, perhaps, even I'll find a way to be happy about it.